1979 - A Can of Worms (22 page)

Coldwell was taking no chances. He just kept yelling.

All his men were now lying flat, concealed in the many flowering shrubs.

Still nothing happened.

Coldwell stopped yelling.

Overhead was the noisy clatter of the chopper, its lights winking. I wondered how Nick was enjoying this movie-like scene.

Then there came a clunk, and the first gas bomb smashed a window. A moment later, gas began to drift out onto the lawn.

Jones was the first to appear. He threw open the front door, then a gun blazing in his hand, he tried to run towards the shadows, away from the blinding lights.

A gun banged and Jones reared back, clawing at the air. The gun banged again and Jones slid down on his knees and straightened out.

One down and two to go, I thought, watching tensely.

Coldwell began to bawl through the bullhorn.

“Pofferi! Come on out with your hands behind your head!”

The gas smoke was thinning. I thought of Nancy, and hoped they wouldn’t fire more gas bombs.

Then out of the shadows at the far end of the house came gunfire. One of the headlights of the car went out.

Flashes lit up the darkness. I heard a cop yell. Another cop sprang upright, then staggered back and dropped.

The other cops and the Agents directed a withering fire in the direction of the flashes. Then I saw Pofferi, outlined in the light of the single beam, a revolver in either hand, move crab-like, half bent double, his white shirt stained red with blood, but he kept firing.

A burst of gunfire. I saw bullets slam into him. He was swept off his feet and fell.

I wiped the sweat off my face.

Two down, and one to go.

“Come on out, Lucia!” Coldwell bawled. “With your hands behind your head!”

A long pause, then I heard screams. Lucia came out into the dazzling light as if she had been projected from a cannon.

I saw her clearly.

She had on black slacks and a scarlet shirt. As she staggered through the doorway, she screamed, “Don’t shoot!” Her hands were waving frantically. She had an object in each hand. She hadn’t taken more than ten steps before she exploded.

There were two blinding flashes, two bangs that sent me rocking on the tree branch, then the whistling sound of shrapnel.

Rather than be taken, Lucia had blown herself to pieces, Japanese style, with hand grenades.

I looked down at the scene, feeling sick. All that was left of Lucia Pofferi was a ghastly mess of ripped flesh, intestines and shattered bones.

It was the finish!

I shimmed down the tree, ran across the road, paused to signal to Nick, hovering overhead, then ran up the drive.

The Agents and the cops were moving around: some of them attending to the two wounded cops, some checking Jones’ body, others Pofferi’s body. Coldwell was staring at the gruesome remains of Lucia.

I didn’t stop. I ran into the house, ran down the long corridor, pausing to throw open doors until I reached a locked door.

The gas smoke was now so weak, it only irritated my eyes. Standing back, I slammed my foot against the lock of the door. As I did so the electric current was restored and the corridor lit up.

The door swung open.

I stood in the open doorway, looking into a big, lighted room: a woman’s luxury bedroom. There was a double bed facing me. Sitting on the bed, her face in her hands, was Nancy Hamel. She was shivering, and frightened whimpers came from her.

Bart, baby, I thought, if she recognizes you and flips her lid, this set-up is going to turn sour. I moved slowly into the room.

“Mrs. Hamel.”

She stiffened, snatched her hands from her face and stared at me. Her eyes were wide, her mouth slack. Then like a frightened animal, she sprang to her feet.

“It’s all right, Mrs. Hamel,” I said in my soothing voice. “You are safe.”

She stared at me.

“My sister!” Her hands covered her face and she moaned. “She said she would kill herself. What happened?”

I began to relax. She hadn’t recognized me!

“It’s over, Mrs. Hamel,” I said. “I’m here to take you away from all this. Mr. Palmer has arranged to get you to the Spanish Bay hotel where you can rest. There’s a helicopter waiting.”

“Lucia is dead?” She stared at me. “They are all dead?”

“Yes. Let’s go, Mrs. Hamel. Is there anything you want to take with you?”

She hid her face and began to sob.

I waited, looking at her. She was wearing a dark green trouser suit. If she was to stay out of sight at the Spanish Bay hotel, she would need other clothes. I looked helplessly around.

“Mrs. Hamel!” I put a bark in my voice. ‘You’ll need things. Let me help you pack.”

She shuddered, then waved to a closet.

“The bag.”

