The Day of the Guns (5 page)

I had laid out the trot lines, baited the hooks and now I had to wait. Somewhere people would be meeting and policy set. Action plans would be formulated with me as the target and the second-guessing would be going on. In that great cluster of buildings there would be worried people because they had to step on a snake or get bitten and couldn’t afford to lose.

So I waited for two days, knowing nothing would happen yet because whatever was done had to be done deliberately and carefully and things like that took time.

At nine in the morning on the second day a call came from the lobby that a Mr. Toomey was there to see me and I invited him up after he gave the recognition word that meant Martin Grady had heard about me.

You never knew what to expect in the way of his agents. This one was a good ten years older than me, a small man impeccably dressed like the Madison Avenue types, briefcase under his arm, rimless glasses and seemingly tired yet somehow good-natured. But in his past this one had knocked off his share and probably would again. He could handle a blade or a rod and would be adept at the peculiarities of the trade and follow orders right down the line.

I wondered what his orders were.

He sat in the chair I offered him with a sigh and looked at me with a single glance and I knew he was sizing me up all the way. He would have gone over the package Grady kept on me and knew every facet about my character and abilities, always allowing room for the little thing nobody knew about any of us.

“I presume you know why I’m here, Mr. Mann.”

“Certainly. I’ve been waiting for you to show up.”

“I see. Well, I’m here. We’ve had no report from you.”

“You won’t get one either.”

“Mr. Grady understands that.”

“Then what are his orders?”

Toomey smiled thinly and took the coffee I held out. “I think I’m going to surprise you.”

“Nothing surprises me any more, buddy.”

“This may.” I caught the direct, humorous look in his eyes. “You can proceed, Mr. Mann.”

“What!”

“Orders. Apparently by accident or coincidence you have disturbed something that needs disturbing. Your presence here has caused enough consternation in certain quarters that make an investigation profitable.”

“Did Martin Grady know about it before I arrived?”

“No. However since every effort is being made to sidetrack you it’s worth-while looking into.”

“Does he know it’s personal with me?”

“He realizes your motivation.”

“A fuse, huh?”

Toomey nodded and smiled. “Correct.”

“Then I can call on all the facilities of the command?”

“By all means.”

I sipped my coffee slowly, then put the cup down. “One thing, Toomey.”

“Yes?”

“What effort is being made to sidetrack me?”

His chuckle was quiet and low. “I’d hate to be on as many elimination lists as you are.”

“Finish it.”

“You’re on the new Commie ‘A’ form.”

“I was there a year ago.”

“This is understood, Mr. Mann. You are now a primary target. On top of that I.A.T.S. wouldn’t mind if you had an accident ... oh, not a deadly one, but enough to retire you for a while. Then there’s the British. Now you know how they don’t care for any interference in their projects. They even dislike tying in with our own government agencies and the British can be a tough outfit. Frankly, between the Reds and the British, I’d rather have the Commies on my neck. They are predictable and not nearly as determined. So, Mr. Mann, you are to have your head. Find out why you are so well disliked.”

“I can tell you now.”

Toomey made a negative motion with his head. “You may think so, but you don’t. Not yet.”

“So I will.”

“Mr. Grady seems to have great faith in your capabilities.”

I grunted and picked up the coffee.

“If you want me, I’ll be at the Chester Hotel,” Toomey said. “Wilson and Standish are ready at the office in Newark if they’re needed.”

“I don’t need anybody.”

He got up, opened his briefcase and flipped a sheaf of bills on the table. “Perhaps not. At least, you’ll need the usual. Call if you want anything at all.”

“Sure. Thanks.”

Toomey shrugged. “Orders. Now you have them too.”

I met Charlie Corbinet for lunch at the Blue Ribbon on Forty-fourth Street and went upstairs where we could be alone, and after the beer came and while we waited for our meal, gave him a rundown on what happened. As long as he was still with I.A.T.S. I didn’t have to tell him much ... all I wanted to know was why our own people wanted me taken off a project.

He let me finish, then leaned forward, crossing his arms on the table. “This security leak at the U.N. is a big one. Right now we’re in an arms race with the Reds and we have to retain control of key bases on foreign soil. Any information the Russians get on policy we establish with the various governments gives them an edge. We don’t stand alone any longer. While we make policy with a government within a nation that same government can fall to the opposition, so we have to play it so that whatever we do is acceptable to ... well, let’s say both parties in British government. On top, we have to correlate our relationships with them and similar situations in other countries. This means there are a lot of angles to the game. Somebody in the U.N. has a hot pipeline in our basic policy structure and we’re finding it hard to move. The goddamn Commies are always a jump up on us and overseas they’re moving fast and hard and we’re almost on the defensive. Right now a lot of agencies are trying to break through and if something interferes with their operation they’re going to knock it out.”

“It’s Rondine, Colonel.”

“Maybe.”

“I’ll find out.”

“Expose her then.”

“That won’t be easy. She looks like a young kid. She’s had a face job and everything to boot. Her background is damn near perfect, but you know and I know that it can be done.”

“Go to England then, backtrack her.”

“Nuts, friend, then I lose the bit here. It can be over before I get through. It’ll be easier to work out where I can reach her.”

“Okay, but it won’t be her alone. If she’s the one, she’s getting her material from direct sources.”

“She’s in the position to do it.”

The waiter came and set our plates down in front of us. When he left Charlie said, “Supposing it isn’t Rondine?”

I started cutting into my lunch. “There’s a good way to find out,” I said.

“Oh?”

“But you wouldn’t know about that. You never had Rondine in bed,” I grinned at him.

