The Spanish Connection

by Nick Carter

  "Very much sol As soon as we began playing games with that first substitute Corelli."

  "We'll get the stuff down to Granada this afternoon."

  "I can't really be sure that the information is authentic, Nick," she said, as if she had been thinking about it for some time and had finally made up her mind. "It seems unfortunate that I was brought this far and am not able to say Corelli is authentic or not."

  "Don't worry. AXE's memory bank will know."

  "But I wonder why I was sent here, really." She was pouting now.

  "Forget it It's all part of the job."

  The mechanic at the Prado Llano garage was apologetic. "I'll have it by two o'clock. Is this soon enough for you, Señor?"

  I shrugged. "It'll have to be. What was the matter?"

  "The fluid in the brake drained out, Señor."

  "For what reason?"

  "A break in the pipe line." He was reluctant to talk much.

  "A break?"

  "Very strange, Señor," he admitted. "It is not often that the line for the fluid wears out that way. In fact, it is not possible."

  "Then what did happen?"

  "The line is severed."

  "Cut?"

  "It looks like, Señor." He was uneasy now. This type of thing was not comprehensible to him.

  "Someone cut it deliberately?" I asked.

  "I do not know. I would not like to say. It is a serious charge to make."

  "But there is no one to charge, so why not let's say it?"

  He saw me smiling. "Okay. I say that someone did cut that line, Señor. Snip! Does that make sense?"

  "Oh, yes," I said. "It does make sense."

  The boy looked serious. "You have some enemy then, Señor. The husband, perhaps, of some woman?"

  Spaniards are such incurable romantics!

  "Yes," I said. "I have a feeling it may be. But she is worth it, you know?"

  He beamed. "Good, then. Good!"

  "I'll be by at two."

  "Oh, there is one other little thing," he said.

  "What?"

  He was hesitating again, looking around to see if anyone might be listening.

  "Do you know what this is?" he drew something out of his pocket and held it in his hand.

  I picked it out of his palm. It was a beautiful bug. A magnetic transmitter combined with a direction finder. Beautiful model! Thoroughly professional. Probably Japanese or German.

  I stared at it. "I have no idea what it is."

  "Nor do I, Señor."

  "Where did you find this — this gadget?"

  "It was attached to the underside of the Renault, Señor."

  "How interesting. I suppose it is something that just flew up from the highway when I was driving along."

  "It is magnetic, you know, Señor? I thought you might be interested to see it"

  "I am… most interested."

  I put the bug-direction finder in my pocket and pulled out a few hundred pesetas. I handed them to the boy. "This is for you," I said. "For your interest And for your silence."

  "I understand, Señor."

  I was sure he did.

  Now I knew how Moscato had found out about the cable car meeting.

  I had told him myself 1

  Twelve

  As Juana and I sat in the garden of the Alhambra we were approached by a short, dark, black-eyed, curly-headed gypsy, named Gervasio Albanez. He was conducting our tour, which had gone on ahead. By design Juana and I had stayed behind.

  "It is warm for the Andalusia," he said in a very good English accent.

  "But not for Morocco," I said in response, embarrassed again for Hawk and the totally puerile Recognition System AXE had set up.

  He nodded and glanced about. There was a concrete bench under a pepper tree, and he took us there. We sat together looking out over the reflecting pool and the big Moorish arch opposite.

  "I have news for you," he said in a whisper. "We must meet directly after the tour is over."

  "News?" I asked.

  He put his finger to his lips. "Afterward. On the hill opposite." He gestured past the Alhambra toward a hillside to the northeast We had been told earlier that there were a number of caves on the hillside, caves in which a large gypsy population still lived. In fact, Gervasio himself had told us that.

  I nodded. "After the tour. At the entrance to the Alhambra."

  The crowd around the Alhambra entrance was thinning as we came out Gervasio walked us over to the parking lot.

  "You have a car?"

  "Alas, no," Gervasio smiled. He was pouring on the charm in Juana's direction. "I have nothing but a very small Lambretta…

  "Don't bleed all over the footpath," I said. "Come with us. We'll drive you back here later and you can pick up the Lambretta."

