by Nick Carter
Finally I found the safe — in the floor. You pulled the corner of the carpet back, raised a metal plate on hinges and there it was, built into the thick concrete sub-floor. It was an ingenious spot, and I might never have found it if I hadn't noticed the worn corner of carpet.
It was hard to tell if the safe was rigged with an alarm. But I had to take the risk, so I started twisting the combination dial, feeling for the subtle catches in the movement of the mechanism. In a few minutes I had the combination worked out and swung the safe door open cautiously. I listened for an alarm. Nothing.
The contents of that safe would have been a cop's bonanza. There was a complete list of New Brotherhood members, a couple of packages of uncut heroin, a list of telephone numbers of pushers and dealers and assorted other goodies, but no microfilm. It began to look as if Bovet had been telling the truth.
I squatted over the safe, wondering where I went from there. I was getting nowhere fast. My only consolation was that the Russians hadn't recovered the film yet. But there was Kam Fong. He might be laughing up his sleeve at all of us.
The most logical conclusion was, of course, that the New Brotherhood, not knowing what Drummond was carrying, had just dumped his attaché case into the Nile. Which would make a happy ending for Yuri Lyalin, but have certain people in Washington tearing their hair out.
I had stuffed the contents back into the safe and started to close it when I saw a tiny wire I had missed, it was attached to the bottom of the inside of the safe door. There was an alarm! Either a soft-sound alarm that I could not hear up here or maybe a flashing light type of thing. I slammed the safe door shut and twirled the dial, closed the outside plate door and had replaced the corner of carpet when the door of the room slammed open. A big man stood in the doorway, a fat revolver in his hand and blood in his eye.
He spotted me in the light from the corridor, aimed and fired. The shot crashed loudly in the room. I had flattened myself closer to the floor and the slug missed, splintering wood somewhere behind me.
The thug swore under his breath and pawed for the light switch. The room was suddenly flooded with light, and I was right in the glare. The big man focused angrily on me and aimed again.
As his finger squeezed the trigger, I rolled toward the desk. The slug chipped the floor between my legs. Another shot barked out, and I felt a sting along my left arm. He was going to cut me to pieces if I didn't get to cover.
I made a scrambling dive for the desk as a fourth shot sounded. The desk splintered just above my head as I moved behind it.
'Sacré bleu!' The big man was swearing at his misses.
As I hit the floor behind my temporary cover, I grabbed at the Luger under my jacket. Then I reached up and fired quickly over the top of the desk. The shot tore at the thug's jacket sleeve and hit the wall behind him.
He swore again and quickly snapped the light off. I saw a silhouetted arm grab at the door, slam it closed, and the room was dark again.
I listened for the big man to betray his location, but nothing — I couldn't even hear him breathing. If there was anybody else downstairs, they would soon be here. But there was no sound from that direction, and the man hadn't called for help. He was apparently on his own.
A clock ticked on the desk somewhere near my head. It was the only sound in the room. Outside a dog barked for a moment and then was still again. The ticking clock reminded me that the hour's time limit I had given Fayeh was passing quickly.
The gunman knew where I was, but I had no idea where he was in the room. I could not stay put, or I would end up with a hole in my head. I glimpsed a paperweight on the edge of the desk. I reached up silently and grabbed it, hefted it a moment, then threw it toward the corner of carpet hiding the safe. A muffled metallic clang came from the plate under the carpet when the paperweight landed.
There was a crashing roar in the room — the thug had fired at the sound, as I'd hoped. I moved quickly in the opposite direction, squatted behind an overstuffed chair a short distance from the desk. But my foot scraped the floor and the gunman heard it.
Another shot. The slug thudded into the chair at the level of my face.
My ruse had not worked as well as I'd hoped, but at least I knew now where my opponent was. He was firing from behind another chair in the opposite corner of the room. I thought I saw a shadowy movement and I returned fire. I heard a dull grunt from the other corner. Either I had hit him, or he wanted me to think I had.
I moved cautiously around the corner of the chair for a look — and a shot tore into the chair stuffing beside my head. Then I heard a familiar click. He was out of shells apparently, but I didn't rush him. That might be a trick too. I had had it happen to me before. I waited and listened. If he was out of ammo, he would have to reload and I would hear it.
