The Tide Can't Wait (19 page)

Her bluff had run its course. Leon was more than angry; he was wild. “Where are they?” he demanded of her. “What have you done with them?” He came toward her and there was an ugliness about him she had not dreamed could be there. “The film!”

She backed closer to Tommy. “I gave them to the man you sent, as you told me.” She heard her own voice rising shrilly and she said more quietly, “I did as I was ordered, Leon. Tell me what the trouble is.” She spoke now in English.

The sallow man was only a step behind Leon, watching them both. This was the contact, she knew. He had paid the money and now he wanted the film. And he had nothing. She could see the contempt on his face and it was for Leon.

“The film,” Leon said. “I left it in your bag. Under Barr's very nose. We have just come from there. The bag is gone. Where is it?”

Suddenly Lenny could not control herself. Laughter came bubbling up, half-hysterical. Leon had outsmarted himself!

“Stop that! Stop it, Lenore!”

She choked back her laughter. She said, “So I have the money and I know where the film is, and you—you have nothing, Leon.”

He took another step toward her and in his face she saw death. He meant to kill her as she stood there.

Lenny wanted to run. But there was Tommy. She had no way of knowing whether or not he had been able to use the knife. She stood her ground, her body shielding him from the men.

Leon reached for her. The sallow-faced man caught him roughly by the shoulder. “Are you mad, Roget? How will you find out where the bag is if you kill her?”

Leon might not have heard him. His hands fastened about her throat. She caught his wrists and tried to draw them away. But he was strong. She had no breath; she could feel the burning of the trapped air in her body and the pounding of the blood in her ears.

The sallow-faced man jerked savagely, tearing Leon loose from her. Both men went off-balance and fell to the floor. Lenny stumbled backward and caught the back of Tommy's chair for support. She felt a hand catch her, steadying her.

His voice was low but clear. “Watch that blond brute.”

Lenny felt herself being thrust aside in the direction of the blond man as Tommy rose from the chair, the deadly little knife gleaming in his hand. Lenny struck the blond man as he was trying to get a gun from his pocket. She put both hands on his wrist and clung.

He struck her a glancing rabbit punch on the back of the neck. The pain was so intense, that she fell to her knees, her breath coming in great, shaking sobs. She could not see. The pain was making everything blur. She heard the blond man grunt; there was a scream and a curse, and a heavy leg caught her in the side, knocking her down. Then there was a man's entire weight on her.

Someone fired a shot.

The weight on Lenny disappeared. She lifted her head and found that she could see again. The blond man and the sallow-faced man were near her, both of them holding their hands up. Leon lay on the floor, and even she could see that he was dead. Tommy had shot the gun and the bullet had struck him in the face.

The door burst open and Barr came in, two men behind him. Over the shoulder of the one called Stark, Lenny saw Portia's round, inquisitive face.

She began to laugh.

Portia pushed Barr aside and came to her and knelt. She slapped her none too gently on the cheek. Lenny gulped and her hysteria stopped.

Barr said, “What the devil is all this?”

“Hullo, Barr,” Tommy said. “There's your contact—this long, thin boy. His name is Castro. Or it used to be. He does this for a living. And here's the one who killed Helgos and tried to kill you that night. Castro hired him and his friends. They own the launch.” He held out the gun to Barr. “This belongs to our blond friend here.”

With Portia's help, Lenny got to her feet. She tried to smile at Barr as she went to stand beside Tommy. He put an arm about her.

Barr said, “I want that microfilm.”

“It's in the buttery,” Tommy said. “Lenny gave it to one of the men from the launch. They're both at the buttery, waiting for Leon. The film is in a sachet bag.”

Lenny saw that Barr was looking at her, and she said, “The thinner of the two has the sachet bag in his coat pocket. I saw him put it there.”

Barr glared from one to the other. “If you're lying—”

“They aren't,” Portia said. “Do you want that pair to get suspicious and go away, or are you going after them?”

Barr nodded to Stark. “Wrap this up, will you?” He looked at Portia. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to help Tommy,” she said. “I've been helping him for some time. I can stop now. Leon is dead.”

Only Lenny showed surprise; not Barr, nor Stark, nor the man who must be the one Barr called Snyder.

