“Thanks.”
“I saw her a little while ago.”
“So what?”
“This has international complications. The British are as interested as we are, perhaps more so. She knows the picture.”
“Who filled her in?”
“You know damn well she’s a trained, part-time agent. They know where she stands with you and her bunch went directly to her with the details. She’s on assignment too.”
“Oh?”
“To keep you from underfoot.”
“Now it’s you with the sources,” I said. “Who’s side are you on?”
“Right now, yours. For some stupid reason I have the feeling you people are the answer to this trouble. If you weren’t qualified to handle it I’d be damn jumpy, but in this case I think you have the edge.” He grinned at me. “Damn patriots. You’d think this was still ’76.”
I winked at him and left him standing there.
The lounge was at the end of the lobby, a small place off limits for visitors but I didn’t pay any attention to the sign. I pushed the door open and walked in and there she was, the most beautiful woman in the world, tall, auburn-haired, shoulders wide and trimming down to a narrow waist that flared out in luscious hips and thighs that swelled against the fabric of her skirt.
She stood there, a Coke in her hand, looking out the window toward the stream of people on the street, lost in her own thoughts. I said, “Hi baby.”
Rondine turned, startled, her eyes momentarily pinpointed from having looked into the light. Then the irises went large as she saw me there in the shadows. “Hello, Tiger.”
I walked over, took the Coke bottle from her hand, and pulled her close to me. There was a nervous tautness in her body that resisted for a second, then she softened and with a small whimper her eyes closed and her mouth was a hungry little animal searching for mine, hot and wet, the tip of her tongue probing for satisfaction that only I could give her. When she let her head fall back and opened her eyes there was that touch of London in her voice when she said, “Damn you, Tiger.”
“Sorry, sugar. Things happen.”
“When does our wedding happen?” Her fingers bit into my biceps deliberately. “I know ... what you’re thinking.”
“So Charlie Corbinet told me.”
“The embassy moved me from my translator’s job temporarily.”
“I heard that too. So you’re supposed to bird-dog me.”
“It may be the only way I’ll get to see you.”
“Nuts. I don’t like it, kid. Women aren’t cut out for this kind of trouble.”
“Just the same, you’re stuck with me.”
I grabbed her wrists in my hands and pulled her back to me again. “When I want to dump a doll it’s no trouble. Keep it in mind. Stay pretty and stay off my back.”
“Why do you have to do this, Tiger? Why do you and the others like you have to disrupt everything?”
“Disrupt?” I asked her. “We have a man caught in a trap in a stinking, outlandish country that has never known anything but poverty of its own making and now the head of that place is over here with his hand in our pockets never giving a damn for anything except how much he can gouge out of us. Honey, that one guy is worth more than every gook in a mud hut over there. You think I give a damn about what it means? Look, that one guy dragged my tail out of a hot spot one time and to me he’s important, not a bunch of white-shrouded slobs.”
“Tiger ...”
“When it’s over I’ll be back.”
I thought there would be recrimination or tears or a burst of anger at least, but there were none of these things. Then I saw the same expression I had seen on Lily Tornay’s face, that of a woman with a job, dedicated, intense. She had been like that when I met her and she was like that again. Her job at the U.N. as a translator was only a cover one. In London she had been trained as an operative and now they were calling on her and I was the assignment.
Rondine reached out and touched her hand to my face, one finger tracing the scar there. “Let me help, Tiger!.”
“By taking me out of action?”
“Our people are cooperating on this.”
“That’s not enough. We were there first. We’ll be there at the end. I’m an old hand at this, honey. Guns are no games for girls.”
“You’re leaving now?”
“That’s right. I figure on picking up a tail before I get out of the building. No matter how good they are I’ll shake them in thirty minutes. Tell them not to waste their time or mine either.” I ran my fingers through the silken mass of her hair. “Think you can still kiss me?”
