He heard his father give a grunt of disapproval. 'Don't leave it too long, son. I'm not getting any younger. When are you coming home?'
'Oh, in about a couple of weeks.'
'I've got all kinds of interesting things lined up for you. I want you to take some of the work load off my back, son. Did you tell your wife about the house? I took a look at it. It's pretty fancy.'
'Sure, Dad, I told her.' Wilbur struggled to put enthusiasm into his voice. 'She's pleased.'
Again the grunt. 'So she should be. It cost three million.' A pause, then, 'Well, enjoy yourself, son. I've got a board meeting in a moment, and you'll be on that board with me pretty soon. So long, son, take care, and Silas hung up.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Anita Certes had been finishing Maria's bathroom when Wilbur had walked in and began talking to his father. Hurriedly, she had pushed the door to and listened. The one-sided telephone conversation didn't give her any information except that the easy warmth of Wilbur's voice told her that what she had heard from the staff gossip was true, that Silas Warrenton, enormously rich, and his son were fond of each other. One of the Cuban waiters who serviced the penthouse had told her from what he had overheard, the old man longed for grandchildren. 'That rich bitch won't play. I heard them arguing in the bedroom. She's too selfish to have children. The son will take over the oil kingdom. He'll be worth billions when the old man croaks,' the waiter had told her.
Anita had had no sleep. She had spent hours in the stuffy forward cabin of Manuel Torres' fishing vessel, talking. First, she had begged Fuentes to help Pedro. He had shrugged.
'What can I do? The cops are looking for me!' he had said, his voice shrill. 'If I could raise some money, I'd go back to Havana, but I'm stuck.'
'You will be safe here,' Manuel said. 'I don't desert my friends.'
'Isn't my husband your friend?' Anita demanded.
'His friend,' Manuel said, nodding at Fuentes. 'Not mine.'
Fuentes waved his hands in despair. 'I can't do a thing! Don't you understand? The cops have got him! He's wounded. What can I do?'
Leaning forward, her eyes burning, Anita told him.
The two men listened while she talked, then suddenly, Fuentes interrupted, 'This is crazy talk!' he exploded. 'You're out of your head! Go away! Don't come here again! You're mad!'
Manuel laid a restraining hand on Fuentes' arm. 'I can see possibilities,' he said. 'Let us examine this idea. Calm yourself.'
'It's crazy talk!'
'Nothing involving five million dollars is crazy talk to me. Calm yourself.'
Anita watched the two men. She had expected opposition. Fuentes was stupid, but she could tell that Manuel was nibbling at the bait she was dangling. She regarded him: big, powerful, with a bushy black beard, a completely bald head and small, cruel eyes. If she could only convince him, she felt confident he would handle her plan well.
Manuel looked at her. 'Let me understand this,' he said. 'Your idea is for us to take over the penthouse suite at the hotel and hold Warrenton and his wife for ransom?'
'That is my plan,' Anita said quietly. 'Warrenton is worth billions. His father loves him. A five million ransom would mean nothing to him.'
'And how do we take over the penthouse?' Manuel asked.
'I tell you she's crazy!' Fuentes shouted angrily. 'I know the hotel. There, they have security guards! Take over the penthouse . . . crazy talk!'
Manuel patted Fuentes' arm. 'My friend, I ask you to keep quiet. Let us listen. Five million dollars! Think what that would mean.' Looking at Anita, he again asked, 'And how do we take over the penthouse?'
'Through me,' Anita said. 'I work at the hotel. There's nothing I don't know about the security, how to reach the penthouse, how to avoid the guards and the house detective.'
She turned to Fuentes. 'The cops are looking for you. Are you going to stay in this cabin for months? Can't you realize that once in the penthouse you can ask for anything -- food, drink, cigarettes . . . anything -- and because you hold the Warrentons, the hotel will give you what you ask for. Then when the ransom is handed over, taking the Warrentons as hostages, we all leave for home with five million dollars.'
Fuentes gaped at her, then looked uneasily at Manuel. 'Yes. Maybe,' he said slowly. 'You are sure you can get us into the penthouse?'
Anita began to relax. Another fish was nibbling at her bait. 'I can,' she said. 'I have duplicates of the keys to the staff door and the penthouse.'
'You have?' Manuel said sharply. 'How did you get them?'