  "You are so land."

  "Negative. We're simply practical. We can't spend time driving back and forth waiting for you to make it up the big hills. Where do we go?"

  "I live in a cave, Señor," he said tragically, giving Juana more juice with his eyes.

  She stared at him. He was getting to her.

  "Forget it, Gervasio. I'll bet you've got a fourteen-liter jug full of solid gold coins in the bottom of that cave. Come now, haven't you?"

  His eyes gleamed. "You are a humorous man, Señor."

  Gervasio and Juana climbed in the back seat. He was watching her guardedly, but I could see his eyes occasionally viewing me in the mirror.

  "Go down here, Señor, then to the right," he told me, and kept up a running patter until, a short time later, we pulled up in front of a hole in the mountain. There were other cars parked around, along with a pile of motorbikes. There were Seats and Peugeots, mostly. It was one large parking lot in the dirt.

  "We sit here."

  I nodded. I was watching him in the rearview mirror. "Now that news, Gervasio."

  "Sí. Señor Mitch Kelly wishes you to call him immediately in Malaga."

  "Did he give any reason why?"

  "He certainly did not, Señor. But he was insistent."

  "Where can I call him?"

  "I have a line inside the house."

  He gestured to the cave mouth.

  I glanced at Juana. "Well, let's go in."

  We got out and followed Gervasio into the cave. Inside it was furnished exactly like any house, with heavy Spanish furniture, and carpets on the pounded dirt floor. There were light bulbs and lamps plugged into piped-in electric sockets. The smell of cooking was very heavy in the main room.

  Gervasio went to the bookcase at the end of the room and brought out a leather-covered case that reminded me of Mitch Kelly's R/T in the Malaga safe house.

  He plugged it in and let it warm up. I sat watching him. Juana got up and walked around, looking in awe at the hangings on the walls, the expertly woven tapestries, the lace covering the tables, the paintings.

  Gervasio gave the code letters and answered Kelly's request for identification.

  "Kelly?" I said after a moment. "Why the hot line?"

  "It's the girl here. She's headed for Sol y Nieve."

  "Right. So?"

  "You've been having trouble?"

  I paused, looking at Gervasio. "Trouble?"

  "Well, you haven't raised Roman Nose. Right?"

  "As a matter of fact, we have."

  There was silence. "Listen," said Kelly. "The girl here received a call from Roman Nose yesterday, informing her of the death of a young man, and then this morning of the death of another man!"

  "It's true."

  "Roman Nose refused to meet with you or N.X. Right?" N.X. Narcotics Expert. Very nice. Juana Rivera.

  I waited. "Negative. What reason would he have?"

  "Roman Nose says he wants to call the whole thing off. He is sure it's a set-up. He's sure his organization is trying to kill him. Do you read me?"

  "Loud and clear."

  "Girl is driving up now in a red Jaguar. A red Jaguar. Understood?"

  "Understood. Question.
Why is she coming?"

  "She says she wants to talk Roman Nose into meeting with you."

  "Hold it a moment. We have both met Roman Nose. Repeat. We have both met Roman Nose. Do you read me?"

  Pause. "I read you."

  "I do not understand why she thinks we have not met Roman Nose?"

  "Perhaps you have not."

  "There is that possibility. Roman Nose was not really unequivocally identified. But he did give us material."

  "The girl insists you did not meet Roman Nose. Roman Nose wants to return to Corsica without risk of identification by his enemies. So, no meet with you."

  "Then you think our Roman Nose is not the Roman Nose."

  "A repeat performance of the show in Malaga Harbor. Yes. Quite possible."

  "It's fairly clear to me," I admitted. "Two possibilities: Roman Nose is Roman Nose, or Roman Nose is not. Kelly. Get in your car and join us at Sol y Nieve."

  Pause. "Why?"

  "I need your help. We've got to make sure Roman Nose is who he says he is."

  "How can I help?"

  "It's a complicated story. But I know what to do now."

  "I wish I could say the same!"

