Mickey Spillane - [Mike Hammer]

by The Killing Man [lit]

  9 For fifteen minutes I had been poking through my desk and the assorted boxes on the shelves looking for General Rudy SkubalÒs address. I found everything I didnÒt need, but not the single sheet of a loose-leaf notepad I remembered writing it down on. My filing habits were strictly garbage-style, and if I had given it to Velda in the beginning I would have had it by now. I kicked the bottom drawer shut with my foot and sat on the edge of my chair feeling like a damn idiot. Sometimes ... sometimes without being asked, Velda would put things away she thought I might have use for. A piece of folded-over paper would be too much to ask for, but I gave it a try anyway. I went outside to her filing cabinet, pulled out the drawer marked S and thumbed through the bank of folders. And there it was, single folder, SKUBAL, RUDOLPH, GENERAL. Inside a single piece of unfolded paper from a loose-leaf notepad with directions to the old mansion on Long Island where the powerhouse from the old, wild days was kept like an aged lion, regal, but raggedy from conflict, scarred, worn and with too many years for head-to-head fieldwork. Here was where he was putting together a lifetime of notes, cryptic data now unclassified that would turn out to be the manual of manuals for covert espionage or the hairiest piece of fiction ever. It had been a long time since I had seen him. I was hoping he was still alive. When I went back to the outer office I stood there a minute. The cleaners had gone over the area, the rug had been replaced, but there was still that almost imperceptible smell of Velda there. For a single second my mind flashed to the crumpled, smashed heap the killer had left her in and I knew the explosion was coming on unless I forgot about it. One by one, I let my fists unclench, the taut-ness go out of my shoulders and my breathing slow down. When I was okay I locked up the office and took the elevator down. It stopped two floors below mine, and Ed Hawkins, who likes to work all night, got on with his usual two briefcases, said hello and started complaining about business. This week was bad. He barely doubled his quota and that big million wasnÒt coming in fast enough. Together we walked through the foyer, signed out with the guard at the desk and pushed through the doors. We were heading in opposite directions, said so long when I saw a car break away from the curb with a wild swerve, straighten up and lay on speed. The driverÒs window was down, and there was a pro sitting there bringing up an Uzi automatic in his left hand to squeeze off an unimpeded burst of incredibly rapid fire. Motion seemed to be slowed down. I was yelling, falling and grabbing at EdÒs jacket all at once, then he was twisting in the air as the muzzle of the Uzi came alive with a string of unmuffled fire that sprayed bullets directly over our heads. My action had blown the gunmanÒs rhythm and the speed of the car took him past us, and while the glass was still falling out of the doors behind us, it was all over. The car squealed around the corner and was gone. Ed was on his face, eyes staring in terror, papers from one briefcase spilled out around him. I said, ÓYou all right?Ô He turned his head, still bug-eyed, and said, ÓI donÒt feel anything.Ô ÓYou hurt?Ô ÓNo.Ô He moved a little, his arms, then his legs. ÓI think IÒm all right.Ô He sat up and grinned foolishly, turned and saw the shattered doors in the office and said soberly, ÓWhy would anybody want to kill me?Ô Before I could answer, the guard came out, his service revolver in his fist. He made sure we were both unhurt, then got back to the phone and called the police. I got Ed back inside, sat him down at the desk, gave him a glass of water and grabbed the phone as soon as the guard put it down. By now Pat would be on the way home and there was no use getting him in on this. I dialed CandaceÒs home number, let it ring half a dozen times, then an obviously sleepy voice said, ÓYes?Ô I didnÒt want to risk an irate cut-off, so I threw it at her fast. ÓThis is Mike, kid. Somebody just tried to hit me here at my office. It was nicely set up, an Uzi from the car window and he almost got two of us.Ô Suddenly the voice wasnÒt tired any more. ÓYou are ... uninjured?Ô ÓOnly my vanity was hurt. Damn, everybody wants me dead.Ô ÓWhere are you?Ô I gave her the address. ÓHave you called the police?Ô ÓSquad cars are on the way.Ô ÓYou stay right there. I have to see you.Ô ÓHell, IÒll give my statement to the cops when they get here. I just wanted you to know this thing is coming to a fucking head.Ô ÓStop swearing. And stay there.Ô This was one night the cars were in the area. The cops from two cruisers came in, visually checking the area, then came directly to the desk. I went through the ID bit again, gave them the details that were confirmed by the guard and the shaken Hawkins. There would be a followup of detectives coming by at any second and I was hoping Candace Amory got there first to keep the pressure down. She did. She came in with a white trenchcoat thrown over a powder blue jogging suit and nobody had to tell the cops who she was. The detectives were right behind her wondering what the hell was going on, but the Icicle Lady got them all squared away in a hurry. I knew the plainclothes guys and they were giving me those strange looks that guys who have an in with girls get. She caught it too, and just let it pass. Somehow, most of the activity had bypassed Ed and when his nerves were back on straight, he finally stood up and looked at me like Jackie GleasonÒs Poor Soul character and said, ÓThey didnÒt want to kill me at all.Ô Nobody said anything. ÓThey were trying to kill... you, Mike.Ô ÓYeah, I know.