Delta Factor, The (23 page)

“It's okay, kid. Thanks.” I said it without moving my lips or looking at him. He kept calling for Mr. Roberts and on the way back past me again I said, “The girl?”

“She made the flight. Be alert, señor. Director Sabin is in the hotel. He knows she is gone.” That was all he had time for. He kept up his paging into the casino area until he was buried in the crowd.

I finished my drink slowly, waved off the refill and walked toward the crap tables. The cashier changed two hundred dollars into chips for me and I played them off a few at a time, picking my way to the end of the room. The guards had me spotted and let me pass as long as I was in sight, but before I reached the last table I saw the major wave to them, pull four out of the ranks to hurry over to the desk.

That left only one standing by the door leading to the service bar and when I sank the stiffened tips of my fingers deep into his gut he never knew what hit him. I had him through the doors and on the floor without anyone seeing us leave and when I brought the butt end of the .45 down across his skull it was going to be a long day before he woke up again.

I dragged him behind the bar, shoved him into the storage space there and slammed the sliding doors shut. When it was done I got up and walked through the kitchen and out into the alley behind the hotel. The dozen cooks and helpers who saw me go were too busy to bother me and didn't think I was any of their business anyway.

You could smell the storm now. It had a fresh, salty tang, coming in on a steady wind whose intensity had increased steadily. It still wasn't strong enough to blow more than loose papers around, but a hurricane was a compact thing that always arrived unexpectedly no matter how much warning it gave. It would come in with the sudden, devastating fury of an explosion, create its destruction and pass on with blue skies and sunny days to bury the dead on.

The alley led out to the far end of the parking lot in back of the parapet that encircled it. I took it at a trot, pushed my way through the matted tropical vegetation that decorated its extremity and hugged the space between the parked cars and the wall, running toward the Volvo.

I almost didn't make it in time.

They were just a formless blur in the darkness at first, seeming to sway gently and merge with the wind-driven shadows from the banana trees and palms behind them. Then I saw the ivory glow of Kim's legs as she lay sprawled on the ground face down, her skirt whipped up to her hips.

I ran then, half tripping over unseen obstacles in the way, seeing the white ovals of two faces whose bodies were locked in a deadly struggle, and the .45 jumped into my hand. I let out a strangled yell when I saw the terror in Joey's eyes as he was losing the fight to keep Whitey Tass's hand from bringing his gun into line with his head. One car had jumped the short curbing into the grassy lane and I had to scramble over the hood before I reached them and I knew I wasn't going to be able to make it. Whitey's teeth were bared in a grimace of pure pleasure as he brought the gun around and there wasn't one thing I could do about it except watch.

But somebody else was watching too. I heard the sharp crack of a small-caliber weapon, saw the tiny flash of flame from the top of the parapet fifty feet away and the tableau froze into position even as I brought the .45 up and blasted two shots at the source of the gunfire. Then Whitey Tass seemed to melt slowly and collapse in a heap at Joey's feet.

He was too terror-ridden to talk when I reached him. I turned Kim over, saw the bruise on her forehead and the flutter of her eyes, picked her up in my arms and nudged Joey into the Volvo, tossing Kim in beside him. Somebody had started yelling at the front of the hotel and in another minute the place was going to be swarming with police.

Whitey I didn't have to worry about anymore. That single shot had taken him right through his ear and he died so quickly only one drop of blood marked the bullet entry. I grabbed the gun out of his hand, climbed behind the wheel of the Volvo and spun it out of the parking slot, shifted into forward even as I saw the crowd in the rear-view mirror running toward us. I cut down the ramp, turned east when I hit the street and gave the Volvo all it would take. As I made the first corner I thought I saw other cars taking up the chase, but I couldn't be sure.

Luckily, traffic coming into the city had all but ceased. A few stragglers still drifted along the shoulders of the road, the headlights of the car warning them of our approach. I wasn't familiar with this section of the city at all, but in the distance I could see the revolving beacon of the airfield sweeping the sky at intermittent intervals, and headed in that direction, hoping I wasn't going to trap myself in any dead-end streets.

Beside me, Kim stirred, groaned softly and lifted her hand to her head. Joey's breath was coming in gasps and when I said, “What the hell happened?” he could hardly speak for a minute.

“I ... don't know. It ... was Whitey Tass.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Is he...?”

“Dead,” I finished.

Joe choked on a sob of relief. Kim came out of it then, sizing up our position quickly. She pushed herself upright, her teeth clamped against the pain. I didn't have to ask her anything. Her words came out clipped but concise.

“I didn't think anybody saw us. At least the guards didn't. We ... reached the parking lot. Some people were there ... getting out of a car ... so we hid ourselves in the bushes. My fault ... because I wasn't watching ... all areas. Concerned about ... those people. He came up from behind and when I ... went for my gun he hit me with his.”

Joey had composed himself enough to sound rational again. “He was going to kill me, Morgan. If he hadn't swung on her he would have. I just grabbed his arm, that's all. He was too strong. He laughed at me. He was almost ready to shoot me and he was laughing about it.”

Kim said, “Did you kill him, Morgan?”

“No.”

I saw her frown, her hand coming away from her face. “Then who...”

“The shot came from the top of the parapet. Somebody else followed you out too.”

“Sabin's people?” she whispered.

I shook my head. “No.”

The anger in her put a bite in her voice.
“Who, Morgan?”

“It's just beginning to figure out,” I said. “That shot came from a peculiar place. Joey's back almost obscured Whitey's and even a wild shot had more of a chance of hitting him than Whitey.”

“What are you getting to?”

“That shot was a perfect, direct hit. It was meant for Whitey. The next two would have picked you off the same way if I hadn't blasted a couple into his position.”

“Morgan ...”

