As he undressed, he thought of those diamonds, lying on the settee. Would that careless bitch throw them on the settee tomorrow night? Was it going to be that easy? He had a sudden cold feeling that he might have missed the opportunity of a lifetime.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Anita, in her black sweat shirt and black trousers, moved invisibly through the grounds of the Spanish Bay Hotel. She was heading for the staff entrance which meant she would have to circle the swimming pool. She paused, seeing Josh Prescott standing under the lights of the pool, and her heart skipped a beat. Then she saw him helping Maggie out of the pool. She watched Maggie, sex oozing out of her. She watched them talk, then she watched Maggie catch hold of Prescott's arm and lead him away towards the flowering shrubs.
No longer frightened of being caught by Prescott, Anita ran swiftly to the staff entrance. With her duplicate passkey, she let herself into the dark corridor and walked silently to the kitchens. Opening the door, she peered in. She heard the clatter of crockery and cutlery and she guessed the two waiters were in the still-room, preparing the breakfast trays, but where was Dominic, the third chef?
She slid into the dimly lit kitchen and looked across to the lighted chef's office. She could see Dominic at the desk, reading. Moving fast, she reached the store room. Lifting the lid of the flour bin, she used the scoop to make a deep hole in the flour. She inserted the big bomb, pushing it gently down and then, breathing heavily, her heart racing, she buried the bomb. Carefully, she smoothed over the surface of the flour, wiped her hands hastily on a towel by the bin, then moved swiftly out of the store room.
As she began the long walk across the kitchens, the telephone bell began to ring in the chef's office. She broke into a silent run, reaching the door as one of the waiters came out of the still room. He didn't look her way, but hurried into the chef's office. She heard Dominic call, 'Grilled ham and eggs for suite six . . .' and she was running down the corridor, out through the staff entrance door and into the humid night.
How long would Prescott be before be returned to the hotel? She ran around the hotel and up the entrance steps. She paused to look around. The lobby was deserted. The night porter was out of sight. She moved into the lobby, looked wildly around for a hiding place for the little bomb.
Across the lobby, she saw on the wall, near the entrance to the restaurant, a large painted wooden carving of a Mexican woman. Jean Dulac had discovered this carving in a wayside village some miles from Taxco, Mexico. With his wide knowledge of antiques, he had recognized this carving to be of the Cortes period and had bought it. It now had pride of place in the lobby.
Anita ran over to it. Here, she found a crevice between the woman's breasts. The little bomb fitted into the crevice as if it were made for it.
A man's slurring voice said, 'A pretty thing, baby, but you are prettier.'
Anita's heart gave a bound, then raced. Her hand went to the hilt of her knife, concealed under her sweat shirt. She turned. A fat, white-haired man was sitting in a deep lounging chair, watching her. His face was flushed and he looked half asleep.
'Where did you spring from?' he asked.
Controlling her panic, Anita said, 'I'm just one of the cleaners.'
'Pretty. I guess I'll go to bed.' He levered himself out of the chair and came unsteadily towards her. She could see he was very drunk. She slid around him and ran to the hotel's entrance.
'Hey! Don't run away,' the man exclaimed. 'How about a little kiss?' But she was now down the steps and into the night, running as she had never run before.
As she reached the entrance gates and began to run down the boulevard, she heard a voice she recognized.
'Anita!'
She paused, looking back. A battered Lincoln pulled out of the shadows and stopped by her. Manuel grinned at her.
'I've been waiting,' he said. 'Okay?'
'Yes.' She shuddered. 'I said I would do it. It is done!'
'Get in,' Manuel said, opening the passenger's door. 'You are a splendid woman!'
She ran around the car and scrambled in beside him.
'Pedro? Have you heard more news?' she asked.
Manuel patted her knee. 'I have just come from the hospital,' he lied. 'All goes wonderfully well. There is talk of moving your husband to the prison hospital the day after tomorrow. He refuses to tell them anything. He thinks only of you, and is protecting you. He is a fine young man as you are a fine young woman.'
'He is really so much better?'
'It is as I say. Now tell me about the bombs.'
As he drove her back to her home, Manuel listened to what she had done with the two bombs, her voice unsteady, tears of relief running down her face. He listened, nodding approval, and yet there was in him this sick feeling that he was betraying her. But he kept thinking: five million dollars! What couldn't he do with a sum like that!