Ô ÓNothing ever happens to me,Ô he said dejectedly. ÓEnjoy your near miss,Ô I told him. He packed the rest of his papers in his case, nodded good night and made his way to the door, stepping over the neat piles of glass the janitor was sweeping up. Candace had a magic way of clearing the aisles for us. There were no more questions and I knew the back way out to get around the reporters and the pair from the TV news broadcast. I wondered if that pair ever slept. Candace picked me up on the opposite street where the garage exit was and I climbed in. I asked her, ÓWhere to now?Ô ÓIt may sound silly, but your place or mine?Ô ÓLetÒs go to yours.Ô ÓWhy?Ô ÓBecause I can get out of yours.Ô Once again, I got that inquiring sideways look. ÓItÒs hard to be a nice guy and get a broad out of your apartment,Ô I explained. ÓTalk about macho,Ô she said. ÓLetÒs talk about now. TheyÒre coming down on my head like a ton of bricks. This being-a-target shit is for the birds.Ô ÓStop the nasty talk.Ô ÓIÒve heard you cut loose. Just get yourself shot at and see what you say then.Ô ÓAll right. What about tonight? Who knew youÒd be at your office?Ô ÓI said it loud enough at the hospital. I was talking to Pat, but ten other people would have heard me. But that doesnÒt matter ... my place had been staked out. That car was waiting there. Hell, if the mob guys want my ass, they could keep a dozen guys placed for a hit.Ô ÓThey told me about the attempted mugging.Ô ÓSure, that was for getting wise with one of the big boys. They donÒt like that attitude. I guess they didnÒt like what I did to their goons any better. By now they think itÒs time to go all the way.Ô I sat back in the seat, mulling it over again. She reached her building, let the doorman park the car for her, and we went up to her apartment. She flipped on four locks and a chain, threw her trenchcoat over a chair and went to the bar and made a pair of drinks. All the activity seemed to have run up some static electricity and the power blue jogging suit clung to her like Saran Wrap. Now she looked like a blue nude. When she handed me the drink she motioned for me to come over to the desk. There was a sheet of paper there with the city letterhead. It was full of numbers, ending in a nine-digit figure. She put her finger under the $905 million total and said, ÓThatÒs what they want to kill you for, Mike.Ô I put the drink down without tasting it. ÓYou were right. It all went back to DiCica, straight back to when he shot those two gang leaders and picked up that envelope.Ô ÓAnd you know whatÒs in it?Ô ÓYes. Directions.Ô ÓTo what?Ô I picked up my drink and finished half of it. I was beginning to feel that I was going to need a boost. Unconsciously, she flicked on the record player and the opening movement of Franz LisztÒs Dante Symphony flowed out of the speakers. If she wanted suitable background music, she was going to get it. ÓWhen does a rumor become fact, Mike?Ô Her voice was thoughtful. I could have answered, but it was her show and I let her play it out. ÓThe officers your friend had assist me knew what they were doing. They didnÒt even bother assembling data or ga
thering evidence. All they did was have me talk to a half dozen people. Strange people. Workmen in the underworld. Ev-eryone had the same thing to say, more or less. Do you know what the cocaine consumption in the US is?Ô ÓI can give you the latest estimate,Ô I told her, Óand thatÒs probably five thousand percent too low.Ô ÓWhy?Ô ÓBecause interception accounts for only five percent of the narcotics trade. The suppliers have an insatiable demand to fill. Hell, theyÒll put up twenty percent of volume to keep the narcs away from their main shipments. Our guys used to throw a party when they grabbed a few kilos of H, and now thatÒs real low-volume stuff. The coke coming in now runs in tons. Can you imagine that? Tons of pure shit ... and translated to street money, it can pay off our national debt.Ô Liszt was getting heavy now, gently thunderous. She turned, faced me, her eyes watching me. ÓTwenty years ago we never thought of deliveries in tonnage. It seemed almost impossible. There wasnÒt the manpower to enforce action against anything that large. The street dealers at that time werenÒt even set up to handle a quantity like that. Money wasnÒt available, the farmers, the initial producers werenÒt organized to grow a crop that size. Right?Ô I nodded. ÓWrong,Ô she said. ÓThat cartel was way ahead of us. The farmers were producing, the laboratories were set up and while nobody thought it possible, those cocaine exporters were ready to unload on us and they made the contacts with the East Coast families to get in on the deal at a beautiful price.Ô Now I remembered hearing about that years ago. It was a rumor then and it was a rumor now. She went on: ÓRemember, this is street talk. ItÒs been around a long time and could have escalated with the telling.Ô ÓI know,Ô I said. ÓThe cartel made the proposition through Juan Torres. The families got together, checked it out, pooled their money and bought a tractor-trailer solidly loaded with the purest cocaine you could find.Ô Just the thought of that much stuff hitting the street made me want to vomit. ÓYou realize the money involved here?Ô ÓCertainly, but imagine what it would be on the retail end when itÒs cut down.Ô ÓSomeplace a lot of hundred-dollar bills changed hands,Ô I said. ÓThey store it in temperature- and humidity-controlled bins now,Ô she told me. ÓTheir banking systems equal anything in Geneva, Switzerland. The cartel was given the key to the money and they gave the directions to the trailerload of coke to the organizationÒs representatives. When DiCica killed them and picked up that envelope he turned the whole deal upside down. He held nearly a billion-dollar shipment in his hands. No way the cartel would deliver a duplicate set. Their end of the deal was over. From here on in the organization handled it themselves.Ô ÓThatÒs some rumor,Ô I said. ÓWhy did they let Torres keep operating?Ô ÓNo way Torres could have bucked the organization. He could have had the shipment, but not for long. The other side had all the guns.Ô I rattled the ice around in my glass, then drank it down. ÓSo it was DiCica all the way, huh?