“Okay. But why so late, son?”
“To give Black Luis and Ana María Rosalita a chance to get started for the cave. We don’t want the FBI to find them here and ask too many questions.”
“Lord, no!”
“And you’d better remind them to bring their own tape recorder. I’ll have a lot to tell them.”
They had nearly finished their recording session with Pardo Green when a small sound drew Black Luis to the den. He returned swiftly.
“Those men who came earlier,” he whispered to Ronnie. “They’re back—with tools!”
“What’s all this?” Pardo Green asked.
Ronnie hurriedly explained what had happened. “I’ve been expecting them back. Josip—he’s the steward—is sure I’m here, alone. Wally Gramm wants to break in—”
“For what? To kill you?”
“Maybe—if he’s the one who killed my manager. He pretended he came to help me, but I think he really wants to—to set me up for someone else to do the dirty work.”
“There are others after you?”
“They flew out ahead of the boat and were waiting for me on the dock. Three of them. Two were the men who nearly got me in New Orleans. The third was my tutor, Peter Pushkin. He—”
“Hold it,” Pardo Green whispered. “I believe our callers are coming up the steps. Keep out of sight.”
The lawyer waited until it was evident, from the sounds, that someone was trying to force the grill door. Then he swiftly unlocked the kitchen door and sprang out upon the entry porch, fuming like an angry vacationer disturbed in his siesta. His furious promise to call the policía sent Wally Gramm and Josip into hasty retreat, muttering apologies.
But for the threat that hung over them, Ronnie would have found it very funny. The thought of his dream filled him with a growing dread. While the others went through a final questioning, he slipped into the study to worry over his plan for the evening.
Pardo Green had called the main office of the FBI and had been told that men would be on their way from San Juan as soon as the Treasury agent could be located. “Guido—he’s Guido Gonzáles—” the lawyer had said, “wants to come out himself. You’ve got everybody there excited. Holy Moses, I didn’t know this concerned that big foreign accounts case I’ve been reading about!”
“I didn’t either, at first,” Ronnie admitted.
“Well, it looks like you’re the key to the whole thing. They’re even beginning to call it the Blue Boy Case.”
As he slumped down on the study sofa, there was a rustling in the leaves by the window. Marlowe whispered, “Hey, brother Blue, what’s the big deal for tonight?”
“The FBI is coming,” Ron whispered back. “Before they get here—as soon as it’s dark enough—Black Luis and Ana María Rosalita are going to leave for the cave. You—you’ve got to help them.”
“Sure I will! What’s bugging you?”
“It’ll be hours before I can leave. The plan is for Pardo Green to go with me as far as the sea grape tree.
“Well? What’s wrong with that? I’ll scout the way.”
Ronnie swallowed. “But—but I had a dream about tonight—”
“That real, real dream you wouldn’t tell little sister?”
“Yes. Something’s going to happen, because in the dream Pardo Green’s not with me. I—I’m running, and men are trying to catch me. I’m carrying a small can of oil to fill the lanterns—”
“You’ll find it at the foot of the stairs where the captain left it. But the men—do they catch you?”
“I—I don’t know. But that’s not the worst of it. Just as I reach that rocky place up the beach, I stumble and fall. And there in front of me is Ana María Rosalita’s smaller bag. If something hadn’t happened, it wouldn’t have been dropped there. Which means something is going to happen there tonight.”
“Ulp! I do not like that. But if there is trouble, we will squeak out of it somehow. Is there more to the dream?”
“A—a little. As I get to my feet, a man is closing in behind me. I hear you yelling, and I see another man—this one’s Wally Gramm—coming around the edge of the rocks.”
“Then what?”
“I don’t know. That was when Black Luis shook me awake.”
“¡Madre! That is bad. But every problem has a solution. I was with you in the dream, so I will be with you tonight. And never forget that I am a very clever little fellow.”
The first shock of the evening came at sundown, just as they were finishing a cold supper out of cans from the pantry. It was a visit from the island police.
