The Terminators by Hamilton, Donald

the blond man might have given them. Then they were coming past us. Greta Elfenbein had changed to brightly checked red-and-white slacks, which was a pity, considering her legs. A white ski-sweater made her look like a sporty elf. Adolf was wearing a dark blue business suit and a conservative blue tie. In daylight, close up, he was just an ordinary-looking, mild-looking little blue-eyed gent in his fifties. All he needed was a backwards collar and a prayer book to appear like a gentle village parson, instead of the very clever scientific character he was supposed to be, with a gang of unscrupulous thugs under his command. They went on to the serving table without glancing our way. "Yes, that's Adolf Elfenbein all right," Diana said softly. "At least he fits our description; and so does she." "How the hell did you get involved in all this, anyway, Diana?" "It's a long story. Don't ask if you don't want to know." I said, "Somewhere up the line, my life may very well depend on your reactions. Naturally I want to know what kind of a female nut I've got for a partner on this screwball operation." She laughed again. "Well," she said, "it was the gas shortage that did it, believe it or not." "Since you give me the option, I don't believe it," I said. "I mean, it was a damned inconvenience and still is from time to time; but I can't see you getting so upset about it that you volunteer for a crazy, crooked, international mission to swipe fuel for all the thirsty Cadillacs of America.