Having heard the spokesman for the gang lock the door of the bedroom behind him and having ascertained it could not be bolted, Woman Deputy Alice Fayde had not wasted time in having some of the male guests try to break it down. She had been sure it was sufficiently strong to make such a task extremely difficult and she considered there was an easier way. Although she had waited until satisfied there would be no member of the gang beyond it, she had sent her host, his wife, and the guests into the kitchen and bedroom at the opposite side of the lounge before setting about effecting an entrance. With them out of the possible line of fire in case her summation proved wrong, she had asked Captain Sir Jeremiah Houghton-Rand to shatter the lock with his more powerful handgun. Despite each having hit it, three bullets from the Smith & Wesson Model 27 .357 Magnum revolver were required to provide the means of egress.
With access to the bedroom attained, the redhead had been faced by a dilemma!
It was not Alice’s intention to follow and tackle the gang, but to cut off their retreat if they should return!
To do so would entail some risk!
For all that, the redhead had decided she must face it alone!
No professional feminist filled with an over-reactive desire to prove herself able to perform any task as well as a man, or even better, Alice nevertheless had a strong sense of duty and responsibility. As a peace officer, she was expected to protect members of the public. Much as she might need help, her training and instincts were against endangering anybody present by asking it from them. That included Houghton-Rand. He was fully competent to support her by virtue of his military training, but this was the very factor which weighed most heavily against her requesting he did so. Serving as he did in the elite Special Air Service, which was so successful in anti-terrorist duties, he was especially vulnerable to anti-British propaganda from certain elements of the American political scene despite his participation being to help enforce law and order. She had no desire to subject him, his aunt, or Sheriff Jack Tragg to a situation which would expose them to such undeserved propaganda.
Asking the Englishman to prevent anybody following her or trying to open the main entrance, Alice had gone into the bedroom. On entering, she had solved the mystery of how the gang had gained admittance to the party. Closing the door, she had crossed to the hole in the wall. Dropping her identification wallet, to facilitate the handling of her Colt Cobra .38 Special revolver, she had found on entering warily that the adjacent bedroom was deserted and in darkness. Hearing nothing as she made her way to the other side, she had eased open the door. Although the lights were on in the lounge, it too had been empty. However, just as she was about to go in, a scantily dressed young woman had arrived.
Having drawn accurate conclusions about the female member of the gang, the redhead had decided to treat the newcomer as a potential suspect and had called out the order in a manner which identified her as a peace officer.
Rage burst through Sharon Sparswith at this latest proof that she had been far less clever than she had believed. Giving vent to a screech of fury and acting upon an uncontrollable impulse, she flung herself across the lounge instead of doing as she had been told. Despite the emotions which had provoked her reaction, she behaved in a very effective fashion. Leaping into the air as she had been taught, on the distance between them decreasing to where such an attack was feasible, she sent her feet driving ahead in what was meant to be a drop kick to the bosom of the woman confronting her.
Alice was holding her Cobra and possessed considerable skill in handling it, but she made no attempt to open fire. While the reflexes acquired by combat pistol shooting training suggested such an action, her other instincts revolted against sending a bullet at an unarmed person. Instead, recognizing the danger, she twisted aside with the intention of avoiding the kick. She did not entirely succeed in her purpose. Although she saved her bosom from being struck by the rapidly approaching feet, one caught her left bicep with sufficient force to send her reeling. Flying from her hands, the revolver disappeared into the bedroom and the radio struck the wall. The impact broke it just as Deputy Sheriff Bradford Counter, having discovered his own radio was inoperative, replaced it with one carried by another member of the posse, and prepared to make contact with her.
Rebounding from the partially thwarted kick, Sharon stumbled as she landed on the thick carpet. By the time she regained her balance, she found the ‘blonde’ was moving away from the wall and showing little sign of injury. Letting forth another screech which was almost inhuman in timbre, she rushed once more across the room. Seething with hatred, she advanced with arms and legs flying in demented motions guided only by primeval instincts. For a moment, Alice stood transfixed by the display of awesome ferocity. The spell was broken an instant later, when a wildly propelled forearm crashed into her face. Taking a step back, so Sharon’s flailing fists struck nothing more than empty air, she rushed in. Ducking beneath the lashing hands, she rammed her shoulder into the other girl’s midsection.