There were two. They went swiftly around the house, testing the grillwork, and climbed the steps to the entrance.
“¡Policía!” one called. “Open up!” He put his finger to the buzzer while his companion unhooked a huge ring of keys from his belt.
Ronnie was already feverishly helping Ana María Rosalita hide the evidence that more than two people had been eating here. Black Luis opened the door to the inner stairway, found the key to the patio, and ran for the tiny girl’s bags.
Pardo Green whispered, “Ron, let them out below and lock up behind them. I’ll stall the police.”
Ronnie crept down the stairway and unlatched the bottom door. With Black Luis’ key he tiptoed to the big grill door facing the beach, unlocked it, and carefully eased it open. He looked quickly around, then motioned to the others. The black boy and the tiny girl sped silently across the flagstones and slipped outside.
As she passed him, Ana María Rosalita whispered breathlessly, “We’ll be waiting for you, Boy Blue!”
Sick at heart, he locked the door and watched a few seconds while they raced through the palm grove and started up the beach. It was still bright daylight. Why couldn’t the police have come later?
As he turned back to the stairway, he saw the small can of oil where Marlowe had said it would be. He swallowed, wondering if he really would find them waiting at the cave.
The sound of angry voices drew him swiftly back to the living room. As he locked the upper door he heard Pardo Green in the kitchen, shouting through the window, “This is ridiculous! Search the house? For what?”
“I tell you a girl has been abducted!” a policeman shouted back. “We have orders to search—”
“A girl has been abducted? Who is she?”
“She is no less than the small sister of Bernardo Montoya!”
“¡Madre de Dios! Why didn’t you say so in the first place?” Pardo Green jerked open the kitchen door, rushed out, and unlocked the grill door. “Come in, gentlemen, come in! Tell me, who was foolish enough to commit such an outrage?”
“All we know is that two ruffians forcibly took her away during the night. Don Bernardo tried to stop them, but he was attacked and beaten unmercifully.”
“Poor fellow,” said Pardo Green. “I suppose he’s confined to his bed, and no visitors are allowed.”
“So we have been informed. We regret this intrusion, but every building must be searched. This is a terrible thing.”
The men went briskly through the cottage, examining everything. After asking a few questions, they left. Pardo Green looked quizzically at Ronnie. “How hard did you hit that rascal?”
“As hard as I could, but I didn’t hurt him much. And Black Luis didn’t touch him. He was carrying her bags.”
“Then it has to be warts. Oh, brother! Our little Ana María Rosalita must have done a job on him!”
Ronnie turned away, his small hands knotted in his pockets. By now Ana María Rosalita and Black Luis had reached the rocky area, and the thing that was going to happen had happened. There was nothing in the world he could do to help them.
It was exactly an hour after dark when Guido Gonzáles arrived from San Juan with two other agents, each carrying a tape recorder. Guido Gonzáles, a slender, soft-spoken man, introduced those with him as José Avilés, an assistant, and Thomas Church, from the Treasury Department.
Ronnie had rather expected the co
ld-eyed Treasury agent to look as he did, though sports clothes and glasses made an even greater change in the man’s appearance. But neither by a second glance nor an uncertain word did Ronnie betray the fact that he was aware of the other’s identity.
Smiling, Guido Gonzáles said, “Before Juan Pardo called, we never dreamed we’d be meeting the Blue Boy in person and have him straighten out one of the biggest tangles on record.”
“I don’t promise to solve anything,” Ronnie replied quickly. “All I can do is tell you what I know and remember.”
“But that should clinch it,” said the agent, as the others set up their tape recorders. “First, before we get started, how long have you known that Gus Woolman and Wally Gramm were mixed up in this foreign accounts thing?”
“Only during the past five weeks.”
“But you were with them more than three years,” the Treasury man said. “Surely, in all that time—”
“They were not as important as you think,” Ronnie answered. “They were just temporary agents for a group of people who had money to hide, so they wouldn’t be taxed. All Gus and Wally did was arrange to have it collected and delivered to foreign banks, where it went into secret accounts. I didn’t know this at the time. It wasn’t until I read about the secret accounts in the papers and recognized some names, that I began to figure it out.”