I opened the closet door and found a big suitcase.

“Lucia told me to pack,” Nancy said. “She knew this was the end.”

“Let’s go.” I lifted the suitcase as Coldwell came to the door. “All set, Lu,” I said. “Take the bag. I’ll help Mrs. Hamel.”

I went to her and pulled her gently to her feet. With my arm around her, I led her to the front door. The car lights had been turned off, but the smell of Lucia’s disintegrated body hung foully on the hot air.

Nancy took one breath, screamed and fainted. I just managed to catch her, then scooping her up in my arms, hurried across to the waiting chopper. Coldwell helped me lift her inert body into the chopper.

Nick, his eyes bugging, took her from us and laid her across the back seat. Coldwell pushed in the suitcase, then stood back.

“Let’s go,” I said as I dropped into the seat beside Nick.

“Man! I saw it all!” he exclaimed as he gunned the engine. “I wouldn’t have missed it for the world!”

I wasn’t listening. As the chopper lifted, I turned around to look at Nancy. Her face was white, her eyes closed.

So far, fine, I thought. She hasn’t recognized me, but she surely must when she is out of shock. Play one card at the time. At least, you have established the fact that it was you who rescued her.

It took less than ten minutes for Nick to land on the Spanish Bay hotel helicopter pad. As he switched on the landing lights, I could see Mel Palmer, a nurse and two white coated interns, waiting.

As the chopper grounded, Nancy stirred, then sat up.

“What’s happening?” she demanded shrilly. “Where am I?”

I turned to face her. The light in the cabin was strong enough to light both our faces.

“Mrs. Hamel, you are safe,” I said. “You’re at the Spanish Bay hotel and Mr. Palmer is waiting to take care of you.”

She stared fixedly at me.

“Who are you?”

“The guy who rescued you,” I said, and gave her my boyish smile, but I was puzzled. It was hard to accept that she didn’t remember that time when we had sat facing each other on the terrace of the Country Club when I had tried to put the squeeze on her, but I could see she didn’t remember, and I began to relax. “You have nothing to worry about. You are now safe.”

Nick opened the door of the chopper. I slid out. Nancy got unsteadily to her feet. Nick helped her descend and I took over. She leaned against me as Palmer came fussily up.

The two interns took over. I stepped back to give Palmer room to go into his soothing act.

For tonight, there was nothing more I could do. I watched her being led across the roof with Palmer murmuring. Then at the elevator that would take them down to the penthouse, she abruptly turned.

“Where’s my bag?”

The strident, urgent snap in her voice was a complete give away. Up to this moment, she had had me fooled, but that snap in her voice sent a cold prickle up my spine. That wasn’t the voice of a woman who had just lost her sister, just lost her husband, a woman everyone described as ‘nice.’ This was the voice of a dangerous, ruthless terrorist! For a long moment, I stood still, absorbing the shock.

Then my brain moved into action. Here was the answer to the puzzle why this woman I had thought was Nancy hadn’t recognized me.
Lucia Pofferi had never seen me! So
how could she recognize me?
Into my mind flashed the picture of the woman I had thought was Lucia, staggering out of the ranch house, screaming:
Don’t shoot!
Lucia had sacrificed her sister in a ruthless attempt to escape!

She had strapped live grenades to Nancy’s hands, then kicked her out into the open, knowing when the grenades exploded, her sister’s body would be a mess of broken bones and flesh, obliterating her hands and her finger prints.

But this gruesome escape plan had come apart at the seams. Lucia had made two fatal errors: she had failed to recognize me because she had never seen me, and the suitcase she had packed was so important to her, she had let her mask slip.

I forced myself to call, “It’s all right, Mrs. Hamel. I’m bringing it.”

The two interns closed around her. They and Palmer entered the elevator cage with her.

Nick handed down the suitcase.

“That’s it, Nick, and thanks. Don’t say a word to the press.”

“It’s been a ball,” Nick said, grinning. “Man! This is something to tell my grandchildren.”

I crossed over to the elevator, paused until he had taken off, then tried to open the suitcase. It was locked. Using the barrel of my gun, I forced open the locks: Among the clothes, I found a .38 revolver, two hand grenades and a chequebook. Squatting on my haunches, I examined the chequebook. Every cheque in the book carried Nancy Hamel’s signature. Staring at the book, I realized the book was worth millions of dollars. I put it in my jacket pocket, then I hid the revolver and the grenades in the gutter, surrounding the roof. I carefully re-fixed the locks, then I took the elevator down to the penthouse floor.

