“I was sick.” I let out a shudder to prove the point. “I got me some fresh air. Feel a lot better now.”
He was glad enough to see me back without pressing the point. “Perhaps it would be better if you slept.”
I finished my drink and put the glass back on the bar. “You may be right at that,” I said. I told him good night and reached the elevators. In the reflection of the glass over the calendar of events I could see him still watching my back, the bar phone at his ear to alert the guard on my floor that I was coming up.
As I touched the button I heard the whine of a siren clearing a path to the front door. Four of the bellboys pulled themselves away from their conclave at the desk and hurried outside. The few of us waiting for the elevator stepped back to see what it was all about and watched while the doors were pushed inward and five men followed by an assortment of crisp, efficient-looking women entered, the bellhops trailing with red-and-white foot lockers.
The man next to me said, “They finally got here.”
“Who?”
“Volunteer medics from Miami.”
“They're setting up an emergency field hospital. One thing this place hasn't got and that's enough doctors. Those guys have a lot of guts.” He grinned at me. “They could have brought some better-looking nurses.”
“What are they doing here?”
“You hear a late advisory?”
“Damn right. Those slobs have been holding it back, but somebody passed the word that it's closer than they're letting on. I'm damn glad I'm getting out. This blow's got trouble in it. The next flight's the last one leaving. After that it's storm-shelter time.”
“You sure about that next flight?”
He gave a serious twist of his head. “Check with the desk. Everything else is canceled out.” He looked at me curiously. “You on it?”
“No.”
“Tough,” he said.
I looked at the group going past me, their faces grimly professional. One was in his late twenties and three were well past middle age. All of the women were in their middle thirties. But one of the men had a grim professional look and he wasn't a doctor. His expensive gray suit was well tailored to his hulking form, the snap-brim of the fedora half shading his eyes. He carried the trench coat over his arm in a practiced way that looked natural, but put his hand near the gun he always carried. He didn't hurry. He didn't have to. What he came for was still here and not about to leave.
I said his name silently, feeling it roll across my tongue, tasting the sensation of killing him.
The man was Whitey Tass.
At the fifth floor I got out alone and walked down the corridor toward my room. At the other end the lone sentry trying so hard to be a part of the scenery saw me and turned away casually to resume his aimless strolling. I rapped on the door, heard a startled grunt and feet cross the room. A muffied voice said, “Yes?”
“Morg. Open up.”
Joey Jolley had almost gone to pieces. His face was drained of color and his hands were too shaky to throw the bolt in place, so I had to do it for him. Inside, the radio was blaring away with loud, cheerful music.
I looked at my watch. It was five after twelve.
“Where's Kim?” I motioned for him to keep his voice down.
“She ... did what you told her to. She's still there.”
This time I had to take the chance that they were too busy to monitor my phone. I dialed Lisa's room, heard it ring twice before it was picked up and a listless voice answered with a hello. I said, “Morg, kitten. Come on home,” then hung up.
I looked at my watch again and the hands seemed to be double-timing around the dial. Somehow, Kim had made her own way to Lisa's room unobserved and somehow she'd make it back. However she pulled the guard off balance was her own affair, but I couldn't afford the waste of even a minute.
Once more I had to hope Lady Luck was riding my horse. I picked up the phone and dialed Room 203. After it rang a half-dozen times a pleasant voice answered with
“Si?”
“Luis Rondo?” I asked in English.
“Yes,” he answered, “this is he.”
“My name is Winters, Mr. Rondo. Your services have been recommended to me by a friend.”
“Ah, yes,” he said noncommittally.
“I want to indulge myself in a hobby,” I told him. “That of flying.”
For a moment there was silence and I knew he was weighing the situation and balancing it out. “Since you are in the import business I was wondering if you could order me a plane.”
“Yes, that is possible. Have you anything specific in mind?”
“Oh, something fast. One that could hold five or six people.”
“I see.”
“How quickly could it be delivered?”
“That depends on how quickly you want it.”
I laughed, faking a joke. “Like right away. Once I want something I get impatient until it's in my hands.”
He played the game with me. “Of course, I understand. With such a customer I wish I could deliver it before the sun rose. However ...”
“Do the best you can, okay?”
“By all means, sir. In fact, I have a party in Miami with a Queenaire for sale. At the earliest opportunity I will contact him for you, Mr. Winters. I appreciate your call. Will I be able to reach you at your room?”
“I'll be here.”
“Well, I will do what I can.”
I hung up and went to the window overlooking the street. Most of the windows on street level were boarded over and only stray lines of light seeped out onto the side-walks. The clusters of people below were still milling about, not certain where to go. Since the danger wasn't immediate yet there was a mock carnival atmosphere about the scene. The breeze had turned cool finally, a welcome relief, and they were enjoying it while they could, the sounds of guitar music and singing coming up through the happy confusion.
Joey sidled up next to me, his face drawn. “What do we do now?”
“Wait,” I told him, then grabbed the phone again and asked for Angelo. When he came on I told him to bring me a pot of coffee with a couple of sandwiches.
Ten minutes later I let him in and while he was unloading his tray said, “I need two kilo-size cardboard containers filled with confectioners' sugar. Wrap them in plastic and seal them with tape. Can do?”
Angelo nodded. “Yes, we have such in the kitchen.”
“Outside in the lot is a new Volvo. There's a dent in the front-right fender so you can't miss it. Stick them under the front seat.”
He frowned, but didn't question my motives.
“Did you get through to Jose?”
“SÃ.
He was reached by radio. Your boat is still waiting, but there is little time remaining.”
“Stay in touch with him. I'll call you when I can to see how we're going to handle this.”
