The Terminators by Donald Hamilton Page A

was opened to traffic, but he had to wait to let the shoregoing passengers get off the ship first, and I was among them.
    Alesund was a colorful little community clinging to the side of a mountain valley half-filled with water. Beyond the town limits, the hillsides above the fjord were covered with small evergreens that looked as if they led hard, precarious lives. The dock was fairly long and had a lot of big crates piled on it awaiting shipment to somewhere. I scanned it hastily as I moved downwards with the rest of the landing party, looking for a spot quiet enough for what I had to do.
    Then he was right in front of me and it was time for me to go into my act. After all, the groundwork had been laid. My lethal reputation, as Mac had termed it, was supposed to have preceded me. Now, if ever, was the time to cash in on it. He pretended not to recognize me, of course; just glancing at me casually and returning his attention to the ship, looking for someone else. He'd performed his mission, whatever it was, and now he wanted to find his immediate superior and make his report.
    " Han kommer inte ," I said deliberately, standing there. "He won't be coming. Ever.  Han kommer alldrig ."
    It was Swedish, not Norwegian, and I didn't know how good Swedish it was after all the years, but it got through. The kid looked at me sharply, lowering his pack. He was blond, like his late partner, but he didn't have the same red-faced, rawboned, rugged look. He was rather a pretty-looking young fellow, as a matter of fact, moderately tall but without much flesh on his substantial Scandinavian bones. He'd have looked swell as a lean young ski instructor in stretch pants, with a charming accent, telling the matrons politely to keep their feet together and their weight forward. People kept pushing past us as we stood there, but they didn't count.
    The boy licked his lips and glanced towards the ship once more. "Bj0rn?"
    "Was that his name?" I asked. "Bj0rn means bear, doesn't it? Well, your big, blond bear went swimming. Out there somewhere.  Han simmar ddrute ndgonstans . Only I think he's probably stopped by now. Do you understand what I'm saying, sonny?"
    "I understand," he said. "I speak Swedish, and also English, a little."
    "Good for you," I said in my sneering, overbearing way. "Bj0rn made a serious mistake, you understand. He was very rude to a friend of mine. A lady friend. That wasn't very nice of hun. He really shouldn't have done that, should he, sonny?"
    "Please do not call me sonny, Mr. Helm. Yes, I know your name, of course. My name is Erlan Torstensen. And I do not believe what you say about Bj0rn. He was very strong, very experienced—"
    "Look down, Erlan Torstensen," I said.
    He looked, and I heard his breath catch a little. There was a moment of silence. Up on the ship they were preparing to swing out one of the big cargo booms for unloading.
    "Do you recognize the pistol, Erlan?" I asked softly, concealing the little Llama once more. "Do you think your friend Bj0rn liked me well enough to give it to me as a present? If so, you are more stupid than I think. I took his silly little gun away from him and threw him overboard in the storm. What do you think I am going to do to you?"
    He licked his lips once more. "I am not afraid, Mr. Helm."
    I stared at him for a moment, unbelieving. Then—I couldn't help it—I burst out laughing. A couple of young girls moving past looked our way curiously. I noticed that their glances lingered a bit on Erlan Torstensen. He was a real handsome boy, and a real joker, telling me he wasn't afraid, as if it mattered. Well, of course it mattered, it was the whole point of the exercise, making him afraid; but I can never really understand anybody who thinks his goddamned courage is important enough to discuss in public, as if the world wasn't lousy with heroes already.
    "Come with me," I said. Torstensen hesitated. I said impatiently, '' Komm med mej!  Snap into it! Pick up that pack again and