He also thought of Fuentes. To give such a hollow, worthless man a million dollars would be absurd! No, five million was always better than four million. When the time came, he would get rid of Fuentes, a quick blow and then the sea. It would be simple.
As he pulled up outside Anita's apartment block, he patted her arm. 'We do this tomorrow night. We will come here and finalize our plans at midnight. Okay?'
She caught hold of his hand in both of hers. 'Yes. Tomorrow night.' She paused, then went on, 'My friend, I trust you. You are known as a man of truth. Money means nothing to me. All I want is Pedro, my husband. I trust you.'
Sour bile rose in Manuel's mouth. He swallowed, grimacing as he again patted her arm.
'Rely on me,' be said, unable to look directly at her. 'You will have your husband. Tomorrow night, then, at midnight.'
'May God bless and keep you,' she said, and lifting his hand, she pressed her lips against his hard, scaly skin.
'Go to bed,' he said, snatching his hand away. 'Tomorrow night.'
He watched her walk up the steps to the entrance of her home. She was again crying. With a shiver, he wiped the back of his hand, wiping away the touch of her lips. For a long moment, he sat staring through the dusty windshield of his car, hating himself, then with the thought of owning five million dollars, he lifted his heavy shoulders in a despairing shrug, shifted into gear and drove away.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The following morning, in the air-conditioned living room of the hotel chalet, Lu Brady sat in the wheelchair in his disguise of an old man, shaping a small strip of steel with the aid of a file. Across the room, Mike Bannion watched him. Maggie had gone for a swim in the pool. She had told Brady, the previous night, about Mike's daughter, Chrissy, and because he had come to like this big ex-Army sergeant, Brady had been shocked.
A long silence had dwelt over the room except for the faint rasping sound of the file. From time to time, Brady had taken a swift glance at Mike, then away.
Breaking the silence, Mike said, 'You know your job. What is that for?'
Brady put down the file and flexed his fingers. 'This bit of steel, Mike, will open the safe.' He nodded. 'I guess I do know my job.' He paused to light a cigarette.
'Tonight, we do the job. It should be easy. Maggie told me about your little daughter. I'm sorry. You will get the money, Mike. With luck, this job will be no problem. Does it worry you?'
Mike shook his head. 'No. If you say it'll be no problem, why should I worry? Like Maggie, I have lots of confidence in you.'
Then a stabbing pain, like a red-hot knife, jerked him upright. He fought to control his agonized expression, but Brady, looking at him, felt a qualm.
'You're ill, aren't you, Mike?' he said. 'Look, we are working together. I like you. We have a big job to do. If there is a cock-up, we'll all land in the slammer. Each of us has a job to do. Maggie has to take care of the hotel dick. You have to put anyone unexpected out of action, I have to open the safe and get the Warrenton diamonds. We are a team. Level with me, Mike. You're ill, aren't you?'
Mike stared down at his big hands for a long moment, then he looked at Brady. 'I'll be dead in six months,' he said. 'That's why I am doing this job. I have terminal cancer.'
Brady felt sweat turn his hands clammy. Terminal cancer! He had a horror of death. Here was this big, disciplined man telling him his big disciplined body would be in a box in six months' time, and yet, there was almost a serene expression in Mike's eyes.
'I don't give a damn about myself,' Mike said. 'I have had a good life. It's just one of those things. But I care a lot about my daughter. Don't worry. I need the money. I won't let you down.'
Brady leaned forward, staring at Mike. 'Suppose you get one of those pains tonight, Mike, when I need you most? Look, for God's sake, level with me. If you don't really think you can handle this job, we'll call it off. We can get out of here. I don't want to land in jail. I don't want Maggie to land in jail. For God's sake, Mike, level with me!'
Mike looked directly at him. 'I won't let you down,' he said, slowly and distinctly. 'I will do this job you hired me for. I have pain killing pills. I hate pills, but tonight, I will use them. I give you my word, I'll do what you want me to do.'
Brady, staring at this big man who was staring back at him, felt a surge of confidence. 'Okay, Mike,' he said. 'I don't have to tell you how sorry I am. I damn well am! Okay, coming from you, I know you'll do the job.'
At this moment, Maggie came in, wrapped in her towelling coat. 'I'm starving!' she exclaimed. 'When do we eat?'
'Maggie, baby,' Brady said, 'you can make a complete hog of yourself. We'll be out of here tonight, and I won't have to foot the bill. We'll be off.'