Breath whooshed from the lips of the recipient of the charge!
Folding at the waist, Sharon was flung into the center of the lounge and went down. For all that, as Alice plunged after her, she proved to be anything but incapacitated. Coiling up her legs, she placed her feet against the descending chest of the ‘blonde’ and pushed. Finding her advance turned into a hurried—albeit involuntary—retreat, Alice was once again propelled against the wall. Almost as soon as she reached it, she saw the voluptuous brunette was standing once more.
Guided by age-old instincts and primitive passions which overrode good sense and training, at the sight of Sharon rushing at her, Alice responded in a like manner. There was a hard smack of flesh against flesh as they collided. Somehow, they remained on their feet and their arms wrapped unthinkingly around each other’s bodies. Without entirely releasing their grips, they staggered and stumbled to and fro across the center of the room. Employing first one then the other arm to retain the hold, their fists swung and subjected the belly and torso to grueling pummeling. Every so often, a savage blow to the head would cause the legs of the recipient to go rubbery and her eyes would roll without expression, but the effect was only momentary. Some internal force made both women almost impervious to pain.
There was no telling how long the struggle might have continued in such a fashion if Sharon had not inadvertently hooked up one of Alice’s legs and toppled her to the floor. Trying to descend upon her supine opponent, the brunette took the jerked up left knee in the pit of the stomach. Letting out a croak of agony, she rolled away. Slightly dazed by her fall, however, the redhead could not make the most of her temporary advantage. By the time she was sufficiently recovered to make the attempt, the other girl was able to meet her as she advanced on her knees and the battle was joined once more.
Coming to grips again, the two beautiful young women—each superbly fit and well trained in barehanded combat—gave all they had to the struggle!
For five minutes, giving a display the guests at the apartment house wrestling party would have been delighted to witness, Alice and Sharon used fists, feet, knees, elbows and teeth with complete impartiality. Wrestling holds and throws were applied, then broken, as they slammed and bounced each other around the lounger. Completely unsuited for such strenuous activity, the brunette’s ‘shortie’ was soon torn from her. In her desire to attack the redhead’s breasts as her own were being assaulted, she tore at the far from sturdy beach pajamas until they fell from their wearer. Nor was Alice’s brassiere better able to survive the onslaught, but was sent flying by the clutching of the black-haired girl’s hands. As her shoes had been kicked off as a dangerous encumbrance during the early stages of the opening mill of the fight, this left them on an equal footing. Much alike in ability and a determination not to be defeated, their other attributes practically evened things out between them. What slight advantage Sharon had in height and weight was cancelled by Alice living a somewhat more healthy life. The redhead’s minimally superior strength, on the other hand, was circumvented by her opponent being a few years younger. Therefore, each had her moments of triumph when it seemed she had victory within her grasp. Then the sufferer would turn the tables and repay the punishment she had received until their positions were reversed once more.
At last, both girls were tiring badly. An exchange of blows which were closer to exhausted pushes ended with them stumbling together. Without any conscious thought, each wrapped the other in her arms and they clutched with all their remaining strength. Flesh ground against equally sore and protesting flesh, their copious perspiration mingling and diluting the blood being shed from nostrils, lips and an occasional bite. Both were squeezing mercilessly, shaking their heads around as if mutually agreeing that by doing so it would add power to and stave off the tremendous pressure being exerted by them. In some way, had there been witnesses to this latest phase of the awesome brawl, the effect would have seemed more horrible in its sheer relentless fury than the more active fighting had been.
Slowly, but surely, Sharon began to weaken!