I waited and listened. Finally I heard it, but from a different location: the unmistakable sound of shells sliding into a magazine. I squinted in the direction of the sound and made out a shadow, at the end of a short sofa. I aimed Wilhelmina carefully and fired.
There was another grunt, a loud one and definitely no act. He sounded like he might have hit the floor. I crouched on one knee and listened. Then I heard a scraping and saw a shadowy movement. He was crawling toward the door, apparently badly hit.
'Hold it!' I said. 'Move again and I'll kill you!'
The shadow stopped, 'Ça ne fait rien,' he gasped. 'It doesn't matter.'
Cautiously, I moved over to him. Up close, I saw that he had been hit in the side and the chest.
'Who are you?' he asked, switching to English.
'Does it matter?'
He gasped. 'They will kill me for letting this happen, if your last shot does not.'
I looked at the wound. 'You'll be all right And I doubt that Bovet will kill you if you tell it right.' I aimed the Luger at his head. 'But I will, if you don't answer a couple of questions.'
He looked at the Luger, then at my face. He believed me. 'What questions?'
'Do you know anything about the Drummond matter?'
'A little.'
'Did somebody go with Maspero to the rendezvous with Drummond?'
He grunted in pain. 'Yes. Maspero wanted to go alone, but he had told Reynaldo about it and Reynaldo followed, afraid that Maspero would bungle it. He found Maspero dead near the hotel. It is believed that Drummond shot him and Reynaldo avenged Maspero. He recovered both bags and reported the whole thing to Bovet.'
'The organization did not know if the cases had been accidentally switched until Reynaldo reported it after Drummond and Maspero were killed?'
'That is right. Reynaldo says Maspero did not want to admit the mistake to Bovet. Instead he confided in Reynaldo.'
'I wonder why he told Reynaldo instead of his cousin el Bekri?' I said, more to myself than to the man on the floor.
'I cannot tell you that.'
'Let me get this straight. The only story the Brotherhood had about this is the one Reynaldo told Bovet?'
He looked into my eyes. That is right.'
I was putting a theory together. 'Where is Reynaldo now?' I remembered that he had been conspicuously absent the evening I had my interview with Bovet.
The man shook his head slightly and grimaced with pain. 'I don't know,' he said. 'Bovet often sends him out of town on errands. Frankly, there is no love lost between them. Reynaldo has fallen out of favor with Bovet, and Bovet seems not to want Reynaldo near him.'
He glanced at me and added quickly, 'This is only my observation, of course.'
I slipped Wilhelmina into her holster under my jacket and stood.
'You are the American who came here the other night,' the Brotherhood man said suddenly.
'Yes. And you can tell Bovet that I believe him now. He obviously doesn't have the film. But I think I know who does.'
'I don't understand,' he said.
I grinned. 'Good. See you around.'
* * *
Fayeh served me a glass half full of brandy, poured hersel
f one and came to sit beside me on the sofa in her apartment. She had just come from the nightclub and still had the exotic makeup around her lovely dark eyes.
'Now, tell me your theory,' she said.
I sipped the brandy. 'It's not a complex one. Reynaldo is the villain of this piece — not Bovet. All we know is what Reynaldo is telling Bovet. So let's change the facts a little. Let's say that when Maspero realized the cases got switched he intended to tell Bovet, but Reynaldo walked in on him when he was examining the case and so Maspero was forced to tell him what had happened. Reynaldo — or perhaps both of them together — found the microfilm.
'Out of favor with Bovet, Reynaldo decides he will not tell the New Brotherhood of this valuable discovery but cash in on it himself. If he works it right, Bovet will never know that Reynaldo held out on him. So when Drummond puts out his feelers, Reynaldo and Maspero decide to contact him to get the heroin back. Reynaldo talks Maspero into waiting until they have the stuff back before telling Bovet. They go to Drummond together, kill him and take the heroin. Then Reynaldo kills Maspero and puts the blame on Drummond. Reynaldo delivers both cases to Bovet, but Drummond's case no longer contains the microfilm.'