I found Mel Palmer, looking miffed, standing outside a door in the corridor.

“Mr. Anderson,” he said. “She wants her bag.”

“I bet she does,” I said.

“I don’t understand it” he went on, a plaintive whine in his voice. “She refuses medical care. She said she wanted to be alone. After all the trouble I have taken to arrange for her comfort! She actually pushed me out!”

That I could understand.

“I’ll give her the bag,” I said. “She has had a great shock. The best thing for her is to get some rest.”

“It’s nearly dawn!” he exclaimed. “I also need rest! I have commitments today! I am going home.”

“The best place, Mr. Palmer,” I said, giving him my sincere smile. “As soon as I have given Mrs. Hamel her bag, that’s where I’ll be heading.”

I watched him walk to the elevator, then I loosened my gun in its holster, then tapped on the door.

“Your bag, Mrs. Hamel,” I said.

The door jerked open.

The woman I was now sure was Lucia Pofferi stared at me. Her face had a boney, scraped look: her eyes were glittering.

“Put it down,” she said, taking a step back.

I moved forward and placed the bag just inside the room.

“Thank you,” she said. “Now leave me.”

With the heel of my shoe, I shoved the door shut. As I did so, I drew my gun and levelled it at her.

“Take it easy, baby,” I said. “Don’t try anything tricky.”

She cocked an eyebrow.

“So, who are you?”

“The name’s Bart Anderson.”

Watching her, I saw her eyes narrow. The nickel had dropped. Diaz must have told her my name: possibly Nancy also.

“Bart Anderson?” A thin, viperish smile touched her lips. “Of course, the blackmailer. How did you get on the scene?”

“It’s my business. Let’s sit down, baby, we have much to talk about.”

She shrugged, then walked over to a big settee and sat down. She crossed her legs and leaned back, regarding me.

She looked as attractive as a coiled cobra. I took a chair well away from her and I kept the gun pointing at her.

“How does it feel to murder your sister?” I asked.

“That ninny? Why not? She was a useless birdbrain. Aldo agreed she should take my place. I am important to our movement. She was nothing.” Her eyes moved to the suitcase. “I see you’ve broken the locks. Did you get the chequebook?”

“I have it.” I smiled at her. “The hardware is up on the roof.”

She nodded.

“So let’s not waste time,” she said. “How much do you want?”

Still keeping her covered, I took out the chequebook and waved it at her.

“I’ll settle for a million. That leaves you plenty. Let’s work it this way: I keep the cheques. You stay here. I’ll write four cheques for two hundred and fifty thousand. When the loot has been transferred to my bank, I’ll give you the book. It’ll take a week or so. Then I’ll help you get away. There’s the yacht, baby. I’ll find a crewman and one dark night, you take off for Cuba. Like the idea?”

Her face remained a stony mask.

“Yes, I like it,” she said finally, “but suppose after you have had your payoff, you drop out of sight?”

“There’s that,” I said, giving her my boyish smile. “I guess you’ll have to trust me.”

She shook her head.

“I have a better idea. Take four of those cheques and give me the rest. I’ll stay here a week to give you time to get your share, then I’ll start cashing my cheques. Anything wrong in that?”

I once again began to dream of owning a million dollars, and when I begin to dream about money, I lose concentration.

“Fine with me,” I said, and did a fatal thing. I was sitting well away from her, so I put my gun on the arm of my chair and began to count out four cheques. While doing this, I took my eyes off her: another fatal mistake.

Then as she moved, I dropped the chequebook and grabbed for my gun, but I was much too late.

She had a gun in her hand and was shooting before my fingers touched my gun. She must have had the gun hidden down the side of the settee.

I felt a thud against my chest, then saw the gun flash, then heard the bang, and that’s all I did see and hear.

My million dollar world exploded into darkness.

* * *

I wasn’t allowed to see any visitors for a week. I lay in a hospital bed, feeling sorry for myself and being attended to by a middle-aged nurse who was as sexy as a dead starfish. From time to time, the surgeon would come in and congratulate himself on saving my life. He had a laugh like a hyena: he looked like a hyena.