I felt my way along the road, turned on the dims when I rounded the turn, having barely enough light to see the road. When I was far enough away I switched on the low beams, hit the gas pedal and headed toward the highway.
Only then did I have a chance to notice Victor Sable in the seat beside me. He looked like he was frozen there, his face pale and drawn. “Relax,” I said.
The sound of my voice seemed to startled him back to reality. “They are ... ?”
“Dead,” I told him. I glanced in the rear-view mirror. We were still alone on the road. I looked at my watch and grinned to myself. We just might make it at that.
Sable's hands were folded into tight knots in his lap. “This killing,” he said. “All this terrible killing ...”
“Save your sympathy,” I told him. “That's how they got on top.”
The Volvo careened around a curve, straightened and slowed as the intersection I was looking for came up. Ortega might have given orders to have roadblocks set up on the highway and I didn't want to take any chances of running into them. The back route I had taken to the Rose Castle was longer, but less likely to be patrolled. I swung onto the dirt road and tramped on the throttle again.
Ahead of us the revolving beacon of the airfield still probed the sky with its finger of light and I was sure of my direction. I was pushing for time and almost pushed myself into the wreckage of the trap that I had laid myself.
Sable saw it the same time I did, let out a hoarse yell and was reaching for the wheel when I batted his arm away. Right in the center of the road an old Chevvy that had been parked next to the Volvo in the hotel lot was upside down in the midst of the wreckage of the cart I had dragged into its path.
I stopped, pointed the lights of the car at the mess, got out with the .45 cocked in my hand and looked inside it. The steering wheel was bent in half and blood was flecked over the cushions and broken glass, but nobody was there. The door on the driver's side gaped open and I didn't like standing there in the light making a target of myself for anybody who still might be in the bushes, even though the chances were he had long since gone. I got back in the Volvo, skirted the wreck and stayed on the road until it bent around the perimeter of the airfield.
From there it was a straight run to the north end and I cut the lights, letting the occasional glow from the beacon spot my way as I lined up on the windows in the tower a mile away. The wind was at our backs now, whistling past the window in furious gusts that rocked the car. Hurricane Frances was getting her back up, ready to move in for the kill.
The beacon light swept by again and this time outlined a dark bulk in the road in time for me to slow down. A tractor had been abandoned in our path and there wasn't room to cut around it. I opened the door, shoved Sable out and followed him.
In a way it was a lucky break. There might have been a guard posted at the gate up ahead and time was too short to have to fight my way through it. The hood of the tractor provided easy access over the fence and when I dropped down I turned and caught Sable as he jumped, made sure he was all right and got on the macadam taxi strip.
What planes hadn't been hangared were all choked and tied down in the grass off the runway, sitting there like frightened giants, quivering gently in the wind. Four aged DC-3's and a pair of converted B-25's with military insignia were side by side, relics of another war but still active, a symbol of the power and authority that had held the country in submission.
I told Sable to wait, ran to one of the B-25's and climbed in. I didn't have to scrounge very hard to find what I wanted. I disregarded the back packs still in the pilots' bucket seats and dug out one of the, emergency chest-pack chutes and harness, stuffed it into a canvas bag that was lying in the corner and got out of there.
Sable was waiting nervously, his back to the wind, and was relieved to see me appear out of the darkness. I wanted to leave my hands free, so I handed him the bag. “Keep this,” I said. “And don't lose it.”
He hefted the bag curiously, wondering what it was. “Important?”
“You'll never know,” I said.
In the east the cloud layers had taken on the dull glow of a false dawn, black entrails of turbulence like mean streaks rolling in its midst. I said, “Let's go,” and we broke into a trot to cover the last quarter mile.
Â
The buildings around the control tower and administration complex were all but deserted. Even the skeleton crew was taking off for the shelter of safer places. A gasoline truck moved out, its headlights picking up the gate, and I saw it stop to be inspected by uniformed guards carrying rifles and tommy guns who scanned the occupants before letting them pass on.
Whenever the beacons flashed by overhead we flattened to the ground, then got up to cover more ground between its sweeps, hoping that nobody saw us outlined against the lights of the buildings. Each time I hit the grass I tried to pick out the shape of the Queenaire against the formless jumble of shapes in the semidarkness.
And then I saw it parked at a forty-five-degree angle into the wind, at the end of the runway, and grabbed Victor Sable's arm and ran toward it. We were too close to the end of it all and I didn't smell the danger until I got that warm feeling in the small of my back again and saw Sable trip and go down. I grabbed him under the shoulder and went to haul him to his feet and almost fell over the same obstacle.
Joey Jolley was lying there, a vicious slash across his forehead, a low moan choking out of lips drawn back in pain. His eyes opened, recognized me, and his lips moved in warning, but it was too late.
A voice said, “I've been waiting for you, Morgan.”
They were there in the partial shadow under the wing of an old Stinson, and Marty Steele had Kim's arm wrenched up behind her back and was holding a gun against her head.
The beacon swept by again and in its light I could see his face, cut and bloody from the wreckage of when he had smashed into the cart on the road. But the lacerations had done something else, too. They had released the tension on artifically tightened skin, put his features back into recognizable contours and I knew who he was.
I said, “Hello, Dekker. It's been a long time.”
His tone was almost friendly. “It won't be much longer, Morg.”
“Why'd you wait all this time for?”
I saw his grin. “I had to be sure, old buddy. I'm surprised you didn't figure it out. You're losing the old edge. You used to be the bright boy in the group.”
“It finally began to figure out.”
Once again the beacon light hit him and his face had a wild look of controlled insanity, the expression Bernice Case had described, filled with hatred and kill lust.
I said, “When you picked Whitey Tass off I knew it had to be you. He didn't even know you were here, but had he seen you and he could have identified you.”
