Delta Factor, The (14 page)

“How tight is the security?”

“Impossible to break without a direct attack by heavy forces. Even then, they have orders to kill Sable if such a thing occurs.” She looked down at her hands as if studying her fingers. “Tell me, is this the reason why you are here?”

I said, “Yes,” and Kim's hand tightened on my forearm in warning. I shook it off gently. “Rosa's on our side, kid. We can't play this in the dark.”

Rosa agreed with a nod. “You are ... agents?”

“Of a sort.”

“This is a priority mission?”

“Top.”

“We will do everything possible if it means we may be able to overthrow this regime.”

“How many people have you got available?”

“Key government people are in hiding. About two dozen are trained and experienced in the military phases of what may be done. We have deliberately kept the force small to avoid infiltration and for mobility. The people, of course, cannot be counted on until there has been a definite success by our group, then they will rally. At the moment they are kept in fear by Ortega's mercenaries.”

“And the Commie influence?”

“They are waiting. We are not yet important enough to risk an international incident, but if they can move in subtly, they will, of course. Ortega has been cultivating them.”

“When are you planning to move?”

Rosa's smile had a wry twist to it. “Whenever a situation arises that will unite the people and force the dictatorship out. That is why we are willing to cooperate with you.”

I nodded. “We'll try to give it to you,” I said. “One other thing ... Art Keefer train your military group?”

“Personally.”

“Good. I know his routine. I figured as much.”

“One thing more, señor. You are being watched at this moment. They are Ortega's men under the command of Russo Sabin.”

“Yeah, I know. I hope they enjoyed their dinner.”

She stood up then, shook hands with us both and walked away smiling, saying hello to some of the regular customers on the way. For another half hour I played the good-time Charlie, left a fat tip for the waiter and paid the bill. On the way out I swayed a little, said so long to everybody around, laughed at their good-natured replies and even went to the trouble of including Ortega's men in the fun and watched them smile back uncomfortably.

Outside, we caught a cab and when I leaned back against the cushions Kim looked at me curiously and said, “What's the matter?”

“There was something funny back there.”

“Oh?”

“I made a big enough ass out of myself to get everybody looking at me.”

“You succeeded admirably.”

“Not quite.”

Kim frowned and waited.

“One made quite a point of
not
looking at me,” I said.

 

They had done a better job of shaking the room down this time. Both pieces of thread I had used on the suitcase to tell if it had been opened were seemingly untouched, but they had missed the third gimmick, a tiny splinter of metal on the lock itself that was straightened out when it was flipped up.

Kim waited until I lifted the leather facing on the bottom of the suitcase and extracted the Miami bankbook and the safe-deposit-box key before she asked, “You think they found them?”

“Sure they did. They'll duplicate the key and forge my signature.”

“If it was too easy they'll begin to suspect something.”

“I doubt it,” I told her. “We haven't been here long enough to stash something away with any degree of surety. The bag was specially made to hold this stuff and it was a good stunt. Ordinarily, nobody would have uncovered it.”

“At least it will give us a little more time if they fall for it.”

“We can't afford to wait, baby. Don't play these guys down. Ortega will have me hooked good when he finds out this is a decoy.”

“How do you plan to move?”

“I'll know in the morning. Tonight I'm going to see this Juan Fucilla and get the new layout of the Rose Castle and find out what's turned up on Bernice Case. You're going to stay here....”

“I am not!” she exploded.

“Knock it off. You'll do what I tell you to. This is supposed to be a honeymoon and newlyweds don't go prancing off all the time. There are other things expected of them.”

“But . . .”

“I'm taking another exit out. Nobody will see me go out or come back. If anyone checks this room I want somebody here. If they ask for me, tell them I'm indisposed.”

Her expression was a little too calculating. “Don't try taking a powder, Morgan.”

I slammed the suitcase shut and stood up. Before she could protest I had her in my arms and tilted her face up with my fingers and kissed the end of her nose. “With a bride like you waiting for me? Hell, I'm looking forward to my husbandly due.”

 

A call to Angelo brought us two magnums of champagne and an oversize plate of canapés to precede the supper I ordered. If there was a watch on our activities the indications would be that we'd be spending the rest of the night in the room behaving as a honeymooning couple should.

Without asking questions, Angelo described the way to get out the back entrance with the least risk of being seen. It involved a circuitous route used only by the hotel engineer and maintenance personnel, ending with an exit through the building that housed the central air-conditioning unit.

A foxy little smile creased his face when he finished and he added matter-of-factly, “You are here for something good, senor. That is so.”

“Don't make me admit it.” I grinned at him. “I have a reputation to protect.”

“Yes, I know of that. It is more that I can sense a person's motives. Perhaps because I am of no consequence people pay no attention to a bellboy. I can study them at my leisure and understand their compulsions. I have reason to hate many people, señor. In Nuevo Cádiz I have opportunity to see and study the most extreme types.”

I looked at him a little surprised. “Coming from a bellhop . . .”

“A university-graduate bellhop, senor,” he said simply. “Student of political science. Someday, perhaps . . .” and he let it drop there.

I nodded. He didn't have to say any more. Angelo was one of the little ones held in readiness. Carlos Ortega was grossly underrating his opposition. He waved off the bill I offered him and left with a polite little bow.

Kim's voice had no trace of antagonism in it when she said. “You have the touch, Morgan. How do you reach those types?”

“Why?”

“Because they trust you.”

“Don't you?”

She looked at me a moment, her face bland. “I have to, don't I?”

“Not necessarily. Why should you?”