'An interesting idea,' Fayeh said. 'But it raises an obvious question, Nick. If Reynaldo wants to make a personal profit from sale of the film, why hasn't he gone to the Russians? They obviously had not been approached.'
'Maybe he went to the Chicoms first,' I said. 'And maybe, by now, the Russians have been approached. One thing is sure, Reynaldo is unavailable at the moment.'
'Then take advantage of the situation and relax,' Fayeh suggested. 'Think about the puzzle for a while and maybe it will work itself out. In the meantime…' she snuggled up and kissed my ear, moving her lips on down to my neck.
If her aim was to distract me, she was succeeding. I looked at her and smiled. She was particularly sexy tonight Her long dark hair was caught in a French swirl behind her head, and she was wearing a floor-length kaftan with a slit all the way up to her hips, exposing those perfect legs.
'Are you sure you're a cop?' I said, brushing her lips with mine.
'That is only a diversion,' she said. 'Dancing and making love are my main interests.'
'A sensible approach to living,' I said. I kissed her again and this time held the kiss.
She reached over and put her hand on my thigh. 'Do you want to make love to me, Nick?' she teased.
'The thought had occurred to me,' I said dryly.
A front zipper held the kaftan closed. I reached for it, pulled it slowly down. The kaftan fell apart. Fayeh was nude except for brief lacy panties. I pushed her gently onto her back on the sofa.
I knelt beside her on the floor and drew down the lacy panties. She seemed to almost stop breathing. I kissed the swell of her belly, that tummy that moved so suggestively in the dance, moved down to her thighs. I could feel the trembling response in her.
She ran her hands over my bare chest as I removed my trousers. In another moment, I was on the sofa with her.
We lay side by side, our bodies touching hotly. Her soft curves pressed against me, insistent, urgent. We kissed, my hands exploring her body while our mouths made love. And then I moved gently onto her…
Seven
When Thinman saw me walk into his dingy room with Fayeh, his face showed his fear. He had not forgotten.
'I told you what I know,' he said sourly.
'Mr Carter wants to ask you some rather different questions now,' Fayeh explained. 'Will you answer them?'
'Will he use the same tactics as before?' he said, his mouth ugly.
Fayeh glanced at me and I shrugged my shoulders. I had not gone into details about my last visit here. 'Look,' I told Thinman. 'Spare us the unrighteous indignation. Will you cooperate or not? Yes or no.'
'What do you want this time?' he said sarcastically. 'Photographs of Bo vet, autographed?'
I moved closer to him and he twitched uneasily. 'What do you know about Reynaldo?' I asked.
His eyes avoided mine. 'I told you — he's a top man in the New Brotherhood.'
'I know. But isn't there some trouble between him and Bovet?'
He glanced at me in surprise, then nodded. 'There's talk of a split between them, yes.'
'What's the reason for it?'
'The word is that Reynaldo has overstepped his authority a couple of times. He's an ambitious man.'
'Where is Reynaldo now?' I asked.
Thinman gave me a look. 'How should I know?'
There's no word that he's split from the organization?'
Thinman grinned, an ugly half grin. 'You don't split from the organization. Except by way of the Nile bottom.'
I thought that over. It was possible that even Bovet didn't know where Reynaldo was. That might mean he was busy making deals — with anybody with an interest in the microfilm.
I looked at Thinman. 'Do you think you could find out how I might reach Reynaldo?'
'Mr Carter expects to pay you,' Fayeh put in quickly. 'Don't you, Nick?'
I grimaced. 'Yes, I expect to pay. Well?'
Thinman looked wary. 'I might be able to help. I can't promise. I'll see what I can do.'
'Good,' Fayeh said.
'But don't come here anymore,' he said peevishly. 'You'll get me killed.'
'I'll meet you wherever you say,' I said.
He thought a moment. 'The Cairo Tower, at noon tomorrow. The observation platform.'
I pictured Thinman at the Cairo Tower among gaping tourists. 'Okay. But this time,' I said, a warning in my voice, 'you'd better remember who you're working for.'
He flicked those watery eyes up at me. 'Sure.'