“You play it safe when the stakes are big enough, Morgan.”
“Are they, Dekker?”
He chuckled flatly, the sound humorless and cold. “You're damn right. Forty million bucks' worth of high stakes and its's all mine. When you got nailed for the job I nearly laughed my head off. I used the same technique you taught me and you get rapped for it.”
“Why, kid?”
He wasn't laughing now. “Something you idiotic patriots wouldn't understand. You didn't get blown apart by a lousy mine. You didn't get shafted by the government and stuck in a hospital to rot with a frigging little pension and some medals for thanks. You know what happened when a broad looked at my face? I saw one of them vomit once. Well, piss on that. I couldn't even stand the country. I got the hell out and saved my money until I got a new face and a new name and came back to make the good old U.S.A. pay me what I earned.”
“Whose body did they bury under your name, Dekker?”
I got that chuckle again. “I've killed too many to worry about him. He was just a stupid Australian sheepherder named Marty Steele if it matters to you.”
“Too bad you didn't get to spend all that dough, Sal.”
“Oh, I will, old buddy. I will. I got it hidden right where your namesake, Captain Henry Morgan himself, kept his little pile and I'm the only one who can get to it.” He paused a few seconds, then said, “You should have moved in quicker, Morg.”
He had said all he was going to say and I saw his hand tighten around the gun he held at Kim's head. He was going to take her out first, then me, and I had to stop him. I said, “I wasn't on your back, Dekker.”
Curiosity stopped his trigger finger. “Get off it, buddy.”
“You knew I was on the run,” I told him. “You knew Old Gussie ran a hideout spot and you should have figured my checking in there after you cut out was only accidental. It's a crazy coincidence, but it happened.”
“Nothing's coincidental in this world. Don't feed me that crap.”
“So a hunk of coal dust from Pennsylvania gets in your eye in New York and it's all part of a plan, is that it?”
“You showed up here,” he accused.
“I was on another deal, Sal. It was nothing to do with you at all. I knew Ortega and Russo had their men on me, but they wouldn't have taken a shot at me with a .38. You know, that was the first time I ever knew you to miss one that close. I moved just in time. If you had tried for the body instead of a head shot you would have gotten me.”
“You think ...”
I cut him off, playing for seconds. “It was you outside my door that night in the hotel, you watching me all the time, you who followed me into the restaurant and saw me contact Rosa Lee. You were the only one who could have figured out the possible exits from the hotel nobody else would ever use and cover it until I came out. You're the only one who could have tailed me without being seen, Sal.”
His chuckle had satisfaction in it this time.
“Why'd you bump Rosa Lee, Sal?”
Dekker's voice still tasted the pleasure of the kill. “I bought my way into this country, Morgan. Ortega and Sabin were making me pay plenty for the privilege. Any one of the natives could have been onto the pitch and ready to set me up for a hit. Don't tell me she wasn't putting you onto me.”
“She wasn't.”
“Save that crap for the enlisted men, Morgan,” he snarled. “Bringing Tass in to pick me out wrapped it up. Hell, you never knew me. The plastic surgeons did too good a job for that, but Tass saw me after I was fixed up and could have fingered me.”
“He came in to kill the guy you cold-cocked here, the one who could have fingered
him.”
“Too bad, Morgan.”
“You still got to get out of here, Dekker,” I reminded him. “Ortega and Russo are dead. Your cover is gone now. The ones who take over now are going to get into their records and come up with your name in the package and put the pieces together.”
“That won't make any difference, old buddy. I was ready to cut out for greener fields anyway. There are three guys in that plane that came to pick you up. They're sitting there waiting and what they're going to get is me and this doll here. She was very nice about talking it out with your jumpy friend to keep him from getting the screaming meemies while they waited.
“After you dumped them out I knew what you were scheming up. I made my mistake in trying to get you and you suckered me into your roadblock. But hell, Morgan, it was a lucky mistake at that. I got back here and found my ticket out all ready and waiting.”
“You bump the pilot of that plane and you're stranded, Sal.”
That laugh of his was flatter than ever. “Out in the bushes of Australia the only way you get places is by air. I can fly that crate, old buddy. It's one of my newer accomplishments.”
He was ready now and there was nothing more left to talk about. I said, “It was a sheer waste, Sal. All you should have done was wait me out and you would have had it all to yourself with clear running in front of you. Now you'll never make it.”
The light was enough to show his face in a frenzied grin. “What makes you think so, Morgan?”
“Because you didn't come out of the war like the rest of us. What happened tipped you off balance until you hated your own country so much you were going to make it pay through the nose for what you thought it did to you. Others survived the same things, but you never considered that. All you cared about was repayment. That's why you went after government money instead of any other source.”
I gave him just enough time to let it sink in and added,
“Dekker... you're crazy!”
And with a scream of madness choking in his throat he made the mistake I was waiting for and yanked the gun from Kim's head, throwing the first shot at me.
I knew what was coming and was moving to the right, the .45 jumping into my hand like it had a life of its own, and when I triggered it the slug blasted his head in half, spattering Kim with a spray of gore.
Before she had time to reflect on it I had her by the arm, got Joey to his feet and Sable running ahead of us toward the plane. Behind us muffled shouts were carried on the wind and somebody sent a wild shot richocheting across the field.
They saw us coming and the twin props coughed into motion. I got them aboard, picked the last two grenades from my belt, pulled the pins and threw them as hard as I could at the cluster of figures running toward us, triggered off the last of the rounds in the .45 in their direction and ran for the door of the plane. The hand that yanked me inside jerked the gun from my fingers, tossed it outside and slammed the door as the Queenaire swung out on the runway under full throttle and lifted off almost at once in the strong breath of Hurricane Frances.