Dirty Harry 10 - The Blood of Strangers (10 page)

“You’re crazy, you know that, don’t you? You’ll get yourself killed.”

“I will do my best not to,” she said evenly, “I have just as much interest in getting home safely as you do.”

They were sitting in a restaurant which overlooked one of the airfields. A Lockheed 1011 was in the process of taking off. When Whittier looked up into the sky the jet was a bright silver speck. He thought of Ellie leaving and felt sick.

“You don’t know what it’s like there,” he protested. “I read the other day soldiers burst into the American Hospital and started shooting indiscriminately in the emergency room. There are probably dozens of political factions murdering each other for just a few square miles.”

“Forty-three,” Ellie said confidently.

“Forty-three what?”

“Forty-three military factions. I’ve done my homework.”

“You’re hopeless.” It was growing harder for him to contain his anger. “Don’t you love me?”

She took his hand in hers and assured him that of course she did.

“But that’s not enough to make you stay, is it?”

“I’ve got a job to do.”

“Somebody else could do your damn job. No one’s forcing you to go to Beirut. You’re the one who insisted on going.”

Ellie was barely listening. Glancing at her watch, she said that she would have to get going if she wasn’t to miss her plane. “I’m told the station has me booked at the Commodore. You can reach me there.”

He watched her helplessly. “Will you call me every day to let me know you’re OK? At least do that for me?”

“I promise,” she said, muttering under her breath: That is, if I’m still in one piece.

After she left, Whittier continued to gaze out the window and look at the planes taking off and landing in the dimming evening light. He waited until the Pan Am jet taking Ellie and Kayyim to Paris had vanished before making his decision.

It was possible to find everything he needed in the shops that were located in the airport complex: the clothes, the toilet articles, everything. He had his passport with him already. When he purchased everything he thought necessary, he put a call in to his partner and then to his sister, the only two people he considered important enough to notify. He said he was going off to Europe for perhaps a week. He would cable or call in a few days to let them know exactly where he’d be staying.

Both his partner and his sister were astonished. He had never done anything so impulsive before. On the other hand, he hardly ever got away and as he was his own boss no one was about to deny him the luxury of a week’s holiday. They might have if they had realized where he intended to take that holiday.

C H A P T E R
S e v e n

I
t was first-class all the way. Kayyim would settle for nothing less. Harry sat directly behind him while his Libyan bodyguard occupied the seat next to the minister. Harry might have saved Kayyim’s life, but that did not entitle him to become the man’s confidant. They exchanged scarcely more than a dozen words the entire time it took the Pan Am jet to cross the American continent and the Atlantic Ocean. Kayyim didn’t say much to his bodyguard either, confining his interest to a sheaf of documents that he spread out in front of him. Harry tried to get a look at what these documents were but all he could make out were a series of numbers and Arabic words. Maybe he should have taken a Berlitz course before undertaking this mission.

According to Connelly, who’d briefed him just before he got on board the plane, all he was supposed to do was stay with Kayyim until they landed at Beirut Airport where presumably he’d be met by other Libyans who would replace him. Then he’d simply turn right around and come home. That was the plan. But as always there was to be room for improvising should circumstances dramatically alter.

Harry kept dozing off, not having gotten a good night’s sleep in several days. From time to time, he’d awaken to see the bodyguard staring at him as if he were trying to puzzle out some unfathomable secret about him.

Harry knew just what it was. The bodyguard might very well have caught a glimpse of him at the Avila Hotel last night and was attempting to make the connection. At one point, it appeared that he had succeeded. He frowned like someone who thought he’d put sugar in his tea and found he’d made a mistake and put salt in instead.

Then he turned and muttered something to Kayyim in Arabic. Kayyim couldn’t resist the temptation to glance around. When his eyes met Harry’s, he merely smiled and asked if everything were all right, whether he needed more food or drink—(non-alcoholic, naturally)—or perhaps another pillow. Harry assured him that he was fine and Kayyim returned to his mysterious documents.