Ô ÓAll the way. A stupid man who did a stupid thing. He knew where the trailer was. When they finally found him they were supposed to take him somewhere where they could squeeze the information out of him the hard way. They have some interesting ways of extracting information. The trouble was, he put up one hell of a fight and one of his attackers leaned on him a little too hard with that pipe. The fight was interrupted by a police cruiser so they didnÒt drag him off, but the trauma from the pipe took him out of action very effectively.Ô She paused and took a deep breath. ÓI wonder what he would have done with all that cocaine?Ô ÓHe would have used it for one hell of a big bargaining chip, thatÒs what. Even the mob would have cut a clean deal with him and let it go at that. Our own government would even set him up for life under an assumed identity to get their mitts on that load.Ô For one second her back went up and she started an angry denial. I held up my hand. ÓSmarten up, lady. We have people in politics as dirty as those on the other side.Ô ÓWell,Ô she told me, her face still tight, Óhe really paid for that mistake in your office.Ô ÓYou know,Ô I said, ÓyouÒre back to me again. It always comes back to me. With the kind of money going down on this project, somebody could afford to call in an outsider like Penta to nail my ass ... but that leaves one fucking, excuse me, big hole in the picture.Ô ÓLike what?Ô ÓWho the hell needed him? We have pro hitters in this country.Ô She seemed to look at me for an eternity. ÓHe said you killed him, Mike. What was he talking about? Could that note really have been for DiCia?Ô ÓAll I know, baby, is that it wasnÒt meant for me.Ô ÓIt isnÒt over, you know.Ô She finished her drink too and set the glass down beside mine. The first side of the Dante Symphony slid to a close and the machine flipped the record over. Now the real meat of LisztÒs symphony would begin to show. ÓWhat are you going to do?Ô ÓWhat I started out to do,Ô I said. ÓThat one son of a bitch is going to fall. I donÒt give a damn what happens to all the money or all the coke as long as I get that bastard under my gun. WeÒre playing around with somebody who likes to kill, likes to get paid for killing and likes to sign his name in chopped-off fingers.Ô Coolly, she said, ÓOne of you is going to find the other, Mike.Ô This time I grinned. ÓHas to happen. But before it does, sugar, IÒm going to make sure you have your truckload of nose candy. When you do, youÒre going to let Petey Benson in on the story, lay some credit on Ray Wilson and his espionage system, then you can hop into your bossÒs chair and be on your way to the White House.Ô The beautiful blue icicle moved toward me and the static fire in the jumpsuit crackled minutely, and when her body touched mine, I felt shock that jumped from her nipple tingle in my chest, and whatever that charge did to her melted the ice completely and her mouth was on mine, eating at me, swirling and tasting, trying to vulcanize us together. For a second I tried to hold her away, but her arms were around me and she was melting into me again. I let my fingers run down her back, following the muscles that moved along her spine, then my hands were at her waist and I knew what she wanted. I didnÒt do it, so she did it herself, sweeping the top of her jumpsuit off in a fast, fluid motion, and deliberately letting me have a long look at the lovely swell of those firm breasts before she pushed my coat off my shoul-ders and laid her breasts against my shirt so I could feel the heat, the incredible body warmth of her nakedness. She started to smile, an impish quirk of her mouth. ÓCan you take off your gun?Ô I unsnapped the belt loop, pulled the shoulder strap off and laid the rig on the chair. ÓA manÒs gotta do what heÒs gotta do,Ô I told her. ÓJohn Wayne said that,Ô she mentioned. ÓMany times, in many pictures.Ô ÓNow you do what you gotta do,Ô she directed. The Dante Symphony was coming to the end now. It was pounding, forcing the notes into an eerie crescendo so that you could see the flames, feel the passion and hear screams like none other anywhere. It was exhilarating to the point of absolute exhaustion and left you shaken with tremors that never came any other way. Traffic was light going out of town. I picked up the Long Island Expressway, stayed at speed limit and let my mind wander back to when General Rudy Skubal was the main man in covert activities. During World War II he had his own unit, working under the Office of Strategic Services, and had been reassigned after the Nazi collapse to nailing war criminals trying to get out of Allied control. He took a discharge in 1949, but the CIA was waiting then. The big action was tuning up in the cold war and it got hotter when Korea and Vietnam made their imprints on modern history. It was when the Middle East took on its own dramatic stance and developed terrorism to a high point of sophistication that the generalÒs expertise was called on. Then, suddenly, Rudy Skubal wasnÒt there any more. Somebody else occupied his office and the carefully couched words were that he had decided to retire. In a pigÒs ass he had decided to retire. He had rubbed some politicoÒs feathers the wrong way and the power of the party had gone to work and squeezed out a real top gun and threw in some insipid party hack instead. But old Skube didnÒt make any waves. He didnÒt have to. From then on he just made them pay for his services and kept himself the hell out of harmÒs way. Any more medals he didnÒt need. I wondered what kind of light he was going to throw on Bern and Fells. Until now, I had never heard of any of his tigers going sour. But there always had to be a first time. At Number 67 turnoff I