Starting to shake convulsively, the girl’s legs grew increasingly reluctant to support her weight. Aching muscles rebelled against the dictates of her mind, causing her arms to tremble. Feeling this taking place gave Alice the fillip she needed. Calling upon some as yet untapped reserve of strength, little though it was, she managed to put on more pressure. After a moment, moaning piteously if breathlessly, Sharon collapsed. Her arms fell away from the redhead and her shapely legs splayed uselessly until the only thing holding her up was her opponent’s grasp.
Continuing her crushing for a few more seconds, Alice realized there was no longer any resistance on the part of the other girl. Sobbing in relief and to replenish her depleted lungs, she released her hold. As Sharon collapsed supine on to the carpet, the red head followed her down. Straddling her magnificent torso, ready to take whatever further action might prove necessary to render her hors de combat and praying none would be, as making the effort might be too much for her, Alice heard startled masculine exclamations. Forcing her protesting body to turn, she gazed through eyes blurred by perspiration and recognized the two men who were coming from the bedroom which gave access to the next apartment.
‘H—Hey, Brad!’ the redhead gasped, too exhausted to care about the scanty nature of her attire. The words came slowly and breathlessly, but pride in her achievement led her to continue, ‘Sh—She didn’t “lick me good” for you, but she sure as hell tried to!’
The blond giant stared in astonishment and was filled with remorse over what he knew he must do!
When there had been no reply from Alice, Brad had asked his partner what he should do. Deputy Sheriff Thomas Cord had instructed him to investigate; regardless of the disturbing news which had just been relayed to them via Central Control. Finding the elevator was inoperative, he had started upwards on foot, leaving the rest of the posse to deal with the stricken members of the gang and the traitorous security guard who had been captured and secured before he could give warning of their arrival. Gaining admittance to the apartment in which the holdup had taken place, the bolts having been liberated at the instigation of Houghton-Rand, he and the Englishman had come in search of the red-head.
Take care of her, Jerry!’ the blond giant requested, much as he hated having to ask. Tom and I have to split. There could be trouble for the sheriff!’
~*~
‘All right, amigos,’ Antonio Rodriquez announced cheerfully. ‘You can take off the blindfolds now!’
Doing as was instructed, the sheriff of Rockabye County blinked in the sudden glow of electric light which assailed his eyes and studied his surroundings.
Using his knowledge and skill at gambling to help the Mexican win at one of the black jack tables in the backroom of Jose’s Estancia, Jack Tragg had strengthened the process of ingratiation to such an extent that he was invited to share the other’s accommodation. Next morning he was informed he was to be recommended to the ‘biggies’ of the Society For Freedom From World Passport Regulations in the capacity he had suggested. Having ascertained that the organization did not possess contacts so far to the south, he had supplied ‘background details’ which would hold water if it should be checked by the limited facilities available to them.
Then had commenced the most trying part of any undercover assignment!
Waiting and continuing to live a life whilst playing a part alien to one’s real nature!
In the case of the sheriff, this was made even more difficult by the vital need to remember at all times he was supposed to be a Mexican!
That Jack Tragg had reached his present position was a tribute to how well he had succeeded in his most demanding role!
Four days had passed before the sheriff was able to pass word to Captain Eugenio Machados, via the means they had arranged, that he was accepted by the society. He had put the delay to use by trying to learn as much as possible about its organization and members. While he had not succeeded in obtaining the names of any of the ‘biggies’, possibly because they were unknown to Rodriquez, he had acquired other information which would be of value in breaking it up. However, wanting to avoid arousing even the slightest suspicion, he had not raised the matter of the double murder again. Nor was it mentioned by the Mexican after the first evening.
Having gained the requisite acceptance, Jack had found the organization of the society to be very efficient. Instead of departing on the day he was told, he had been informed he would be leaving the previous evening. As a similar thing had happened to Sergeant Ramon Sebastian, except that the departure had been delayed a day, the arrangements he had made to notify Machados were circumvented. There had been no chance for him to notify the captain of what was happening, but there was a ‘back up’ plan which should cover such an eventuality. When he had complained about the apparent lack of trust, as would be in keeping with the character he had created for ‘Juan Herrero’, he was informed such behavior was standard procedure and there was nothing personal in it. Nobody was ever allowed to know in advance exactly when they were to be delivered and, if he was to succeed in his work as spy upon them, he must be treated like an ordinary ‘sweat-raiser’.