She smiled again, ran the pink tip of her tongue across the ruby of her mouth and lifted her head so I could taste her again. Her entire body seemed to melt against me, her breasts, firm and high, cushioned between us. She took her mouth away, buried her head against my neck a second, then drew back. “All right, Tiger. I love you.”
“I love you, kid. Let’s hang on to it.”
“It won’t be easy,” she said.
“Nothing good comes easy,” I told her.
chapter 3
It only took fifteen minutes to ditch the tail I had waiting. Apparently the cabbie had experience in this thing before and needed little help from me. When he let me out at the subway station I gave him a five spot for his trouble and took a downtown train to where Ernie Bentley’s lab was and walked up the street.
From the outside it was just another loft taken over by a small independent business and enough cartons went in and out to make it look legitimate. Once past the squalid foyer you got a different impression. The place was a combination laboratory, darkroom and office with strange gadgets in the process of development standing around like toys in a kid’s bedroom. Dr. Frankenstein could have had a ball there.
Jack Brant and his crew hadn’t arrived yet, but Ernie had the costumes ready, authentic, colorful and laid out in several sizes. Newark Control had relayed a message to him that Pete Moore had made a successful entry into the area outside of Selachin but no further word had been received on the progress of the mission. On his own, he researched and assembled as much information as he could on the situation there, the highlight of it all being the necessity for a male heir to Teish El Abin’s throne. His two previous wives had died at early ages without giving him issue and typically it was blamed on them rather than a probable impotency on the part of their potentate. How Vey Locca was going to work her marital rites would be a cute deal, but it wouldn’t be too much trouble for a smart cookie to suddenly show up in a family way regardless of her husband’s capabilities. It was an angle to consider.
Ernie’s warning buzzer went off then and he went out to let Jack and the others in. I introduced Jack and let him do the rest. The three with him were short, dark men, smiles reaching all the way across their faces, and from the way they looked at me I knew Jack had filled them in, most likely with a few embellishments, on the times we were together. He ignored their native names which were lengthy and nearly unpronounceable, calling them Tom, Dick and Harry. Rather than resent it, they seemed to enjoy their sudden Americanization. All three spoke good English barely touched with an accent, but could drop back into their native tongue at the drop of a hat.
Jack asked, “What’s the program, Tiger?”
“We’ll meet the ship,” I said. “We’ll arrange it so your boys here will be spotted and I’m betting Teish invites us past any police lines to have a chat with the home-town folks.”
“Look, these boys have no passports. I told you they were smuggled in.”
“And this is New York, buddy. When somebody called it a melting pot they meant just that. There are as many people wrapped in sheets anymore as Ivy League suits. If there’s any trouble we’ll cut and run. They’ll be dressed under the wraps in case we have to make a fast switch. I’m going along for the ride. For the time being I can be a deaf mute. Ernie will dye me their color and a pair of sunglasses will take care of the eye c
olor. I want a firsthand look at all three of them.”
“Any reason?”
“Yeah, a big reason. I want to read their dogtags. I want to see what’s back of their heads. I want to feel their hands and see how their eyes move. I want them to remember me the next time they see me.”
“You’re going to stand out, Tiger. You’re head and shoulders over my boys.”
“I’ve seen some big ones over there.”
“Sure, all eunuchs.”
“So I’m a eunuch then. We’re playing this by ear, but I want first crack.”
“You got it.”
“Fine. Then get up a script I want the boys to welcome Teish with all the pomp they can put on. I want them to do it so nicely there will be a chance the king will go so far as to invite them to a private audience.”
“Come off it, Tiger. These guys are peasants to him. Damn dogs in his eyes.”
“And this is the U.S. where you don’t show preference. He’ll have a chance to make himself look good and if he’s thinking right hell fall in line. I’ve seen it happen before. If we fluff it, we’ll try something else, but let’s use what we have first. Tell your boys this ... if it works and the end result is satisfactory, I’ll make sure they can legalize their stay here.”
Jack grinned at me and relayed the message. Their smile got even bigger and Jack said, “If you want, they’ll die for you, too.”
