yellow globe of light; the corners of the stone room were lost in shadows.
“That’s an offensive smell,” said Bulcão as his foot touched the stone floor. He was a small man, compact, wearing a suit of military-style dungarees. His .38 revolver hung from the gun belt buckled tightly around his waist.
“Perhaps we can hold our next meeting at the banquet room of the Hotel Segunda,” said the other man in the room.
“Humor is uncalled for,” said Bulcão, striding to the center of the room.
“But it does help one endure life,” said the other man, whose name at the moment was Ensolardo. “And what have you learned?”
Bulcão seated himself in the room’s only other chair, a lopsided wooden thing. “They have arrived.”
“How many of them?”
“Three.”
“Very good, very good,” said Ensolardo, nodding. “Which ones?”
Loosening his gun belt a notch, shifting in the chair, Bulcão said, “Fergus MacMurdie, Cole Wilson, and Algernon Heathcote Smith.”
“By killing them we will pretty well destroy Justice, Inc.,” said Ensolardo. “It will leave them with only two women and a black man. They’ll no longer be much of a threat.”
“Let’s remember,” said Bulcão, “that at the moment they are still alive and breathing.”
“I want you to put Ferro onto the job of getting rid of them.” Ensolardo massaged an elbow, watching the flame of the lamp. “He is to arrange it so it looks like an accident . . . or perhaps as though they were killed by some of the fellows who rob tourists.”
“Ferro is one of our own. Until now we’ve been hiring—”
“Yes, and until now your hirelings have not been very successful,” said Ensolardo. “Put Ferro on the job.”
Shrugging, Bulcão said, “Very well, but I feel—”
“Don’t worry so much, my friend. I’m supposed to be the pessimistic one.”
“The way Leonard Rodney was killed . . . It wasn’t . . . I don’t like it. Killing in our line of work must be done quickly, efficiently. Not with so much—”
“The method was necessary, as it will also be for the Avenger. He must die the same way Rodney did.”
Bulcão looked back toward the ladder and crossed himself. “Some things . . . some things are not right. Some things should not be done.”
“Anything is right if it serves our cause.”
“She delights in that sort of killing. I can see it in her face. Those others who were killed. There was no need to—”
The stone trapdoor in the ceiling of the room had opened. A figure began to climb down the rusted metal ladder now. “I’ve just been looking in on our guest,” said Erika Mowler. “He is sleeping peacefully.”
“He ought to be,” said Ensolardo, “with all that stuff you’re shooting into him. You’re sure he’s not going to—”
“Please, Ensolardo,” said Erika. “I was a nurse long before I was a spy. I know how to take care of someone in a coma, even a coma that is drug-induced.”
Ensolardo watched the sooty smoke spiral up from the glass lamp. “Our plans seem to be going extremely well.”
“They usually do,” replied the blond girl. “Elizabeth’s earlier acquaintance wth Richard Benson, the so-called Avenger, gave us an excellent opportunity to be of further service to the homeland. Not only can we prevent Elizabeth’s information from reaching the Americans, but we can destroy Justice, Inc. As you know, the Avenger and his earnest associates have often interfered with the plans of our country. But no more.”
“Justice, Inc., has a formidable reputation,” said Bulcão. “Let’s be sure we don’t underestimate them.”
“Are you perhaps,” asked Erika, “a bit afraid of them?”
“I am afraid of nothing, but I’ve seen over-confidence ruin many a plan.”
The big blond girl smiled at the small man. “There’s nothing to worry about. I have just the right degree of confidence to take care of the Avenger and all the fools who’ve come down here in hope of finding
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