picked up Route 21 North, ran past the little town of Yaphank and looked for the posts that marked the entrance to the old Kimball estate. It took thirty minutes searching and backtracking before I recognized them under a covering of wisteria, surrounded by sumac bushes. Unless the road was used almost daily, the ground covering obscured the tire tracks. I made a hard turn off the road, bounced over the culvert and felt a little relief when I knew the ground under the wheels was hard and firm. After the first turn I was in another world. The seemingly uncared-for roughage of the exterior became a carefully tended wildlife area that quickly ended at a vast lawn surrounding a brick mansion right out of the Roaring Twenties. Even now the general was taking no chances. Any invasion of his privacy could be clearly seen from any angle of the house, and the floodlights that were spotted around the building could turn night into day instantly. I stayed on the driveway, going slowly, making the two large S-turns that gave the residents extra time to survey their guests, then drew up under the portico and got out of the car. Maybe I should have called ahead. Nobody came out to meet me. Then again, this wasnÒt the 1920s and the years of servants and butlers. I walked up the stairs to the huge main door, pushed the button and heard a plain old-fashioned doorbell ring inside and then somebody appeared. Some women can hit you with a visual impact youÒll never forget. There arenÒt many of them, but there donÒt have to be many to leave a trail of men whose minds will always be impressed by a single contact. They donÒt have to be beautiful in any special sense, or with bodies specifically tuned to certain concepts, but to each viewer, they are the total thing that makes them woman. This one had crazy electric blue eyes that could smile, as well as a full-lipped mouth, and when she said ÓGood morning,Ô it was like being licked by a soft, satin-furry llama. She had on a suit. The shoulders were broad, but not with the padding that was in style in 1988. She was real under the jacket and the military cut. It was tailored around beautifully full breasts, but short enough to show the generous swell of her hips. And she had a dancerÒs legs, muscularly rounded, but perfectly curved. They hardly make them like that any more, I thought. What sheÒs doing here has to be a story by itself. I said, ÓDamn!Ô under my breath and grinned back at her. ÓMy name is Michael Hammer, maÒam. IÒm an old friend of the general and I have something very important to see him about, and IÒm hoping heÒll have time to hear me out.Ô I held out my wallet with the PI license and gun permit behind the plastic windows, wondering where the hell my city schmarts had disappeared to. She let out a disconcerting laugh. ÓWell, Mr. Hammer, it is nice to see you. Please, come in.Ô ÓThanks.Ô I stepped up and walked past her. She was another big woman, with elfish grace, yet strangely athletic motion. She closed the door with a sweep of her hand, then thumbed open a panel and touched a red lighted button that went out momentarily and turned green. ÓMay I have your weapon?Ô she asked me. I flipped out the .45 and handed it to her. She took it, slipped it inside a small wall closet and covered that too. ÓYou didnÒt ask me for a throw-away piece.Ô I said. ÓThatÒs because you havenÒt any.Ô She smiled back. ÓKeys, pocket change and possibly a penknife, but nothing more. The instrument is very sensitive.Ô ÓSupposing somebody just comes busting in here×Ó ÓWhy talk of unpleasant things?Ô she said. ÓNow, I havenÒt introduced myself. I am Edwina West, General SkubalÒs secretary.Ô ÓHold it.Ô She paused. ÓMr. Hammer?Ô ÓLetÒs keep it simple and square, Miss West. No secretary garbage.Ô ÓOh?Ô ÓYouÒre CIA, arenÒt you?Ô There was no hesitation at all. ÓYes, I am. Why should you ask?Ô ÓWomen donÒt generally refer to a gun as a weapon. You knew what a throwaway was.Ô Her smile had real laughter in it. ÓIÒll have to remember that,Ô she told me. ÓDo you like me any less now?Ô It was my turn to laugh. ÓYouÒre some kind of doll, Miss West. You make a guy feel like he walked into a propeller.Ô ÓPlease, call me Edwina.Ô ÓOkay, Edwina. Just tell me ... is it genetic?Ô She took my arm and folded it around her own. ÓMy mother seemed to have some sort of attraction for men too. DonÒt all women have that?Ô ÓHoney, not the way you have it. You must have been a terror when you were growing up.Ô ÓDo you know how old I am, Mr. Hammer?Ô ÓMike,Ô I told her. ÓAnd IÒd say you were forty, forty-two.Ô Usually, when you lay that on a beautiful woman you feel the chill. A cold can come off them like a shore-bound fog and you get the thrust of mental death. But not her. She said, ÓI am forty-eight. Does that disappoint you?Ô I said, ÓWatch it, Edwina, youÒre touching nerves I didnÒt know I had.Ô She squeezed my arm with her fingers. It was a long, gentle, but soft grasp and she said, ÓDonÒt be surprised at what I know about you. IÒve read the profile the general has on you, the accounts the press have touched on and a lot of information you probably consider extremely personal.Ô I stopped, turned us around and looked at the door forty feet behind us. We were in a big foyer, a generous room lined with expensive fixtures I hadnÒt noticed until now. I said, ÓKid, we just met, we walked about thirteen yards together and I could write a book about whatÒs happened inside three minutes. Does that happen all the time?Ô The way her mouth worked when it was starting to smile was startling. Those incredibly blue eyes were almost hypnotic. ÓOnly when I want it to,Ô she said. ÓAnd there is something else.Ô ÓWhatÒs that?Ô She turned me around toward a pair of heavy hand-carved oaken doors, tugged very easily on an ornate brass handle and the door opened noiselessly and without effort. ÓThat I will tell you later.