“When I'm sure, you'll know about it.”

I wrenched the car around another turn, the tires screeching a wild protest. The tail end slued around in the gravel before taking hold, then I gassed it down the dirt road in front of me. In the mirror I could see the reflection of other headlights against the low-hanging scud; then they passed, missing the turnoff I had chosen. There was only a half mile to go and I knew they'd be doubling back looking for my exit route when they missed me.

I saw the turn coming up, braked, downshifted, and threw the wheel over. I heard Kim's half-scream as she saw it the same time I did and I had just enough control left to avoid it. Somebody had abandoned a two-wheeled wagon almost in the middle of the road and it had damned near creamed us.

At the least it could do the job right if anybody was on our tail. I jammed my foot on the brake, backed up and hopped out. It took only a few seconds to grab the wagon by its tongue and pull it another four feet out into the road before I was back at the wheel, with the airport directly ahead.

They had the time; I didn't. I dropped them at the south end of the runway, and getting back to the other end would be up to them. When they got out Kim turned and leaned in the window, her lovely hair in disarray over her face, but eyes vitally alive and a mouth, lusher than ever, framing a statement.

“Morgan,” she said, “be careful. I really do care.”

I kissed her then, just once and quickly, let out a short laugh of pleasure and threw the car into gear.

This time I knew where I was. Ten minutes later I intersected the highway, followed the signs to the coquina road leading to the Rose Castle and turned down it. Up ahead was the end of the mission.

At the gate, the guard admitted me without question. Another pair on patrol around the grounds merely nodded when I parked the car, then went off on their assigned route. I reached under the seat, found the two containers Angelo had left there for me, picked them out and stuck them in the bushes under one of the stained-glass windows.

Now I was ready.

So were they. The metal grating was already up, the guards awaiting me. One said, “You will follow me, please, señor,” and I nodded. But I was watching the other one to see where he located the switch that activated the grate. It was in a small metal receptacle attached to a supporting column and when he touched it I heard the grinding of gears as the thing slid down into place.

The three of them were waiting for me, Fucilla and his two superiors. Their wineglasses were full, the huge decanter on the desk half empty, and I could tell by their expressions that they had taken on a damn good load while they waited for me. My delay and the thought of having Russo Sabin walk in at any moment had them on edge and the smiles they forced were more of malice than relief.

Pomp and ceremony were demanded for the occasion and all of them were resplendent in their military uniforms heavy with braid and medals. Here rank was evident by the weight of their ornaments, the captain a real fruit-salad type, the lieutenant a little less decorated, and Fucilla, as head guard, sporting only a few awards. Each wore a Sam Browne belt with a polished holster at his hip, the gun butts protruding from one end.

The captain waved the guard away after he admitted me and leaned back in his chair. “Ah, Señor Winters.” His voice was too smooth.

I answered the question before he asked it. “They evacuated the place where I kept the stuff. I had a hell of a time getting in.”

“But you
do
have it? ”His eyes scanned me closely, noting that it wasn't on my person.”

“Certainly.”

“Well, then?”

“All I want to see is the color of your money, Captain.”

They let out a little chuckle all around. This attitude they could understand. In fact, the captain must have anticipated it because he rose from his chair, bowed curtly and went to the wall, pushed back a picture and spun the dial of the wall safe behind it. He found what he wanted and laid it on the desk where I could see it.

“There, señor. Twenty thousand dollars in United States currency.”

I counted it slowly. It was all there. I put it back on the desk. “I left the stuff in the bushes outside the window. Look in front of the Volvo.”

The captain gave me another small smile, but his eyes flocked to the other two and he said, “Lieutenant, if you please...?”

“With pleasure, sir.” The lieutenant put his glass down carefully on the polished desk top, smiled at me and walked to the heavy door behind us.

I reached for the twenty grand and stuck it in my coat pocket. I was getting to be a walking bank.

The captain shook his head. “Perhaps we should wait for the lieutenant's return first, señor.”

“Why?” I gave him a grin and knew what he was seeing because I could feel it on my face. “You have a thing about taking money off a dead body?”

Maybe they were stupid enough to think that they were going to get away with it. Maybe they thought they had the odds on their side. They were so set to have their cake and eat it too that they never considered a cross and when it hit them they went for the guns at their sides and suddenly realized just how far the odds were against them. They never should have kept them holstered.

My first shot took the captain in the bridge of his nose, and I spun, took two quick steps to the right as Fucilla was clearing the leather and planted one square in the middle of his chest, the impact of the .45 driving him back to crash into the ornate sideboard and bring a shower of glassware down around his head. The echo of the shots still reverberated in the room like the thunder of kettledrums, the stink of cordite sharp in my nose. I had to hope the thickness of the walls and doors was enough to muffle the blast, but if it hadn't I was ready to cover both entrances and shoot my way through anybody who came in.

Those ancient Spaniards had built the Rose Castle well. A full minute passed and the only company I had was the death-glazed eyes of the captain and of Juan Fucilla. Until the lieutenant arrived and let himself in.

At first he didn't see the two on the floor. Then the smell reached him and his eyes centered on the .45 in my fist before they swept the area and realized what had happened. He didn't want to make their mistake and his expression was one of sickly pleading when he looked back at me again.

“You can drop that stuff,” I told him. “It's only sugar.”

He let the containers fall from his hands.

“Over here and turn around.”

Eyes full of fear bulged over a slack jaw as he did as he was told. He thought he was going to be shot on the spot and his body twitched spasmodically. All he could get out was “Please, señor ...”

“Shut up,” I said. I yanked his gun out of the holster, dumped the shells out of the clip and made sure the chamber was empty before sticking it back in the holster again. He couldn't figure out what I was doing until I asked, “Who holds the keys to Victor Sable's cell?”