Nor was the alteration in the date of departure the only safeguard employed!
Having some knowledge of what to expect already, the sheriff experienced at first hand the treatment accorded to every ‘sweat-raiser’.
Taken to a deserted warehouse on the edge of Delicias, Jack and three genuine male illegal migrants were checked over with detectors before being allowed to board the closed truck which was waiting there. This had been ventilated in such a way it was impossible to discover in which direction they were travelling. Having been transported by this means for something like three hours, they had been ordered to don blindfolds before alighting and being guided to a waiting helicopter.
In spite of his vision being impaired, Jack had heard enough prior to take off to assume the pilot was a Mexican. Once in the air, his association with Rodriquez had allowed him a greater opportunity than was granted to the other three to peek at where they were going. The amount of information he was able to gather had been minimal. There was little light from the moon and the glimpse he had had of the Rio Grande in passing was of no help in establishing his location as he had seen nothing he could identify. Soon after the river was crossed, the helicopter had landed in a clearing surrounded by thick woodland. On the passengers being ordered to embark, their blindfolds had been checked as they were about to do so. By sheer bad luck, the pilot had dealt with the sheriff and left him with no chance of avoiding the precaution. Told to keep both hands on the shoulders of the man ahead, they were led a short distance and into a building where they were allowed to uncover their eyes.
Putting aside speculations of how Sebastian had contrived to gather the leaves on the short walk through the woodland, Jack thought of the descriptions given by informants against the society as he looked around. As he and Machados had realized, such sources were unlikely to be accurate or even too reliable. The people who had talked were not trained observers. Nor, as they had belonged to the poorer stratum of the Mexican population, were they able to make any too accurate an assessment of what they saw. What might strike them as luxurious and expensively built could appear far less so to the average American observer. Aided by his trained gaze and greater knowledge, Jack concluded he was in the sparsely furnished living-room of a wooden walled hunting, or leisure cabin. There were, he knew, a great many such properties scattered through the wooded country on the Texas side of the Rio Grande. While this one was clearly expensive and well used, there was nothing to supply a clue to the identity of its owner. However, as far as he could remember, there was no comparable property in the vicinity of the clearing where he and his companions had found the body of the Mexican sergeant.
‘How long will we be here?’ the sheriff asked Rodriquez, as the other three passengers squatted on their heels at the other side of the room.
‘It shouldn’t be long,’ the Mexican replied, forgetting his earlier insistence that he and ‘Herrero’ should give no indication of being acquaintances.
‘When the chopper is refueled, huh?’ Jack suggested, as the pilot had not accompanied them from the landing area.
‘No,’ Rodriquez replied. ‘We’re waiting for the gringos to arrive and they’ll take you along the line from here.’
‘Aren’t you coming the rest of the way?’
‘Not this time, amigo.’
‘Aw shit!’ Jack grumbled. ‘I was looking forward to having you show me around Houston.’
‘I’ll be up there in a few weeks,’ the Mexican promised. ‘Until then, my Cousin Tomas and the other hombres I’ve told you about will do it when you show them my letter.’
‘Bueno,’ the sheriff enthused, having received what should prove to be a very useful list of names and addresses from his acquaintance. ‘I’ll be looking forward to seeing you again, though.’
‘Same here,’ Rodriquez asserted, then cocked his head in an attitude of listening. ‘That sounds like their chopper now. It won’t be long before you’re on your way.’
Ten minutes went by after the helicopter had passed overhead and landed!
Footsteps sounded on the porch and the front door opened!
One look at the two Americans who entered warned Jack there was an unforeseen snag for his plans!
In fact, should the recognition prove mutual, the situation would become perilous in the extreme!