“I don’t want that. Just talk. Okay, get them fitted out, then go put them through their paces. Teish comes in on the Queen at nine-thirty in the morning. We’ll meet right here at eight, make sure everything is ready, then go down there together.”
“Righto. Things are looking up. You want me to cover your back?”
“Nix. No guns. If we get patted down I want it to be clean. You too.”
“Okay, laddie, you’re asking for it.”
“That’s the only way to get anything.”
At six o’clock I called Rondine. I let the phone ring a dozen times before I hung up, then tried her office at the U.N. After a couple of minutes I got the tired voice of a cleaner who told me everybody had left an hour ago and wouldn’t be in until tomorrow.
For some reason I felt edgy, little fingers of doubt crawling their way up the curve of my spine. Under my coat I could feel my shoulders tighten and it was an old feeling I had learned not to ignore a long time ago. I pulled out the small pad, found Talbot’s number and fingered a dime out of my change and dropped it in the slot.
Talbot was a British agent assigned to a minor job at the U.N., always on call as Rondine was, a man of independent means who could support his hobby. He had been wrapped up with me before and had sense enough to know when the chips weren’t falling right. I got him on the second ring, heard him say in that Oxford accent, “Talbot here.”
“Tiger Mann. Were you on the job today?”
“There I was. What’s on your mind?”
“Did you see Rondine leave?”
“I had coffee with her just before she left. Say, you scratched our man beautifully. He lost you within four blocks. But we’ll pick you up again. Wish you wouldn’t do that. It makes us look bad.”
“Tough. Look, where was she headed?”
“Right back to her apartment, old boy. She had an armload of work she planned on getting ready for tomorrow. You know what she’s up to, of course.”
“Yeah, and I don’t like it. She isn’t there.”
“She must be. I invited her to supper but she refused. She was going straight back.” He stopped, then his tone changed. “What’s happened?” he asked softly, his accent almost gone. Suddenly he had become all pro too.
“I don’t know. Hop down to the U.N. Check out the cabs and contact anybody who saw her leave. I’ll check out her apartment.”
All he said was, “Got it,” and hung up. I grabbed a cab on the comer, gave the driver her address and perched on the edge of the seat impatiently until we came to her building. I flipped a buck over the seat, hopped out and ran into the building.
It was one of those places with an oversize doorman who didn’t like to be budged. He started to put out his hand until he saw my face, then backed off. I said, “Ron ... Edith Caine ... did she get here yet?”
“Miss Caine came in quite some time ago, sir.”
I didn’t wait. I grabbed his arm and spun him around. “Come on.”
For a second I thought he was going to object. The cords stood out on his neck and he let me have the kind of grin he used in the ring, his broken nose and thick ears punctuating the smile, then his eyes slitted and he nodded curtly and ran in after me.
The elevator seemed to take forever reaching her floor and I squeezed out the door while it was still half open, ran to her door and punched the buzzer. I knocked, tried the bell again, and nothing happened.
The doorman said, “What’s the trouble, buddy?”
I took out the .45, cocked it and put it against the lock without answering him. One blasting shot took all the metal away and left a gaping hole in the woodwork and a rap with my heel smashed it open all the way. I went in with the gun ready in my hand, saw her lying on the floor and flipped the .45 to him and pointed to the bedroom. He picked it out of the air, getting my point without being told and started checking the rooms.
She was alive, but in five more minutes she would have been dead. The thin nylon cord strapping her hands and legs behind her had been looped up around her neck and with every motion she made it drew tighter until it was almost buried beneath the flesh. Her face was flushed and her breath came in weak rasps at jerky intervals as she fought for survival.
I shoved the doorman away before he could touch her. Any extra motion could be the final one, even to trying to unknot the cord. Luckily, she had rolled so that her feet were jammed up against the legs of a heavy chair and even with the spasms of a cramp she had been unable to jerk too much. I eased her feet back to take the pressure off the noose, snatched out a pocket knife and forced the blade under the nylon at the back of her neck and cut it.