“That's what annoys me,” she said. “There's no patriotism behind your actions. There isn't even the motivation of having your prison sentence reduced. It's only a game to you. You're enjoying yourself. You're being Morgan the Raider again, spoiling everybody else's pie. That's it, isn't it?”

I swung around and picked up my jacket. “No.”

“Then what is it?”

“If I told you, you wouldn't believe me.”

“Try me.”

“Why?”

“Because I'm the only one who hates you enough to understand it.”

“Don't push me, baby.”

“I'll push you as far as I want to.”

“And one day that will be too far for you to reach me,” I said.

Before she could answer I was out the door, heading for the service exit Angelo had described.

He had chosen the route well. Only twice did I see anyone, a maid and one of the room-service boys, but neither spotted me and I got into the basement, followed the line of blue lights that barely illuminated the passageway to the outbuilding, felt my way past the humming machinery that threw a waterfall onto the roof overhead and found the door that led outside. It had a one-way latch, so I gimmicked the tongue of the lock with the cover from a matchbook so I could get back in and stepped out into the darkness outside.

Somehow everything smelled different this night. It was like those other nights overseas a long time ago when the sense of smell had greater implications than the simple tasting of odors. You could smell an abstraction then, a danger that hovered in the air like a live thing. I could smell it now too. It was too nebulous to define, but it was there. It wasn't as real as those other times, not as sharp or as imminently deadly, but it was waiting like a slow-acting poison and barely discernible.

I stood in the shadows, watching the other shadows. For thirty minutes I was motionless before I was certain I was alone, then I picked my way into the stream of pedestrian traffic, got off the main street and walked until I spotted a cab disgorging its passengers and waved it down.

Earlier I had checked the city directory and picked a spot two blocks from Rosa Lee's house. I gave the driver directions in his own dialect and he made a
U
-turn and drove off with barely a nod. Ten minutes later he pulled to the curb, took my fare and let me out.

Her house was a simple frame affair set back in a jumble of weeds that sprouted among the trees, the single lighted window hardly visible from the street. I picked my way up the path, waited until the headlights of an oncoming car had swept by, then climbed the rickety porch and knocked on the door.

Inside, the light went out before I heard the latch click and the door open. I said, “Hello, Rosa.”

“Come in, Senor Morgan.”

She pulled the curtains closed before she turned the light back on and I had a chance to look around. Shoddy as the place was outside, the woman's touch showed here. Rosa caught my casual glance and said, “We who live here are not permitted many luxuries, señor.”

“The casino operations should eliminate taxes,” I told her.

The shrug she gave me matched the cynicism in her voice. “Señor Ortega prefers to keep the people subject to his will. That way his occasional gratuities make him seem like a benevolent person.”

“You should have done something before this.”

“Have you noticed the military?” she asked derisively. “They were field hands, the uneducated, criminals. Now they are in positions of authority and carry out Señor Ortega's orders to the letter. There was a parallel in Germany when Hitler first took over.”

I nodded. “Yeah.”

She watched me closely. “Perhaps their time is at hand.”

“Perhaps,” I said. “Did you contact Art Keefer?”

“Yes. He will be monitoring the frequency right now. I gave him your message.” She looked at her watch. “I suggest you call him immediately.” She turned on her heel and glanced back over her shoulder. “This way, please.”

The transmitter was a cleverly contrived affair some master craftsman had built into the hand-hewn beams that supported the old carriage house she referred to as the garage. It was so carefully concealed it would have taken a team of pros a week of working a specific area search pattern to locate it, and even then they'd have to have luck on their side. The manually extended antenna rose through a core in the beam and power was supplied to the unit through the house current. Rosa indicated the four supposedly beatup storage batteries haphazardly scattered around and told me they were on full charge for emergency use in the event of a power failure. Old car parts and a few discarded wheels gave the place an authentic appearance of an unused garage in case of a cursory search.

I switched the set on, dialed the frequency and turned up the receiver. “No longer than five minutes, señor,” Rosa advised. “The government keeps a full crew monitoring the channels. We can't afford to have this position triangulated.”

My hand waved the okay and I fiddled with the dial to break through the static, then picked up Art on the old Kissler code. Rosa listened, a frown on her face, not understanding what I was saying, nor would anybody else, but Art got it, all right.

“Morgan,” I said.

“Go ahead, kid.”

“You reach Jolley in New York?”

“Affirmative,” Art said. “You started something up there. The guy's shaking in his shoes, but he came through.”

“What's the pitch?”

“All he did was nose around trying to pick up something on Bernice Case and Whitey Tass. Someplace along the line he made inquiries about Gorman Yard and the squeeze started. Joey Jolley recognized it as coming from Whitey Tass and right now he's ready to cut out. He has something more, but he's holding out for protection. I had to play it by ear, so I clued him in on how to get to me. If he makes it I'll hold him here until you can speak to him.”

“Did he say what he knew?”

“He hinted at it,” Art told me. “Seems like he knows why Gorman Yard was bumped off.”

“Damn!” I exploded.

“He'll be lucky if he can dodge Whitey Tass. I reached a couple of my own contacts who told me something has Tass excited enough to call in all his troops on this movement. Now, where do I go from here?”

“Get Jolley and hang onto him,” I said.

“Will do. Things okay there?”

I caught Rosa's signal of tapping her watch impatiently and said, “Shaping up. I'll call back.”

“Roger and out,” Art told me and switched off. I cut the power, flipped the dial off the frequency and put everything back the way it was.

Outside, the smell was just the same. The
thing
was there. I closed the door and turned around. “Juan Fucilla,” I said.