The Annihilators Read Free Page A

“Name check, please. Rael, Armando Rael. Is that name on the available list?”
    Well, it was what the kid expected, wasn’t it? She was sitting there obviously impressed by all the undercover nonsense and even more impressed by the thought that we seemed to have the world’s population classified, presumably by computer, into available people we could blow away at will, and those few lucky folks who were unavailable to our grim assassination teams, at least for the moment.
    There was a little pause, as Mac digested the request and its implications, and marshaled his facts a thousand miles away. He spoke precisely at last: “Armando Rael is the current president of Costa Verde—dictator, actually—having thrown out the former incumbent a few years ago in a sudden coup. That was Col. Hector Jimenez, whom you may remember, who replaced President Avila rather forcibly. Jimenez, although a military man, was a little too liberal, particularly on the subject of land reform; he was therefore overthrown by a junta of reactionary landowners and conservative army officers headed by Rael. Jimenez was fortunate to escape with his life—and of course some money. They never escape poor, do they? The current president of Costa Verde is not exactly a firm believer in human rights and democracy, I’m told. There have been two known attempts on his life already, both unsuccessful.”
    “Yes, sir,” I said. “The question is, would anybody besides Rael object to a successful attempt?”
    “By whom?”
    “By me,” I said. “I repeat, Condition Blue.”
    “Yes, I see,” he said, and I thought it very likely that he did by this time. He wasn’t a man for whom you needed to draw detailed pictures. He said, “Very well, I’ll check.”
    I spoke to Leona, the young black-maned lioness. “He’s consulting the oracle. Be patient.”
    Dolores Anaya did not speak. We waited. I tried not to think of a small, brave, intelligent girl with whom I’d shared some very pleasant experiences and some not so pleasant—we’d met under rather strained and violent circumstances. What she’d gone through then had not been my fault, but this obviously was. I should have remembered that a man in my peculiar line of work draws violence the way a lone tree on a hilltop draws lightning. Well, actually I had remembered, and warned her, and she had laughed and said that she’d long since given up expecting anything good to come to her safely and free of charge…
    “Matt?” The phone spoke in my ear.
    “Yes, sir.”
    “Unavailable,” Mac said, playing the game on my terms, which was nice of him. He could simply have ordered me to cut out the stalling and, for a start, send the pretty messenger—of course I hadn’t told him she was pretty—back to her friends with a neatly-slit throat the way I was supposed to, the way we were all supposed to, in any situation like this. As I said, the hostage game is one we simply do not play. Mac went on: “I checked the classification with State, just to be certain. I was informed that President Armando Rael of Costa Verde is not expendable; and that there must not be the slightest suggestion that we consider him so, since he is a very sensitive person in a very sensitive area and we must not jeopardize this valuable relationship in any way.” When I didn’t respond to this immediately, Mac asked, “You are in Chicago?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “I think I understand the problem, but that solution must not be used, not even as a feint or distraction. No move whatever must be made in that direction. I am truly sorry.”
    He sounded sincere, and I got the impression that under other circumstances he might have been willing to make an exception to the standing orders; but national policy made it impossible for him to free my hands. Check to the tall, skinny gent with the gun in his belt and the stupid look on his face. And to the tough little lady who, with her life at stake, had in effect given me my