They were over the first large body of land that Harry had seen since Newfoundland and he assumed it to be Ireland. That meant it was only a couple of hours, at the outside till they made Paris. It was entirely possible that Kayyim would have arranged for one of his agents to meet him at Orly, and not wait for Beirut. It was also possible that if Kayyim suspected that Harry had been involved in last night’s incident, he might see to it that Harry was killed before the plane refueled and the crew changed. Kayyim was undoubtedly adept at plotting assassinations on short notice. He decided that from here on in he would have to stay very much awake. Dozing off for even five minutes might mean a far longer sleep than he had reckoned on.

As the Pan Am jet set down at Orly, the pilot announced that all those continuing on to Istanbul, Beirut, Damascus, Kuwait, and Abu Dubai, while permitted to leave the plane, were obliged to remain in the transit terminal of the airport. There they could dine if they wished and make purchases in the duty-free shop.

Harry waited for instructions from Kayyim as to what he wanted him to do during the stopover.

Kayyim said that he would stay on board and catch up on his work. “I have Achmed with me. I will be safe here, have no worry. Why don’t you get some exercise, stretch your legs?”

Achmed gave Harry such a weird gold-capped smile that Harry was loath to go anywhere. But it would not do to protest. He casually left the two and proceeded to join the others who were filing out of the plane.

It was only after he reached the international transit building that he spied Ellie. Or rather she spied him.

“I don’t believe this,” he said. “No, I take that back. I believe it all right.”

“Surprised?”

She had been confined to the economy class which was why Harry had not seen her during the flight. Her station might spring for a trip to Beirut but not the frills that could go with it.

“Surprised isn’t the word I had in mind, Miss Winston.”

“Shit,” she said, “Miss Winston again. Don’t you ever give up?”

“Don’t you?”

He was walking quickly though there wasn’t anywhere to go and escaping her was patently impossible, particularly in the transit building of Orly Airport.

“You wouldn’t want to tell me what you’ve discovered about Kayyim, would you?”

“No, But I don’t imagine it much matters. You’ll probably find out anyway.”

“I’m telling you, Callahan, we would make a great team, you and I, if you’d let me in on the game.”

“We’re going into a war zone and you’re making it sound like it’s a hockey face-off.”

“You sound just like my boyfriend.”

“Well, that might be because your boyfriend’s a sensible fellow, ever think of that?”

He decided that he had nothing more to say to the relentless anchor woman of Station KCVO and turned away. He started toward the duty-free shop which a horde of tourists had descended upon in hope of snatching up untaxed cigarettes, liquor, and Sony radios. Ellie did not pursue him this time. But she kept watching him.

Suddenly he heard her shout to him.

He whipped about at the sound of his name and saw a man he judged to be about sixty-five, a couple of inches taller than he was, step up to him with a gun so small it almost disappeared in the cup of his hand. The silencer attachment protruding from it gave its presence away.

Harry dived, unbalancing a shopper who lost his grip on a bottle of Bacardi’s. The bottle smashed to the floor and created such a disturbance that no one heard the muffled report of the gun.

The shop window, however, collapsed. Glass slivers went flying among a tour group, leaving many of them with gashes and sharp razor-like cuts.

Harry rolled along the aisle of the shop because no other course of action was open to him. Any number of people were in his way. They protected him, but at the same time were exposed to the line of fire.

The man who’d just tried to kill him had gone. As soon as Harry realized he was safe he got off the floor and, ignoring the protests of the confused travelers on all sides of him, raced from the shop into the terminal proper. Ellie said nothing but pointed out the direction in which the assailant had fled.

Harry rushed headlong in pursuit; the man had only a few seconds on him, and there was no way he could leave this part of the airport without having to pass through customs which would delay him for a considerable period of time

Moreover, the man was tall and should not be difficult to pick out.

Harry did not want to use his gun if he could help it. He was in a diplomatically touchy situation here, on French territory but not yet, officially, in France. Already airport security personnel were heading towards the duty-free shop to see what had been the cause of all this commotion. They would find cut-up people and a window partially shot out and nothing else but witnesses with a great great many conflicting stories.