Ô The house was real enough, the kind you could get lost in, the kind they used for background in period motion pictures, or classic horror films. Edwina gave me a small, tour on the way to see the general, but everything got lost in the throaty rich tone of her voice. There was music in it, low and demanding. There was a light touch of lust and overtones I could feel, but couldnÒt describe, and when we got to the final door I began to wonder what the hell had happened to me. I was in some kidÒs damn daydream acting like I had my head up my ass and enjoyed it. I finally let out a laugh and she knew I was laughing at myself, gave me one of those lovely grins back and knocked on the door. A buzzer clicked and the door swung open. We stepped inside and the door closed automatically. A light was on us, so bright it cut off all vision of anything behind it like a solid wall. I heard a chuckle, and a voice that hadnÒt changed at all with the years said, ÓGood afternoon, Michael.Ô The light went off with a metallic ping and another came on that lit up the office. Back there at the same old desk, but now surrounded by rows and banks of electronic equipment, was General Rudy Skubal. I said, ÓHello, General.Ô ÓWhat do you think?Ô ÓPretty damn dramatic,Ô I told him. ÓYouÒre only looking at the surface.Ô He waved at us. ÓCome on over here.Ô He pushed himself out of his chair and held out his hand. I took it, enjoying the good grip the old man still had. ÓHow long has it been, Michael?Ô Hell, he would have known to the day, but I said, ÓMany moons, General. You still look pretty sharp.Ô ÓEyewash. IÒm becoming enfeebled. ItÒs a pain in the butt, yet unavoidable.Ô He tapped the side of his head. ÓUp here I can go on indefinitely, and with the machines much can be accomplished, but the old physical thrill of the chase is gone. I havenÒt popped anybody in the teeth in so long I hardly remember what it sounded like.Ô ÓIt never sounds,Ô I said. ÓThey break off quietly. If you cut your hand on them, you can get one hell of an infection.Ô General Skubal squinched up his face and shook his head angrily. ÓHell, man, you see that? You remember? Damn, you still get to do those things and have the fun. You kick ass and get laid and I push buttons.Ô ÓDonÒt sweat it, General. ItÒs only fun when you live to remember it,Ô I reminded him, Óand with the security you have here youÒll live long enough.Ô He ran his fingers through his mop of blazing white hair and let me see a small smile. ÓDonÒt overrate Edwina here. She causes me more anxious moments than the enemy. You know sheÒs CIA, donÒt you?Ô ÓOf course.Ô ÓYou tell him?Ô he asked her. ÓNo, he knew,Ô she answered. ÓSee, thatÒs why I wanted to recruit this guy,Ô he said. ÓWhat an agent he would have made.Ô He paused, looked at the both of us a second, a wrinkle showing in his forehead. ÓHe would have straightened you out, gal.Ô She looked straight at me, a b
right blue stare daring me to say it. So I said it. ÓGeneral, you never straighten out lovely curves like that.Ô I watched old Skubie frown again and look up at me from under his whiskery eyebrows. Finally he said, ÓEdwina, go rassle us some coffee and Danish, okay?Ô She winked at us both, waited for the general to trip the door buzzer and left. ÓCrazy,Ô I said. ÓI never had that when I was young,Ô the general muttered. ÓNow, Michael, I assume this is not a Ñjust happened to be in the neighborhoodÒ call.Ô ÓPure business, General.Ô ÓOur kind of business?Ô ÓRight.Ô He flipped a set of switches on a control panel in front of him, then leaned back in his chair, his hands folded behind his head. ÓOne more assumption ... this has to do with the death in your office?Ô The old guy was on the ball all right. ÓThatÒs how it started.Ô ÓOkay, shoot,Ô he said. ÓTell it your own way.Ô I gave it to him in detail the way it opened up, setting the stage with the way I found Velda and the mutilated body of DiCica in my office. He knew about the note, but when I mentioned the name Penta, his lips pursed, he took his hands down and wrote out the name on a pad, then sat back and listened again. I ran the whole thing down for him without bothering to tail off into DiCicaÒs initial role. Anything he could give me I wanted to point directly at the killer himself. Halfway through, the buzzer sounded. Edwina came in with the coffee and Danish, put them down on the desk and went back out again. When we stirred the coffee up, the general nodded for me to continue. I took him through the details Russell Graves had dug up, the data Ray Wilson had brought out of the computers and the events that led to Harry Bern and Gary Fells being mentioned as cadets the general had in his old unit. When I finished, the general leaned on the desk and touched his fingertips together. ÓYouÒre stirring up old memories, Michael. The names you mentioned, I know those people well. Carmody has always been a good career man. If you re-member, he was the one who grabbed that bunch hijacking trucks last year. Ferguson spent his early years in the European sector. Speaks four languages, I understand. The last administration brought him to this area. Bennett Bradley was always a good man for State. He had the makings of an operative, you know, but too conservative. His forte, as I remember it, was political science. Too bad theyÒre forcing retirement on him.Ô He stood up, pushing his chair back. ÓHowever, before we get to Bern and Fells, let me have a brief consultation.Ô He nodded toward a computer bank. ÓWant to watch?Ô ÓSure,Ô I said. ÓWhy not?Ô This was the new battlefield now. Nothing dirty, no wild screams of terror or staccato noises of fast-firing guns. No sliding around in muck or taking high dives onto hard flats to get out of a field of crossfiring rifles. No knives or insidious poisons or wire garrotes nearly decapitating a human. Now it was quiet button-tapping sounds and lighted letters and numbers flashing on the screen, being rearranged, rechanneled for new information, positioning themselves into faraway circuits, then returning in seconds. The general had entered his request for knowledge of the one called Penta. It was caught up in the wizardry of electronics and General Skubal sat back and let the machine take over. While it worked, he said to me, ÓIn case youÒre interested ...