“Please be careful, señor.”
I let him out, closed the door and glanced at my watch again. It was twelve twenty. Overhead I heard the throb of heavy engines that grew into a roar as the plane passed almost directly over the hotel before turning to the northwest. I said, “Luck, Lisa,” and made myself a drink, then sat down to wait some more.
11
KIM GOT BACK at twelve thirty, using her key and slipping through the door to close it silently behind her. She gave me the okay sign with thumb and forefinger, listened to see if there was anyone behind her in the hall, then with a sigh of relief went over and made herself a quick drink.
“Give it to me,” I told her.
“She got off the way you planned it. Russo Sabin called just before I left the room, so he doesn't know about it yet.” She smiled at me like a conspirator. “But he will soon.”
“Why?”
“He's been calling every fifteen minutes to check on her.
“Now the stuff really hits the fan,” I said. “He'll turn this hotel inside out. There aren't any more flights out so he'll think she's in the area and will spread his men out to find her.
“Morgan ...”
“What?”
“Supposing he holds you on suspicion?”
Before I could answer her the phone rang. I picked it up and said, “Hello.” The voice on the other end was Luis Rondo and he said in a businesslike manner, “Mr. Winters, I believe I can fill your order according to your specifications.”
“Confirmed?”
“Yes, quite. Delivery will be made at the time you sug
g
ested, north end. The owner wishes to make a quick turnover, so there won't be much time to bargain.”
“I understand. Thanks for your attention.”
“Certainly, señor.”
When I put the phone back Kim asked softly, “Who was that?”
My voice was almost drowned out in the blaring of the radio. “Rondo. He made a contact with Miami. Your agency's sending a plane out to pick us up at the north end of the airfield at dawn.” I glanced at my watch. “Now we can move.” Over her shoulder I saw Joey Jolley, out of earshot, making himself another drink. “Whitey Tass came in on that last plane out of Miami. Don't let Joey know about it or he's liable to panic. You're to stay with him all the way. Just keep Joey out of sight until I get back.”
Those big dark eyes roamed my face before they dug into my own. “And if you don't?”
“You two get on that plane and cut out. It means I won't be coming back.”
“My orders ...”
“Screw your orders, doll. I'm making command decisions at this point. I'll tell you this much: I can get into the Rose Castle and I may be able to get out. If I don't it's because I'm dead. But if I go you won't have to worry about Victor Sable anymore because he'll take the big fall with me.”
“You'll
kill him?”
“I won't have to. They'll do it for me. They couldn't afford to have either of us alive after this. At least we know he's alive at this point so that much of the mission is accomplished. Either way your report will be positive.”
Her hand touched my arm and something changed in her voice. “Morgan ... what are the chances?”
I looked down into the depths of her eyes. Seriously, I said, “You either survive or you don't, sugar. At least I'm a positive thinker. Let's leave it at that.”
“You will be ... careful?”
“Since when do you care?”
She stiffened as if I had slapped her, the cold professional attitude wiping out any trace of feminine concern, and that was the way I wanted it. It was a cold, nasty business and you had to keep it that way to keep alive.
All she said was, “I care about the success of the project.”
“Then make sure somebody turns in the report.”
“I will.”
“Good. Now get into your traveling clothes and don't carry anything more than you can put in your handbag. The guard outside is stationed at the end of the corridor. I'm going to fake him out long enough for you two to get down the stairs to the lobby. There ough to be enough of a crowd to cover you if you play it right. Stay casual and play it straight. There's a Volvo in the parking lot about halfway down from the entrance. Make sure nobody sees you; get in and stay in the back seat below window level. When I'm clear I'll get you out to the airfield.” I looked over to make sure Joey couldn't see me and said, “Don't let Whitey Tass spot him.”
Kim memorized the description I gave her of Whitey and nodded. “Would he know Joey was here?”
“No, but Joey doesn't know he's here either. Since they're setting up a field hospital downstairs the hotel will probably be headquarters for any evacuees and they'll be herding all the foreign nationals in. Don't play Whitey down. He's an old hand at this, with a damn big personal interest at stake. He'll have every entrance covered somehow. You'll just have to pick the right time and place.”
“Very well.”
I went over and dug the bills out from under the carpet and shoved them in my pocket. Cash always has a way of talking its own language and you never know when you need it to speak for you. I stuck the extra .45 clips along with a handful of spare cartridges in my other pocket, cautioned Joey to be as inconspicuous as possible and left.
Taking care of the guard was a simple matter of walking past him, cutting down the west wing into the adjoining hall and knocking on the door of an empty room while he watched curiously. After standing there five minutes I shrugged, and went back to where I came from, walked to the elevator and stepped in when the door opened. They'd pick me up again downstairs, but as long as they had me in sight, that was all that mattered.
The atmosphere in the casino had changed. Those who couldn't leave had a resigned attitude and were more concerned with having a good time to forget their troubles than they were with gambling. The same crowd still played the tables, coolly indifferent to the horde of natives who watched them with amazement, gaping at the money changing hands in amounts bigger than they had ever seen in their lives.
From my spot at the bar I cased the room carefully, picked out some of Russo Sabin's men and the lean form of Major Turez. If Whitey Tass was around he had concealed himself pretty well. It could well have been that he was locked in a room somewhere, not worried about locating Joey Jolley because nobody was leaving the place, figuring to run him down in the turmoil of the storm. It was a safe bet that he would have registered with a phony passport under another name, and with all the disorder at the desk the clerk couldn't verify a description of him.
I didn't see Angelo until he was beside me paging a Mr. Roberts at the bar. Between calls he hissed, “The boat has left, señor. There was nothing else for him to do.”