Sometime in the past, Pedro had told her, 'Always have duplicates of hotel keys. You never know when you might need them.' And he had told her how to make a wax impression and he had arranged to get the keys cut.
'That is my business,' she said. 'I have them.'
Fuentes looked at Manuel.
'What do you think?'
'I like it. We will need a third man. We don't know how long we will be penned up in that place. We have to sleep. One on, one off is dangerous. We will need a third man.'
'I will be the third man,' Anita said.
Manuel shook his head.
'No. It is better for you to keep out of this.'
'I will be the third man,' Anita said firmly. 'Before long, the cops will find out the name of my husband. They will come after me, and I will lose my job. When that happens, there will be no way for you to reach the penthouse. This has to be done quickly.'
Manuel thought about this, then nodded.
'She makes sense,' he said to Fuentes. 'Let me think carefully about this plan of yours, Mrs. Certes. Tomorrow night, come here and I will tell you if we will do this.'
'Not later than tomorrow night.'
'Tomorrow night. It will be either yes or no,' Manuel said.
She had them hooked, she thought, then looking directly at Manuel, she said, 'Now listen. I will get you into the penthouse on one condition.'
Both men looked suspiciously at her.
'And what is the condition?' Manuel asked.
'I don't want any of the ransom money. Whatever you get is for you two to divide, but the ransom demand must include the release and safe conduct of Pedro to come with us when we take the hostages to Havana. If you don't agree to this condition, I will not get you into the penthouse.'
Fuentes again exploded. 'I told you she was crazy!' he screamed at Manuel. 'Pedro is wounded! He could be dying! The cops will never release him! He has killed twice! This is mad talk!'
'Shut up!' Manuel barked, losing patience. 'Now Mrs. Certes, this is a very difficult condition, but not impossible. Once we get into the penthouse and are in control, then we will be able to dictate terms. I promise you I will do my best to have your husband with us when we leave. I am a man of my word. I am known as a man of truth. I give you my promise, but it will be difficult.'
'Manuel Torres,' Anita said, her eyes hard and cold, 'I am not a stupid woman. My only thought is to have back Pedro, the light of my life. When the time comes, and if I am not satisfied that they will release Pedro, then I will kill that rich South American bitch and will kill Warrenton too, unless they do agree to release Pedro. This is what you will tell them, and if they don't believe you, then I will also tell them and they will believe me!'
Manuel regarded her, startled. Here, he thought, was a woman of great strength, and he felt a surge of admiration run through him. He was completely convinced she meant what she was saying.
He stood for a long moment, looking at her, then he nodded. The steel in Anita's voice convinced him.
'Yes, it could work. Come tomorrow night. I have many contacts. I will make inquiries. First, we must find out about your husband's condition. That will be no problem. Tomorrow night, when you have finished work, we will discuss what we have to do.'
Wearily, but triumphant, Anita got to her feet, and Manuel, rising to his great height, held out his hand.
'You are a good wife and a fine woman,' he said. 'We will work well together.'
When she had gone, Fuentes burst out, 'She's crazy!'
Manuel regarded him, then shook his head.
'She is in love. When women are truly in love, they are stronger than men. Now, we sleep.'
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Claude Previn was the day duty reception clerk at the Spanish Bay Hotel. His work entailed welcoming arrivals, signing them in, arranging for them to be conducted to their suites or chalets and preparing accounts. Aged thirty five, tall, lean and darkly handsome, Previn had worked for some years at the George V Hotel, Paris, as a minor reception clerk. Advised by his father who ran a two star restaurant on the Left Bank, he had applied for the position of first reception clerk. Accepted, Previn bad been working in this best of all hotels for the past two years. Jean Dulac, the owner of the hotel, was pleased with him. Previn's future appeared to be assured.
On this hot sunny morning, Previn was at the reception desk, surveying the vast lounge where a number of elderly people sat, talking and having their late morning cocktails. He listened to the nasal chatter of these rich old people and he thought longingly of the George V Hotel where the action was. Here, there were mostly old people who were demanding, but content to eat, drink and gossip. The old rich, Previn thought, were utterly dull, but without them, this great hotel wouldn't exist.
A vision in white appeared before him. For a moment he blinked, not believing that he was looking at the most gorgeous, sexy woman he had ever seen.