Maggie squealed with excitement. 'You mean I can eat what I like?'
'That's what I mean,' Brady said. 'You can work through the whole goddam menu. Now, get us a drink.'
While Maggie made gin martinis which Mike refused, Brady went through the plan of operation.
'As soon as Maggie has got this house dick in the shrubbery, we move in,' he said to Mike. 'I've all the equipment we need. This you can leave to me. First, we empty the security boxes, then we go down to the penthouse terrace. If the Warrentons aren't asleep, you will dart them. We collect the diamonds, then we walk out. There's nothing tricky about this. We go into operation as soon as Maggie handles the dick, around 02.45. At that time, there are few people around, most of them half drunk. We return here, wait for Maggie, take the Rolls and away we go. I'm seeing the boss after dinner. He'll set up a meeting place. I'll have all that fixed by the time we begin the operation.'
Maggie sipped her drink. 'Oh, hon, I'll be sad to leave this lovely place. I've so enjoyed it.'
'There are other places,' Brady said. He looked at his watch. 'I guess we can eat.'
Maggie clapped her hands. 'Let's go! I'm starving!'
'When ever aren't you?' Brady said. 'How about you, Mike?'
Wrestling with another stabbing pain, Mike forced a grin. 'I guess I'll stay here. Have a ball!'
'You mean you are not going to eat?' Maggie cried, her eyes popping wide.
'Maggie!' Brady snapped. 'Wheel me to the restaurant! Not everyone is such a hog as you!'
Startled, Maggie took hold of the wheelchair and maneuvered it out of the chalet. 'Imagine! With all this gorgeous free food, and he's not interested!' she said, as she rushed the wheelchair towards the terrace restaurant.
'Slow down!' Brady snapped. 'Do you think you're competing in the Grand Prix?'
Maggie reluctantly slowed down. 'I'm hungry, hon,' she whined.
'Don't repeat yourself!' Brady said.
He decided he wouldn't tell Maggie that Mike was a dying man. He knew Maggie was hopelessly sentimental. If she knew Mike would be dead in a few months time, she could collapse in snivelling tears and be utterly useless for the operation ahead.
As Maggie maneuvered the wheelchair onto the terrace restaurant, and the maitre d' came swiftly to her side. Brady relaxed. You either win or lose, he thought as Maggie steered the wheelchair to their corner table. Eight million dollars! This was the big take!
He had surveyed the penthouse. He knew he could open the safe and the boxes containing these too rich people's valuables. He was sure he would get the Warrenton diamonds. The deal looked good. He had confidence in Mike, in spite of his illness. He knew for certain Maggie would keep the hotel dick occupied. Eight million dollars! It was as good as deposited in his Swiss bank!
The thought made him hungry. Taking the menu from the maitre d', he glanced at the table du jour: a five course lunch. 'We'll take the lot,' he said, 'and a bottle of your best wine.'
Maggie gave a squeal of excitement that startled the old people already eating.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
As the sun began to rise, Manuel Torres was busy with his boat. In the forward cabin, Fuentes lay sweating on the bunk, listening to Manuel's activities. Fuentes was frightened to come out on deck, so he stifled in the little cabin, wondering if there was a cop patrolling the harbor, and cursing Manuel for ignoring him.
It wasn't until after midday that Manuel came down into the cabin. 'What the hell have you been doing?' Fuentes snarled. 'I've been lying here in this goddam heat . . .'
'Yes, my friend,' Manuel said. 'I am sorry for you, but soon now, you will be home. Have patience.' He went into the galley.
Wiping the sweat off his face, Fuentes went to the door of the galley. 'What is happening?' he demanded. 'How much longer do I have to stay in the cabin?'
Manuel put a pot of water on the stove. He threw in salt. 'My boat is ready to sail,' he said. 'We do the job tonight. We meet Anita at her place at midnight. We will finalize the operation.'
As the water began to boil, he fed in sticks of spaghetti. 'In a few days, we leave in my boat for Havana, with five million dollars. We take Warrenton as hostage. No one will dare stop us.'
Fuentes sucked in his breath. He felt suddenly elated. How smart he had been to have gone to this man for help! Of course the boat! He had imagined they were going to hijack a plane! How much safer in a boat! With this rich man as hostage, there would be no problem. A perfect plan!