  "Sol y Nieve. Sierra Nevada Hotel. Tonight. Right?"

  "Right."

  "Over and out."

  I sat there a long time staring into the set. Then I turned around and saw Juana watching me.

  "Well?"

  I glanced around. Gervasio was watching us too, with wide eyes. I spoke to Juana. "Have you got that microfilm?"

  "Yes," she said, reaching in her bag.

  "Good. Give it to Gervasio."

  She did so. He looked down at the small packet of film in his hand. Then his eyes questioningly to me.

  "Blow up that roll, and send it character by character to AXE."

  The gypsy nodded.

  "Juana, you take the Renault back to Sol y Nieve."

  "Without you?" Her eyes narrowed.

  "Yes. I'm going to intercept Tina Bergson."

  "But why?"

  "The minute she appears at the resort and talks to the real Corelli, hell immediately be identified."

  "But…?"

  "I mean, someone is trying to kill him."

  "Who?"

  "The man who calls himself Barry Parson."

  Juana's eyes widened. "But why must it be Parson?"

  "It's got to be."

  "Then there were two people out to kill Corelli?" Juana asked with a frown.

  "Quite probably the Mafiosi laid out two contracts on him just in case one didn't work out."

  "It's complicated."

  "You bet your life it is. Look. Let's analyze it Suppose Parson wants to kill Corelli. Right? And Parson, like us, doesn't know Corelli by sight. But he does know I'm trying to set up a meet with Corelli. Not only I — but you and I. So he gets close to us. As close as possible."

  In bed was what I meant. The allusion was not lost on Juana. She flushed.

  "Now. Let's assume Parson was present as well as Moscato when Arturo was killed. Parson was following me, of course. Then he must have heard the instructions I got from Arturo as he was dying. Right so far?"

  "All right."

  "Then Parson goes to the meeting to hide out and wait for Corelli to appear. But who appears? Me. Not Corelli. There's Parson standing there, and I come barging up, and there's egg all over his face."

  "But why didn't Corelli go to the meet?"

  "You heard what Kelly just said. He said Corelli was frightened off when Arturo was shot. I have to assume he just copped out on the whole thing and let it happen without him."

  "Why didn't The Mosquito go there to kill Corelli?" Juana asked innocently.

  "I've been wondering about that," I admitted. "Let's suppose that he was in such haste to get away after killing Arturo that he didn't hear what Arturo said to me."

  She frowned.

  "Okay," I said, going on quickly, "there's Parson there, and I'm there. What does Parson say? The only thing he can say, really. He knows I'm not Corelli. And he knows the meet is set. So he says, 'I'm Corelli! And he plays it out, setting up the meet with you."

  "But what about the microfilm? He gave me the film."

  "We're checking that out. But it's an easy thing to substitute information of that type: names, places, and dates."

  "Well…"

  "He fakes the film, sets up the meet with you. He makes the meet, playing Corelli. He hands over the fake film to you, and meanwhile Moscato tries to kill him and I kill Moscato."

  "But how did Moscato know about the meet?"

  "The bug in the Renault," I told her.

  "What is Parson waiting for now?" she wondered.

  "He's waiting for Tina to show up. He knows about her, even if he may not know her personally. I think he must have been faking those 'telephone calls' to Tina in order to confuse Elena. But he knows Tina will eventually show up at Sol y Nieve. He'll wait for her and let her lead hjm to Corelli, and bingo! You see?"

  "And what good will intercepting Tina do?"

  "I want to warn her what her appearance at Sol y Nieve will do to Corelli."

  She nodded. "And then?"

  "Let me work it out," I suggested softly. "I haven't got the punch line yet."

  * * *

  Juana Rivera drove Gervasio and me to a car rental in Granada where I selected a Seat mini with a stick shift. Then Juana took Gervasio back to the Alhambra where his minibike was parked.

  I took off in the Seat on the Malaga-Granada highway, headed for Malaga. It was pretty late in the afternoon, but the sun was still out I kept my eyes open for a red Jaguar — an easy car to distinguish.