She sucked the breath back into her lungs with a deep, involuntary gasp that was almost a sob, nearly choking on the air. I cut loose the rest of the nylon, lifted her to the couch and stretched her out there.
“Wet a towel,” I said. “Get a glass of water too.”
“Listen, maybe we should call the cops.”
“Damn it, do what I told you.”
He gulped, his face still pale. “Sure, Mac.”
I ran my fingers through her hair and pushed it away from her face. “Rondine ...”
Slowly, her eyes fluttered open.
“Don’t talk. You’re okay now.”
Her smile was weak, but her eyes told me everything. When the doorman came back I wiped her face until she was breathing normally and the tension was gone, then I let her sip from the glass until she said, “Thank you. I ... I’m all right now.”
“I should call the cops, Mac,” the big guy repeated. “This stuff ...”
When I turned around I let him have the hard stare. My coat opened just enough so he could see the speed rig and the butt of the .45 again and when I said, “What the hell do I look like to you?” he gave me a dumb grin like he had just missed the boat.
“Sorry ... I’m gettin’ slow. I thought you was at first. You ain’t from this precinct, are you?”
“I’m from downtown. Now let’s get some fast answers. How many people have come in and out of here the past half hour?”
He shrugged, furrowed his eyes in thought and said, “Not countin’ the residents, maybe twenty.”
“Repeaters?”
“Some. Don’t know them by name, but some were here before.”
“Could you identify them?”
“Big tippers I can. Few gimme a buck to a fin to open a damn cab door. Them I know.”
“Start refreshing your memory then. Think of the ones who didn’t tip.” I looked down at Rondine. The suffused look was gone now and her face was pale, her lips dry
. “Can you talk or is it too much to ask?”
“I can ... talk, Tiger.”
“Okay. Go slow and easy. What happened?”
She pointed to the water glass and I gave her another swallow. She took it gratefully and lay back again, her eyes closed. “About ... twenty to six ... the bell rang.”
“From downstairs or here?”
“This door.”
The doorman said, “He must’ve come in behind one of the others. The downstairs door had to be opened with a buzzer then. I was on the curb outside.”
“Go ahead, doll.”
“I answered. He asked ... if I were Edith Caine and said he had a message from my office.”
“You invited him in?”
Rondine nodded. “He had a briefcase. He opened it ... but what he took out was a cosh.”
“A what?” the doorman asked me.
“British term for a sap, a blackjack.”
“Oh.”
“He simply hit me,” she said. “I was tied up when I regained consciousness.”
“What did he want?”
She frowned, her eyes drifting to mine. “Nothing ... from me. He said, ‘You’re my gift to Mr. Mann. I owe him more, but he will ... appreciate this gift.’ ”
“Describe him.”
“Tall ... thin. He looked ... rather nice. Nothing special about him that way. Sort of ... like a businessman. You might say, average except for ... well, his hair was combed in that manner foreigners seem to have. Just ... different enough so they don’t look ... American.”
“I know what you mean.”
“Then there was ... his voice,” she said.
“What about it?”
“Strange. As if he found it hard to talk. Not like having a cold ... but forced.”
I felt the ice run right down my shoulders into my fingertips again. So Malcolm Turos had found my weak link. His information was great, his sources reliable. His little gift of Rondine’s death was for my gift of a bullet in his neck. But he had missed. His gift wasn’t acceptable and he’d have to try again. He was enjoying his assignment and even when he would learn that she still lived he’d enjoy it because he knew I’d be sweating and my hand couldn’t be in the game all the way because I’d have to play cover for her as well as take care of myself and our own project. He would split the action this way and had she died he knew I’d blow my own job to go after him and a guy that comes at you mad is a dead guy before he starts. But he played his openers too cute. He’d let the story go out purposely and a lot of eyes would be on the game because he wanted them to watch him smirk while he cleaned house on me. He was forgetting the old dodge about he who laughs last, lasts best.
The Death Dealers Page 4