Ô ÓGeneral, IÒm very interested.Ô ÓMy so-called retirement was not for very long. The idiots who pulled me were dumped at the next election and I was reinstated right where I wanted to be ... here, and at government expense. These machines are owned and serviced by federal funds and are state-of-the-art equipment. And believe me,Ô he added, Óthe government is getting their moneyÒs worth ... and IÒm living doing what I can do best.Ô ÓTell me, General, how secure are you here?Ô I looked around at the enormity of the project, knowing that this was the best of miniaturization. He said, ÓThere are eighty people billeted here. That placid landscape you saw outside is one huge deathtrap of a minefield, each charge being detonated electrically from inside here, or isolated to operate independently. With the elec-tronic sensors we use, no dogs are necessary, no patrols needed, so we look indeed like a quiet retreat in the country.Ô ÓHow about power?Ô ÓThereÒs a solar collector on the roof. Storage batteries can last two weeks at full power. Of course, this is in addition to regular power supplied by underground cable. Beneath the building is a deep well with reserves for fire-fighting supplies. Our food larder can last a month and if youÒre a drinking man, those needs are supplied too.Ô ÓThatÒs a siege condition, General.Ô ÓYes. But these days, you never know, do you? At least this is what weÒre protecting.Ô His hand indicated his vast electronic battlefield. Then the face of the screen that was blank lit up. The name Penta appeared, then the sketch story about the one who appeared as a will-oÒ-the-wisp on the world scene. Penta meant nothing. It was a code name assigned by the CIA. There was no physical description. PentaÒs activities had been linked with the Stern Gang and the Red Brigade. His terrorist actions were noted by certain dictatorship governments, and it is suspected that he often worked on their behalf. Sixteen known assassinations were attributed to him, all of them with various forms of digital butchery done to the victims. I said, ÓDigital butchery?Ô ÓNewspeak for finger-chopping.Ô ÓGreat.Ô ÓInteresting note here ... Penta is suspected of being a mole in the NATO organization. He had to have inside information to accomplish several of his kills. No proof offered, but circumstantial evidence is hard. Now look at this.Ô Three CIA reports came on-screen with information compiled by Bennett Bradley. Twice he had almost cornered Penta when national police action of one foreign country stymied his move. The third time he was shot in the thigh by Penta and his quarry got away. There was a fourth item suggesting Bradley be removed from the assignment. Now I could understand his last-ditch attitude, wanting to grab Penta before his replacement got into the act. The words stopped appearing. Two lines of dots went across the screen, then five groups of letters, six letters to a set, appeared, the last group flashing on and off regularly. The general grunted, took a key from his pocket and walked to a safe against the wall. He spun the dial three times, opened the thick door, then used the key on a box inside. ÓWhat are the letters in the last group?ÔÒ he called out. ÓR T V W Y,Ô I called back. He closed the box, put it back and slammed the safe shut. When he sat down again he punched a key and the screen went blank. ÓThis Penta person is over here on one hell of a high-level assignment.Ô ÓTo kill me, General?Ô Damn, it was starting again, right here. ÓYou worth killing?Ô ÓNot to anybody I know.Ô ÓHow about to somebody you donÒt know?Ô I sat down and my teeth were grinding together. I took a couple of breaths, relaxed and looked at the old guy. There was knowledge and patience and wisdom sitting there, and somehow he knew what I was thinking and was trying to direct my own thoughts in a logical direction. This was one direction that didnÒt allow for logic. I shook my head. ÓNo way. You canÒt go through me and locate Penta. The road to that guy is through Bern and Fells. ThatÒs the connection. Those two are looking for Penta and if we can run them down, we can get inside the reasoning behind all this. ThereÒs a motive, General. ItÒs good enough to kill and destroy for and when we have that, we have Penta.Ô ÓI can give you Fells and Bern,Ô he said simply. ÓYou familiar with their history?Ô ÓSomewhat.Ô ÓWild ducks, that pair. Unstable, adventuresome . . . after they left the service, they laid down a pretty greasy trail. Three different countries hired them for covert work and they did a damn good job for them. Libya was their last employer.Ô He wasnÒt finished and I didnÒt push him. ÓThe last three jobs attributed to Penta×political assassinations of top personnel×were at the behest of some Arab organization inside Libya.Ô ÓSo the three were contemporaries in possibly related actions.Ô ÓPossibly.Ô ÓAnd now Penta and Fells and Bern are over here together,Ô I said, Óonly now theyÒve lost touch. Bern and Fells want to locate Penta badly. They think I have a lead and try to squeeze it out of me: Question: How did they lose track of Penta?Ô ÓI know a better question,Ô General Skubal told me. ÓWhy were they looking for him in the first place? Penta is not an organization man, Penta is a loner, a total loner absolutely dedicated to his work.Ô ÓLetÒs go a step further, General,Ô I suggested. ÓHe is here, so his work is here. His targets never were minimal, so his target now is