Guido Gonzáles said, “How long did Gus and Wally act as agents?”
“Only six months. The money was hidden by then, and they had a better thing going with me as the Blue Boy.”
The Treasury man, Thomas Church, asked, “How did you happen to recognize those names you mentioned?”
“Because I was the bookkeeper. That’s why Gus took me out of that reformatory—so I could memorize the accounts. I didn’t know what it was all about at the time. All that mattered to me was to keep out of that boys’ jail, where I didn’t even belong. I knew Gus was a sharpie of some kind, but he was good to me, and I did what he wanted and didn’t ask questions.”
Ronnie paused and said, “The accounts worried me at times, but I didn’t know they were dynamite till things got bad in New Orleans. There were no written records of what thirty people did with two hundred million dollars. I was the only record.”
The men stared at him. Guido Gonzáles whistled softly. “That’s far more than we thought. But why was Woolman killed?”
“Because he tried to protect me. Can’t you see? When a bunch like those people got scared and found out I could wreck them, something had to be done. So I’m sure they ordered Gus and Wally to do it, or else. Only, Gus refused.” Ronnie swallowed. “I can’t prove Wally killed Gus, but of course you can.”
Thomas Church said a little doubtfully, “Are you sure you have enough facts of the kind we need? Ordinary records won’t help us much. This case is involved. There are real names, false names, numbered accounts in different banks.…”
Ronnie glanced at him wearily. “I know it. I can match name for name, the number that goes with it, the code for each bank, the date and amount of each deposit, the totals for each name, and a lot more that will come when I start remembering. If you’ll just let me get started …”
Names, dates, numbers, and more numbers. Names that stood for other names, and numbers and sums and mounting totals …
The tape that unwound in his mind rolled steadily until after midnight, when Pardo Green called a recess. Someone brewed a pot of coffee and served it with stale cookies from the pantry. Then the tape began to roll again.
The end of the tape came at three in the morning.
The men looked at him in awe. José Avilés said, “What he did is impossible. But I saw him and heard him …”
Thomas Church closed his tape recorder and said to Ronnie, “I’d like to stay the rest of the night, but we’ve a plane to catch in the morning, so we’d better get on to San Juan. Where’s your bag?”
Pardo Green snapped, “You’re not taking him back to the mainland!”
“I certainly am,” said the Treasury man.
“No!” said Ronnie, shocked. “I won’t go with you! You’ve taped everything—you don’t need me in person!”
“Of course you don’t!” said Pardo Green. “Besides, he wants to stay. He’s needed here on another matter—
“Sorry. This is a Treasury case. It comes first.”
Ronnie said angrily, “You mean money comes first, above everything. But not in my book. I’m not going with you.”
“You have no choice,” Thomas Church reminded him.
Pardo Green said, “Have you a paper giving you legal possession of him?”
“My orders are enough. I’m taking custody of him. He’s a minor, and in danger. He’ll need protection—”
“Protection!” Ronnie cried. “What kind of protection did I get in New Orleans when you were Peter Pushkin?”
Thomas Church stiffened. “I’m surprised you recognized me. And I’m sorry about New Orleans. But at the time we had no idea you were the key to the case. Anyhow, you were foolish to run away.”
“What did you expect me to do? Stand around and be shot? Did you know that the same nice pair were waiting to greet me in San Juan? You walked right by them when you crossed the dock.”
Before Thomas Church could get over his astonishment, Ronnie turned to the inner stairway door. With his hand on the knob, he glanced knowingly at Pardo Green and said, “While I get my bag, why don’t you tell them about Wally?”
The lawyer instantly understood and began talking swiftly while Ron stepped through the opening and quietly closed the door behind him.