I dropped him off at his office an hour later and went back to The Street. The Great White Way ... brother, how it had changed. Where there used to be men and broads, now queers and jerks; the Black Muslims giving out papers ... the guys who wanted to be kings. Okay, so be kings, only first take the crown away. Small bands like with Young Assassin on the back of their jackets trying to buck men who had guns in their hands and took the beaches, pimps peddling sixteen-year-old whores and finding the clientele that wanted them, cops who had to dress like babes in order to suppress the traffic, idiots who let the knotheads make passes at their wives because they were afraid to buck the trend. Now the slobs were on the loose and not too many wanted to do anything about it. Ha.

A mile away an international fiasco was in the making that would cover that lice who roamed and one of a few that wanted to stop it had the heat going high.

So try to stop that one.

I was glad it was raining.

Stephen Midros had left a simple note for me to meet him for supper at the Kubla Restaurant, a small side-street place that catered to those of Hungarian background. I got there a few minutes before seven, saw Midros facing me in a far booth and walked over.

There was another man with him I didn’t know until Midros said, “I’d like you to meet Gregory Hofta, Mr. Mann.”

He had a look of confidence about him, a polished cosmopolitan thing with a foreign air and his handshake was crisp and strong.
Hello, sucker,
I thought.

Midros said, “We are quite alone and unobserved here and very much among friends so we can be quite candid. First, sir, let me assure you that in what short time I had I did a thorough investigation of Mr. Hofta here.” He smiled, watching me over his glasses, “And you too, Mr. Mann. You have quite ... a reputation.”

My eyes ran over Hofta quickly. He caught the move and nodded. “I don’t mind. These things are sometimes necessary.”

I played it as cool as I could. “And what do we find out, Mr. Midros?”

“Perhaps you had better tell him.”

Hofta agreed with a nod and folded his hands on the table. “There are times when we must take chances in revealing certain things.”

“I know the game.”

“Very well. I have been working with I.A.T.S. for nine months now.”

“Identify,” I said.

He did the trick with his thumb and forefinger, their first recognition code.

“Confirm,” I told him.

The next motion proved his point. For fun I answered him and he frowned.

“You seem to know quite a lot about our ways.”

“I have to. But that makes you know about me, too, doesn’t it?”

“Yes. So we’ll continue. How much do you know about the security loss in the U.N.?”

“This much,” I said. “Although I don’t know the details of what’s been divulged at this point, I understand the import of what’s happening. I can deduce future events if the trend continues.”

“Ah.”

“And I know where it comes from.”

His eyes narrowed briefly a moment. He waited.

I shook my head. “But you’re not doing me out of the pleasure of slapping the lid on it personally. How about that?”

Hofta spread his hands in an impatient gesture. “You leave yourself in a position of danger. You realize what could happen?”

“Sure, buddy, but let’s you offer the information.”

“The American and British agencies are cooperating in a joint effort to find the leak. It comes from somewhere inside the two structures.”

“Could you pinpoint it?” I asked him.

“No. It could come from the Embassy, the policy-making sections or out of the capitals themselves. Somehow the Russians always seem to know in advance what our decisions are regarding world situations and beat us to the punch in laying groundwork for their operations. Right now you can say we are in the stage of losing the cold war.”

“That’s how far up they are on us?”

“Precisely. In a few days something very big will come before the Security Council and if the Russians know our decision we will surely lose face in the eyes of the world if they move to make us rearrange our policy. That is why, Mr. Mann, if you have anything to offer, then do it now.”

“Not now.”

“The fate of many should not have to hinge on one man.”

“Tough.”

He looked at me, accepted the statement and said, “You told Stephen you had an interest in Edith Caine.”

“Don’t you?” I suggested.

“Doesn’t everyone?” He smiled.

“Maybe more than you think.”

“It is she you suspect,” he stated flatly.

“Buddy,” I told him, “I don’t
suspect
anyone. I know.”

“Then you can be dangerous to everyone.”

“Midros ...” I started.

“Yes, Mr. Mann.”

“Am I to be doubted .. , or is my reputation no good?” I stood up and put on my hat.

“Sometimes ... things change, sir.”

“But not now,” I said.

He looked at my eyes and saw something there. “No ... not now,” Midros repeated.

I knew I had a tail when I got out of the cab. Since he was waiting a block away it meant there was a team staked out to pick me up no matter where I got off and that kind of a bit meant business. It meant that they were going to be careful, too, so I went in the newsstand for a paper and made the crowd that shielded me from anybody outside and called Toomey at the Chester. It only took thirty seconds and I got the message across fast. I felt better after that.

One tail took me to the hotel, another one picked me up inside. He didn’t go up, but let a third check me through on my floor and as I went in the room he was going past the door.

Any time now.

But damn, there’s no sense playing with these types unless you can have fun at it. They had tried for one hit and missed, now it was my turn.

This time I didn’t hang on any window-washer’s hook. I had chosen my floor deliberately and outside my window, two feet down, was an eighteen-inch parapet that ran around the whole building. I climbed out, shut the window behind me and went around to the third room that I had taken out in another name and popped it open.

Forty feet below me, the streets of New York were filled with theater traffic, the cabs an unending yellow stream and the noise one gigantic celebration of horn-blowing. It would have been louder had not the rain been a blanket over the whole scene.

So I saw the guy at my other door and he never saw me. He was working the lock and when I said, “You!” ... he spun and fell on a dime and I missed with the .45 for the third time in twenty years and then I was in a tumble and roll because the bullet that creased my ear almost nailed me and I wasn’t about to catch one.

From somewhere a slug blew out the light and in three short seconds of time there was nothing but the thunder of bullets blasting the semidarkness of the corridor apart and when it was over there was nobody there but me on the floor and Toomey on the other end.

Except for one thing.

A Tokarev 7.65-millimeter automatic was lying on the floor outside my door with little splatters of blood all round it with the hammer back in full reload-and-fire position.