nÒt minimal, and so far he hasnÒt nailed his intended target.Ô I saw the way he was looking at me and added, ÓForget the crap about him going for me.Ô ÓWho shot at you, Michael?Ô I didnÒt say anything. ÓOkay, you have another angle too. I suspected that.Ô ÓI only want Penta. After what he did to Velda, he is mine. Just mine. What else heÒs here for wonÒt matter. When I meet him, everything else gets wiped out along with him and it will all be over. Now tell me about Fells and Bern.Ô The general poured himself another cup of coffee and popped in a few cubes of sugar. ÓThat pair are on FBI and CIA wanted lists, and thatÒs for starters. Unfortunately, theyÒve been too well trained for our people to put them down. So far, nobody made any inquiries to me, or I might have steered them to a few points that might bear fruit with a stakeout.Ô ÓThey know theyÒre wanted?Ô ÓNo doubt,Ô he confirmed. ÓBut now theyÒre here, and thereÒs one thing theyÒve probably forgotten about. Like any of the people in our work, they have safe houses to hole up in right in their enemiesÒ backyard. We establish these places for them, or when necessary they can make the arrangements themselves. Fells and Bern like to do their own work. They didnÒt want anybody knowing where they had a safe house, including me. However, I realized that, and knowing the way their personalities were developing, I made sure I ran down the three places they had on the East Coast. They never found out and I never published the information because they were operating in Europe most of the time.Ô ÓThey came back often enough.Ô ÓSometimes it is better to watch the rats to see whatÒs happening than kill them outright. They didnÒt make the high-priority wanted lists until fairly recently.Ô ÓWhere are the houses, General?Ô ÓThis I donÒt bring up on the computers. Wait here. I want to make some phone calls.Ô I sat there, made another cup of coffee for myself and finished a Danish before he got back. He sat down and looked at the piece of paper in his hand. ÓOne was in Freeport, Long Island.Ô ÓWas?Ô ÓIt burned down a year ago. Another was in the Boston area. The city ran an expressway through the site. Forget it.Ô ÓDamn, is this going down the tubes too?Ô I demanded impatiently. ÓThe last oneÒs in Brooklyn. Unfortunately, itÒs in an area slated for demolition. I have an operative checking on the situation now.Ô ÓHell, canÒt we just move in and ... ?Ô ÓThese guys arenÒt amateurs, Michael. TheyÒll have everything covered. First we find out what the status is, then you can plan your move. My man is going to call back. HeÒll leave one word as to the situation. If he says yes, then itÒs a go. ItÒs all yours, my boy. ThereÒs no help unless you ask for it and I doubt if youÒre going to do that.Ô ÓYou doubt correctly, General. Just tell me one thing.Ô ÓWhatÒs that?Ô ÓHow come you invite me right into your super-world and let me peek at all the classified goodies and give me such undivided attention when all I am is a plain old private-style investigator?Ô ÓYour personal profile, my boy,Ô he said cheerfully. ÓI remember every word of it. Besides, one more after Penta canÒt hurt anything.Ô ÓBaloney,Ô I said. His cheerful smile disappeared and his face was flat. All of a sudden we were two nasties ready to go after the other nasties. ÓYouÒre a damn killer, buddy,Ô he told me. ÓWe need people like you.Ô ÓWhat are my odds, General?Ô ÓAgainst Fells and Bern? IÒll give you the edge there. They have the training. You have the instinct on top of it.Ô ÓWhat about Penta?Ô He pushed a button on the desk, waited until Edwina answered and said, ÓIÒm going to take my nap. I want no calls and no visitors. Mr. Hammer will stay until he gets his message. Please see that he is taken care of.Ô He wiped his eyes, moved his shoulders in a shrug, then peered up at me. ÓYou die for killing me,Ô he said softly. ÓA riddle. A veritable riddle.Ô ÓAll riddles get solved,Ô I said. When Edwina came into the room he handed her a slip of paper. ÓIf the caller says yes, then give this to Michael here. ItÒs an address heÒll want to look into. LetÒs not send him on a wild goose chase if itÒs not necessary.Ô She looked at the paper, went to a small machine, dropped it into an opening and pushed a button. A puff of smoke came out. She smiled and said, ÓSecurity,Ô holding out her hand to steer me to the doorway. ÓWould you like to see the house?Ô ÓIÒd rather see the security systems.Ô ÓThatÒs a negative, of course.Ô ÓLet me tell you something, kid. My imagination is enough to figure out everything they have laid down. Frankly, I hope itÒs the best. The only part I donÒt like is the lack of manpower on the perimeter. Some wise guy can always figure a way to interrupt any kind of electrical system.Ô She ran her fingers down my arm and took my hand. ÓThatÒs what they have me for. IÒm supposed to distract them.Ô We started walking toward the glass-enclosed veranda. I gave her a long, inquiring look. ÓThatÒs the other thing. Just what is a doll like you doing here anyway? YouÒre not a secretary.Ô At the door she opened the panel box and flipped a switch, then closed it. ÓNo, not primarily.Ô We walked out onto the enclosed porch area and looked over the vast openness of the estate. It had a strange color of green, and I knew we were looking through one-way glass. ÓDonÒt give me the bodyguard bit. Women can be good, but the strong-arm act goes to the men.Ô ÓTrue,Ô she agreed. I dropped her hand, took her by the shoulders and kept her back to me. She tightened a little bit when I ran my hands over her, under her arms, down her sides, then felt each thigh down to her knees. When I stood up she said, ÓYou forgot to look for a derringer between my titties.Ô I did a gentle probe and said, ÓSatisfied?Ô ÓHow did you know?Ô ÓYou turned the alarm off, sugar. IÒm clean, so that leaves you with some hidden metal that could trigger the gizmo.Ô ÓMike, you are clever. No wonder the general thinks so highly of you.Ô ÓIÒm curious, lady.