No one seemed to take notice of Harry, probably assuming that he was simply in a hurry to get to a plane that was minutes away from departing.

He reconnoitered the entire terminal, but the man was nowhere to be seen. There was no sign of him at customs or anywhere else, neither in the shops nor the restaurants nor the kiosks.

As he started back, resigned to losing his quarry, an electronic chime sounded over the speaker system followed by an announcement in French that his Pan Am flight was taking on passengers for the next lap of its journey to the Mideast.

Then he caught sight of Ellie. He realized that she was quietly signaling him. There was one place he hadn’t checked in his search, mainly because he never thought of it as a hiding place for a killer. But he could understand why Ellie had found out about it. She was gesturing towards a door to her right.

The outline of a woman on the door indicated the purpose the room inside served.

Ellie sidled up to him and whispered, “He went in there a few minutes ago. I think I heard a scream, I’m not sure. There may be someone in there with him. Maybe more than one.”

Overhead the speaker came to life again: “Attention. Pan Am Numero Quarante-Six à départer en cinq minutes.”

“You’ve got five minutes,” Ellie said.

“Go back on board. If I don’t get there watch Kayyim for me.”

“Am I to infer that I am now part of the team?”

“It sure looks like it, doesn’t it, Miss Winston?”

She wished him luck, not with words, she said nothing, but with her eyes. She had very expressive eyes. Harry began to understand why she made such a good anchorwoman.

Then she fell in with the rest of the passengers, quickening her pace as she approached the departure gate.

As soon as the corridor emptied and there was no one nearby to observe him, Harry edged open the ladies’ room door, very cautiously, no more than an inch. A sufficient gap was created for him to get an idea of the situation inside.

All he could see was one wall, but this one wall was covered entirely by a mirror. In the mirror the gunman was visible, so was his hostage, a terrified woman whose skirt was bundled up about her knees. There was no question she’d been taken by surprise; her eyes were filled with tears and she was whimpering very softly. Her captor held one hand over her lips; the other had a gun to her head.

He must have heard the door opening for Harry saw he adjusted his position and pulled the woman closer to him as though to make it clear how little mobility she had.

Harry had the advantage of knowing where his opponent was, whereas the gunman could only see the door slightly ajar. He would have no way of knowing who was behind it.

Then Harry moved, firing his Magnum not at the gunman, who was too well hidden by the woman, but at the mirror. The roar of the Magnum was distraction enough, particularly in such a small space with all the enamel and tiled surfaces to echo off of. But the damage done to the mirror was of greater significance; glass erupted in every direction, raining down on hostage and captor alike, slicing them both so that suddenly their flesh all but vanished under a coating of blood. It was as though they’d broken out in a rash simultaneously. Too bad about the woman, Harry thought, but there was no other way to do it. Better to endure some nasty cuts than die.

As he had anticipated, the gunman had released his hold on the woman, too preoccupied by the pain and by the ringing in his ears to maintain custody of her. When the woman screaming in terror, slipped away from him, Harry fired a second round, this time at the man himself.

The man was struck fatally in the chest and the momentum of the round was powerful enough to send him reeling backwards through the door of one of the stalls, leaving him slumped awkwardly on the toilet with blood dripping steadily down his chest. His eyes were still open and he had the look of a man too long constipated.

The woman fled. The last Harry saw, she was running down the corridor, possibly thinking that he too posed a threat. There was still no one in the vicinity but he did not expect that this state of affairs would last for long; someone must have heard the two gunshots.

Meanwhile, a woman with a very ingratiating voice announced the last call for passengers boarding Pan Am Flight Forty-Six to Istanbul, Beirut, and points further east.

Harry hastily dug through the pockets of the man he had just killed and found two items of interest: a wallet and a passport. He slipped both into his pockets, having no time to examine either, and left the ladies’ room. A wealthy looking woman of advanced years was about to enter. She scowled at Harry when he emerged, no doubt wondering what he was doing in territory off-limits to the male sex.