Barr said, “If any one of you leaves here, I'll turn the Yard loose on all of you.” With Stark and Snyder ahead of him, herding Castro and the blond man, he went through the door and down the stairs. Portia shut the door behind him and then picked up a throw rug and draped it over Leon's body.

Tommy went to his bedroom and when he returned, he was folding a tiny piece of microfilm between his fingers. “Now to read this,” he said cheerfully. He went on into his study.

Lenny thought of the paper wrapped around the money. She felt lightheaded and it was all she could do to give the envelope to Portia and tell her about the paper and the need to hold it before heat. Then she had to lie down. She could hear Portia and Tommy in the study; she was alone in the living room with Leon's body.

• • •

The stairs shook with the pounding of Barr's feet. It seemed no time since he had left. Lenny opened her eyes as he burst into the door, holding the remnants of a sachet bag in his hand. Tommy and Portia came from the study in time to have it fall at their feet. To Lenny, Barr looked much as Leon had just before he tried to kill her.

“Price, I want those films!”

“Slight error,” Tommy said amiably. He had the microfilm in his hand and he gave it to Barr. He followed it with the envelope. “Money and instructions,” he explained. “Thank Lenny for these.”

“I want to know who you are,” Barr said. “What Griggs told me makes no sense.”

“Griggs should know,” Tommy answered. “He's been tailing me so closely he should know every freckle on my neck.” He was grinning again. “If he didn't tell you, Portia will. By the way, your man Griggs was breathing so hard down the back of my collar that I didn't see our blond friend and he caught me. You should be more careful about these things.”

Barr grunted at him. Portia touched Barr's arm. “Let's go, Rob. I'll tell you what you want to know. Lenny and Tommy will be here tomorrow.”

Barr ignored her. “If it hadn't been for Griggs,” he said to Tommy, “I wouldn't have got here at all.”

“And I appreciate your coming,” Tommy said with such deadly politeness that Barr's face colored. “So while you are here, you might make plans to take care of Roget.” He smiled. “I'm too tired to put him where I put Helgos.”

Portia laughed. Barr stared at Tommy a moment and then went to where Leon's body lay, rolled it into the rug as though he were making up a package, lifted the entire affair and, with Portia ahead of him, went out the door.

Tommy seated himself beside Lenny. “You were terrific,” he said. “For a minute there, I didn't know who you were playing on the hook—me or those hoodlums.”

She essayed a smile. “I guess I'll have to know how to do these things if I'm going to help you.”

He bent and looked closely at her. Then, scooping her up, he carried her easily into the bedroom and deposited her on the bed. “Your pajamas are in what's left of your bag,” he said. “Put them on and go to sleep. You've had enough excitement for one night.”

She felt warm and relaxed, and unaccountably happy. “Am I going to have to marry you, Tommy?”

“Definitely, yes,” Tommy said. “Good night, Lenny.”

• • •

Barr sat in the quiet of his own living room and watched through the door to the kitchen where Portia was fussing about the stove.

“Must you be domestic at this hour of the morning? It's nearly four o'clock.”

“Yes,” she said.

It had been a long evening, and Barr was still angry at being given the run-around. But at least now he knew about Tommy Price. He yawned and stretched, admiring Portia's figure as she bent to peer into the oven.

“Why don't you stick to painting and housewifing?” he said. “Then we can get married.”

“And sit up nights worrying about you getting home?”

“I could get a desk job in Washington.”

“Then I could watch you die of peptic ulcers. No thanks, Bob. I prefer things as they are…. Your food is ready. Come and eat it.”

This edition published by
Prologue Books
a division of F+W Media, Inc.
10151 Carver Road, Suite 200
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www.prologuebooks.com

Copyright © 1957 by Louis Trimble.
Copyright © renewed 1985 by Louis Trimble.

Published by arrangement with Golden West Literary Agency.
All rights reserved.

This is a work of fiction.

Names, characters, corporations, institutions, organizations, events, or locales in this novel are either the product of the author's imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. The resemblance of any character to actual persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.

eISBN 10: 1-4405-4203-1
eISBN 13: 978-1-4405-4203-9

Cover art © 123RF/Konrad Bak