With his heart suddenly pounding furiously, he tiptoed down through the blackness and eased the lower door open. At the sight of the bright moonlight streaming through the patio grillwork, he paused a moment in dismay. Then he caught up the oilcan, moved to the patio door, and drew from his pocket the key he had thrust there hours before.
Slowly, carefully, he turned the key in the lock, opened the door, and slipped through. Just as carefully he closed and locked it again.
The night was alive with the happy singing of the coquis as he began creeping through the palm grove, but the one sound he wanted to hear did not come. It was the reassurance of Marlowe’s small, sharp voice. With every step away from the cottage he moved a little faster. Soon he was running.
He was almost at the upper corner of the grove when he heard a faint shout behind him. It sent him racing madly across the sand and up the narrowing beach. At this hour the moon was over the sea instead of the mountains, making the beach nearly as bright as day, and offering no protective shadows to hide him. So bright and clear was it that he could make out every detail of the rocky area ahead.
The tumbled rocks offered the first break in the low cliff that flanked this part of the beach. Once there, he had only to dart to the right and find safety in the tangles that stretched on to Black Luis’ mountain. And somehow, in spite of the danger he knew awaited him, he was certain he would reach safety. His first two dreams had taught him that.
But what of Black Luis and Ana María Rosalita?
Something had already happened ahead. As his flying feet brought him closer to the rocks, he felt a sick fear of what it had been. At a sudden shout behind him he risked a quick glance over his shoulder. The man he had once known as Peter Pushkin was hardly fifty yards away, gaining rapidly.
At that instant, just as in the dream, he stumbled and went sprawling in the sand. And there, directly in front of him—as he had known it would be—was Ana María Rosalita’s smaller bag.
Scrambling to his feet, he unconsciously caught up the bag in his left hand—for he still clung to the can of oil with his right—and whirled to dart into the tangle.
“No!” Marlowe screamed abruptly, from somewhere near. “The other way! To the left!”
Before Ron could turn again, he saw Wally Gramm, a very grim and determined Wally Gramm, step quickly from the shadow of the rocks with a weapon in his hand. This was whe
re the dream had ended. Only now did he understand why Wally happened to be here at this hour. It was the bag.
In a flash he realized that Wally and Josip had seen the others leave the cottage, that Josip had recognized Ana María Rosalita and guessed she could lead them to the person they sought. They had escaped at the cost of the bag—so the bag had been watched.
All this went through his mind as he flung the oilcan into Wally’s face. But even as he flung it, the man dropped his weapon and cried out hoarsely as if something had bitten him.
Whirling away, Ronnie glimpsed Thomas Church pounding close and heard Marlowe urging frantically, “Dive under the line! Hurry! Dive!”
If he had been looking at it directly, he would have missed it, but he saw it out of the corner of his eye—the vaguest sort of a shimmering near the water’s edge, something that might have been only a drifting cobweb. All at once he knew that this was the route the others had been forced to take. He dove and rolled frantically under that gossamer thread of light. There was the momentary sensation of being caught between a whirlwind and a thunderclap. Then everything vanished.
Wally Gramm was unable to protest as Thomas Church slipped handcuffs over his wrists. He was a frightened man. “A ghost bit me!” he gasped.
“Don’t be a fool!” Thomas Church said angrily, shaken by what he had seen but could not believe. “Where’s Ronnie?”
“I don’t know! He was right in front of me—and then he wasn’t. Maybe that ghost—”
“There’s no such thing as a ghost! Where’s the boy? He has to be somewhere!”
“I’ll tell you where,” Wally Gramm muttered. “He’s still nine jumps ahead of everybody, like he always has been. And don’t talk to me about ghosts. I was bitten by one. I left that fool Josip here to keep watch, but it scared him away. Me, I don’t scare easy—but when a voice yells at you out of nowhere, and then bites you.…”
Very near them, if the distance could have been measured, but an immeasurable space away except by Prynne’s mathematics, Ronnie got to his feet and looked slowly around with a mixture of growing wonder and delight.
Flight to the Lonesome Place Page 14