Maggie Schultz, attired in a nurse's uniform, her honey colored hair, except for stray curls, concealed by a nurse's head dress, her big, sexy eyes glittering, was to Previn, even clothed, better than any Playboy fold-out.
Maggie, with her sexual awareness, regarded this handsome man, knowing she had made a big impact.
'Mr. Cornelius Vance has a reservation,' she said in her demure voice.
For a long moment, Previn could only stare at her, then, pulling himself together, he bowed, thinking if there was one woman in the world be wanted to go to bed with, it was this woman, standing, smiling at him.
'Mr. Vance. Of course. Chalet three,' he said, his voice husky.
'Well, he's right outside,' Maggie said. 'The poor dear can't come in. He told me to sign him in. I'm his nurse, Stella Jacques.' She released her sexiest smile. 'What do I do?'
Previn, almost hypnotized by the smile, flicked his fingers. Two bell boys appeared as if by magic.
'If you would please sign in for Mr. Vance, Miss Jacques,' he said. 'These two will conduct you to the chalet.'
Maggie signed the register, then gave Previn another sexy smile and followed the bell boys to where the Rolls waited.
Previn drew in a deep breath. What a woman! he thought. As he was watching her cross the lobby, marvelling at the swing of her neat buttocks, a voice, speaking in French, said, 'Who is she, Claude?'
Previn started guiltily and turned. 'Good morning, Mr. Dulac,' he said, and respectfully bowed his head.
Jean Dulac, owner of this deluxe hotel, was on the sunny side of fifty years of age, tall, distinguished looking with that polished charm that is unique with the French, but behind this charm lurked a ruthless efficiency that had brought about the miracle of the Spanish Bay Hotel.
He tolerated no slackness, nor lazy service. He had created his hotel as the best in the world, and he was determined that the hotel would remain the best. He left the running of the hotel to highly paid experts, but he supervised, correcting and suggesting.
Each morning, at 09.30, he left his office and visited every department of the hotel, smiling, apparently kindly, but constantly checking for possible faults. He began with the laundry, having a nice word with the women who adored him, then he went to the wine cellars, talking with the wine master who had come from France, then he visited the three restaurants, discussed the day's menus with the maitre d's, then to the kitchen to talk to the chief chef, a quick look around, smiling at the young chefs, but always checking.
The morning's ritual took time. Finally, he came into the lounge and spoke, with his Maurice Chevalier accent, to the rich oldies who were charmed.
Moving to the reception desk, he asked again, 'Who was she?'
'Mr. Cornelius Vance has just arrived, sir,' Previn said. 'That was his nurse.'
'Ah, yes. Mr. Vance: a cripple.' Dulac smiled. 'He knows how to choose a nurse, apparently.'
Previn inclined his head.
'So it seems, sir.' Dulac nodded, then walked out onto the terrace to pause, say a word, then move on to his other rich clients around the swimming pool.
Installed in a deluxe chalet, not without a slight commotion of getting the crippled Mr. Vance out of the Rolls and into his wheelchair, Brady, Maggie and Mike looked around and grinned at each other.
The bell boys had gone. The offer to unpack had been dismissed by Maggie. There were two bottles of champagne in ice buckets, flowers and a big basket of assorted fruits on the sideboard to welcome them.
'Very fancy,' Brady said. 'This is something I dig: luxury at someone else's expense. Mike, bust open one of those bottles. We may as well take advantage of this joint while we can.'
Maggie had dashed around, exploring the chalet, finding three bedrooms, three bathrooms and a tiny kitchenette. As Mike was wrestling with the champagne cork, she came back into the living room.
'It's quite, quite groovy!' she exclaimed. 'Come and look!'
'This is the best hotel in the world,' Brady said. 'Let's have a drink.'
While they sipped the champagne, Brady said, 'Maggie, we mustn't waste time. I want you to circulate. You know what your job is. We must find out where the safe is located.'
'I've already made a contact,' Maggie said. 'The reception clerk is gorgeous. If I can get him alone for ten minutes, he's a dead duck.'
'Then fix it, baby, go get him alone.'
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Anita walked up the gang plank of Manuel's fishing vessel. She saw Manuel, outlined against the light of the forward cabin. He had been waiting for her, and he raised his hand in greeting.