  It must have been no more than twenty minutes later that I saw it, braking on a fast descent across the valley from me. I pulled around quickly, backing out into a burned-over wheat field to make a quick three-corner turn. I was in front of the Jaguar and headed back toward Malaga when I saw it come up on me in the rearview mirror.

  I stuck out my hand and waved it down a few times, signaling her to stop.

  She saw the arm, and then she saw the car, and finally she saw me. She was surprised, but not overcome. I pointed to the side of the highway and we both pulled off together.

  I got out of the Seat and walked over to the Jag. She was sitting there looking cool and chic in that very Scandinavian way she had, profiled smashingly in a bright green sweater and gray skirt.

  "I talked to Kelly," I said, when I could get my voice going.

  "Yes. You know why I am here?"

  "Of course. But there's been a change in plans."

  Her face fell. "Rico has gone home already?"

  "Possibly so. Possibly no. But there is a problem. Another man is pretending to be Rico."

  "How do you…?" She blinked. "I see. Yes. Someone is pretending to be Rico."

  "Unless Rico changed his mind after talking to you."

  "No. He was positive." Her eyes shifted slightly. "Listen. You do not believe me? On my word of honor…?"

  "I believe you," I said. "The problem is, we have another gemini, another substitute, another Rico Corelli."

  "Then I must warn the real Rico…"

  I shook my head. "Someone is trying to kill him. The minute you go up there and meet him, the killer will know who Rico is. You see?"

  Her face changed. "Yes, yes, I see!" She looked at me seriously. "What do you want me to do?"

  "I want you to stay in Granada."

  She bit her lip. "It is so lonely."

  "But you've been in the clinic alone."

  "It was maddening!"

  "How is your shoulder?"

  "Very good," she smiled. "You see?" There was only a tiny bandage apparently. It did not even show in the spectacular curves of her sweater.

  "Well, will you do it, Tina?"

  "Do what?"

  "Stay in Granada?"

  She sighed. "Well…"

  "I'll take you to dinner," I said conspiratorially.

&nbs
p; Her eyes lighted up. "You will, George?"

  I laughed. "I'd love to."

  "Then I'll do it."

  "Follow me in the Jag. We'll go to a hotel and check you in."

  She nodded, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

  "You think Rico will be mad when he hears?"

  "What — that I had dinner with you?"

  "Yes." She shrugged. "Anyway, who cares?"

  She had lived dangerously so far with great success. I suppose she figured she could live dangerously forever with the same degree of security.

  * * *

  We had dinner In a marvelous little restaurant not far from the shopping section of Granada. Musicians played Spanish music in one corner, and the waiters hovered over us and went to great effort to spoil us rotten.

  It was about ten when we walked out of the restaurant and made for the hotel. Granada is a beautiful town at night. The lights of the shops are on and the people walk the streets at all hours. Ten was pretty late, but there were still some people out. The Guardia Civil seemed to keep the streets free from crime.

  We went into the hotel and Tina strolled over to get her key. Every eye in the lobby turned and followed her walk. I heard a few sighs. It was a repeat of her performance in Malaga.

  She held her key and turned to me with a wicked look.

  "I am so clumsy with keys."

  I nodded. "Good. I am so expert with them."

  "Ahah. Then you come up and put the key in the lock, please." Her eyes were bright with the food and the wine and the anticipation.

  "I'm only human," I said, and followed her into the elevator. As the doors closed on us I could see every male in the lobby watching me with envious eyes.

  We rose in the elevator and I was brushed by the silken tendrils of her hair as she stirred quietly beside me. I turned and looked in her eyes. She smiled.

  The elevator doors opened and we stepped out into the corridor. There was a long red velvet rug on the floor. A large ancient settee was standing against the wall. There were flowers in vases hanging from the walls.

  I found the room number and made an attempt to insert the key in the lock.

  Tina giggled.

  I had not realized I was quite so drunk. I tried again.

  The door opened magically.

  She moved into the room in front of me, turning slightly as she did so, and brushing past me with all of her body. I could feel the contact from head to toe in a kind of AC-DC jolt.