Ô She smiled at me. A damp, coy smile that was a ripe invitation. Three brass buttons held the jacket closed and my thumb flipped them loose one by one, the last one almost springing away from the pressure of her breasts. She shrugged, and her jacket fell to the floor and she put her arms around my neck, her big blue eyes full of pleasure and adventure. Inside the sheer silk blouse she flowed like honey, not needing a bra to keep her breasts high and firm. I touched her lightly again and she knew what I was feeling for. She made a little gesture with her head and didnÒt try to stop me. But there were no scars from surgical implants or reconstruction work. Around her waist she wore a three-inch-wide leather belt with ornate silver decorations in a flowing Mexican pattern. ÓThatÒs what would set the alarm off,Ô she told me. I fingered the hand-tooled buckle anyway and tugged it loose. The belt was a beautiful piece of work, every bit of the leather touched by the artisanÒs hand. Even the silver was embossed with intricate design work in delicate patterns. All but two pieces. They werenÒt silver. They were a dull-finish alloy and I opened the catches and took the .22-caliber shots out of the midget chambers, two little slugs that could rip far into your guts up close, enough to ring your bell for keeps. ÓCute,Ô I said. ÓYou are strong-arm after all.Ô ÓWell, I couldnÒt really wear a piece the size of yours, could I?Ô ÓWhy the snakey stuff, Edwina?Ô ÓRegulations. We have to be armed at all times. The choice of weapons is at our discretion in situations like this.Ô ÓAnd thatÒs what I asked you to start with. What is your assignment here?Ô Her arms came from around my neck and she laced the fingers of her hand around mine. With her other hand she took the belt from me and dropped it on top of her jacket. ÓWould you believe me if I told you?Ô The blue eyes were yearning, trying to say something. She wet her lips gently, and I had to stare at the slickness of her mouth. Her lips parted and I could see the pinkness of her tongue. ÓR and R,Ô she said. Rest and recreation. ÓThis is a hell of a place for that.Ô ÓI needed the rest. They made me take three months of it.Ô ÓBut why?Ô I insisted. She took her hand away, ran the zipper down on the side of her skirt and it dropped to the floor. The flimsy silken bikini bottom only enhanced what it tried to hide and when she pulled her blouse open, I saw what had happened. Her belly had been ripped by three bullets that went in the front at an angle and exited the sides through the soft flesh, and the healed pucker marks were still red and angry-looking. ÓWho did that, Edwina?Ô ÓIt doesnÒt matter.Ô I nailed those blue eyes with my own. I knew my teeth were showing in a nasty grin. ÓI was in the field,Ô she said. ÓI
wasnÒt careful enough.Ô ÓAnybody drop the guy?Ô ÓNo. He got away.Ô She was looking at me carefully now. ÓDoes it disgust you?Ô I shook my head. ÓI got a couple myself. TheyÒre medals, kid. Treat them like medals.Ô I put my hands on her naked waist and pulled her in close to me. ÓYou are one special woman, Edwina. The air seems to shimmer around you. I can feel your body heat and watch you pulse with whateverÒs going on inside that body of yours. Those scars on you arenÒt ugly. They tell the world all about you. Hell, on you they even look good.Ô Sparkling blue. The eyes went sparkling blue and grew sleepy-lidded. I saw her mouth come close, soft and damp, and I leaned forward to meet it, and tasted the deep essence of her. For that short interval I was completely absorbed into a strange wonder, locked tightly with a naked woman on a huge windowed veranda, far away from all the wild thoughts of the past days. Very slowly I came back to the real day and held her away from me just to look at. ÓAll this in a few hours,Ô I said, ÓYou told me something earlier, Mike. Now let me tell you. What you saw in me, I see in you.Ô ÓA crazy world, kid,Ô I said softly. A softly muted bell hummed behind me. Edwina turned, picked up the phone, waited a moment, then put it down again. ÓThat was your contact.Ô My breath hung in my chest. ÓHe said yes.Ô I just looked at her and a little sadness came into her eyes. ÓR and R,Ô she told me again. ÓIÒve had the rest, but I think the recreation is going to have to wait.Ô This time I hauled her into me. Not gently. She didnÒt need gently any more. I handled her like she needed to be handled and her mouth on mine was a firebox that moved all over me. She felt my hands on her and knew what they were saying, that there would be another time and another place because it had to happen, maybe just once, but it had to happen. Our mouths were bruised, but it had been a happy war, and she gave me the address I wanted, got back into her clothes and led me to the huge front doors. She gave me my .45 back, closed the doors as I was going down the stairs, and I got in the car and headed back to New York. There was no way I could make a quick pass around my block to see if I was being singled out. If somebody wanted me, they would know my car, the approaches to the apartment, and stay out of sight. Two blocks away I parked in a public area under an office building, and started walking back. The stop at the newspaper kiosk on the corner was more an excuse to take a look around than buy a copy of the News, but when I picked it up, I saw one of the four-color tabloids that turned a goodnight kiss into a Roman orgy, and my face and VeldaÒs were spread right across the front of it under the masthead: PRIVATE INVES-TIGATOR TO AVENGE LOVERÒS ATTACK. Until now Velda had just been an innocent victim when the intruder came into my office. Now she was hot copy. Her name was only mentioned in the initial reports of the event, then forgotten. I remembered the way that reporter had looked at me when I casually said what IÒd like to do to DiCicaÒs killer. He suddenly had a sex angle bigger than the murder itself and got into national circulation damn near overnight. One day I was going to meet that little sucker again, and we were going to have a nice talk in a quiet place. When the light on the corner changed, I buried myself in a group of people, stayed with them to the garage entry of my building and turned in with a car going down the ramp to park. I knew the area down here and it was easy to make sure I was clear. I took the elevator up all alone, got out with the .45 in my hand, then put it back in the holster when I saw no one in the corridor.