Thinman had no idea what Reynaldo looked like, so I returned to Hakim Sadek later that day. On the way I stopped at a dead-drop site to check it out. It was a grubby sidewalk restaurant on a side street in downtown Cairo. I sat at the third table in the front row and ordered Turkish coffee. When the waiter was gone I reached underneath the table and found it: a note from some nameless courier. I wadded it into my pocket before the waiter returned. The coffee tasted like Nile mud. I took one sip, threw some coins on the table and left.
In the taxi on the way to Hakim Sadek's place I decoded the note. As I suspected, it was from Hawk. It was short and sweet.
Washington in turmoil. The Man very displeased. Recover goods or find job in Cairo. H.
Later, when I read it to Hakim, he chuckled and grinned his slave-trader's grin.
'Your David Hawk has a fine sense of humor, Nicholas.'
I grunted. I wasn't at all sure Hawk was joking.
'He's not the only one with his butt in a sling,' I said, bitterly. 'I've got the whole New Brotherhood after my blood, the Chicoms breathing down my neck and have had a going over from the Russians.'
Hakim smiled and took a sip of wine. I had asked for brandy this time and took a stiff gulp.
'Your job is a thankless one, old friend,' Hakim said. He was dressed in a business suit today, but he still looked like someone you had to guard your wallet from. The red fez was missing, revealing thick hair slicked down across a slippery scalp. He was home because he had taken the afternoon off at the university where he taught a course in the Seven Lively Arts and another in Arabic literature. 'How is the girl working out?' he asked.
'Very well,' I said. 'She's been quite helpful.'
'That is good to hear. This is the first occasion I have had to suggest her services. I believe Interpol, too, finds her of considerable value. She is a woman of many talents.'
I could go along with that. 'Many,' I said. 'But neither she nor Thinman know what Reynaldo looks like or can tell me anything about him. Do you know the man?'
'I checked my personal files when you said you were coming, Nicholas.' He picked up a manila folder. 'I found this. Years ago there was a young man pushing drugs here and in Alexandria named Rinaldo Amaya, a Spanish gypsy with a hunger for wealth and power. A clever, intelligent man — and completely ruthless. Le
ss than a year ago one of my contacts reported that Amaya was seen here in Cairo again. I have heard nothing since, but it is just possible that Rinaldo Amaya and your Reynaldo are the same man. Here is an old photograph. He will have changed somewhat but this will give you some idea.'
I took the photograph and studied it. It showed Amaya coming out of a public building with a couple of Arabs. He was a rather tall, slim, good-looking man, the type you would expect to see doing a flamenco dance. The face was rough-chiseled with full lips and a cleft chin. But it was the eyes that drew my attention. They were dark with heavy brows and there was a look in them that sent a chill up my spine. It was not open hostility or belligerence but something much more subtle. It was the look of the true psychopath, a man with no regard whatever for morals or rules or human life.
Then I noticed a third Arab in the photograph, a man whose head just showed behind the others. I had seen that face before. It was Abdullah, the Brother who had done his best to kill me at the Cheops pyramid.
'This man is with the organization,' I pointed him out to Hakim. 'And Amaya knew him years ago. Probably recruited him into the New Brotherhood. Amaya just may be Reynaldo.'
'That could be some help to you.' Hakim rubbed his sharp chin. 'There is very little else I can tell you though, except that he is considered extremely dangerous. He uses guns well, and in place of a dagger he used to carry a weapon that resembled a thick-stemmed ice-pick. It is said that he can stab three times with it while an opponent is striking once with a conventional knife.'
Yes. A man with eyes like his would dream up a weapon like that. 'Is that all you have for me?' I asked.
'I am afraid so.'
'Okay. You've been a great help, Hakim. Hawk will be financially grateful.' I rose from the wing chair I had been sitting in.
Hakim quickly rose with me. 'Are you sure you don't have time for a quick game of chess before you leave, Nicholas? With perhaps a nice cup of mint tea?'
I tried not to think of the awful mint tea going down on top of the brandy. 'Some other time,' I said. I grasped his hand and looked into that long ugly face. I wished I could see Sadek more often.