Operation Breakthrough

by Dan J. Marlowe

  “I’d run you out’ve here this second if I wasn’t afraid someone’d see you leavin’ in daylight an’ finger me for keepin’ you here,” Candy snarled at me. “But as soon as it’s dark you’re gone! I can’t stand no static from those people!”

  “I’m sure there’s a way it could be handled if — ” Chen Yi began again.

  “Shut up!” Candy roared. His eyes glittered. “I want him out’ve here!”

  “But I’m sure we could — ”

  Anger threaded his voice. “I know a bear trap when I see one, woman! They’d close me up in a minute!”

  I stacked my dishes and carried them from the table to the sink. I had no desire to be the focal point of a quarrel between these two. Candy was glaring at Chen Yi as though she was the cause of all his problems.

  “Candy — ” she said quietly.

  “SHUT UP!!” It was an outright bellow.

  “But if I can explain to you how — ”

  Candy’s voice was suddenly calm when he interrupted her. “Get the cane, Chen Yi.”

  She appeared surprised. She looked at Candy, glanced at me, then back at Candy. “You will have time for that later. For now you should know — ”

  “GET THE CANE!”

  For an instant I thought she was going to refuse to obey. Then she went behind the kitchen door and took down from a hook a pliant looking cane about twenty-four inches long, the type I’d seen in movies involving British schools. In silence she handed it to Candy. He bent it double upon its own length, testing its flexibility, then gripped its knobby end. “Get your belly down on that table!” he commanded. “That smart mouth of yours will make your ass smart!”

  Again I thought she was going to refuse until Chen Yi stretched herself out the long way on the kitchen table. Her beautiful face was an ivory mask. Candy grabbed the trailing edge of her long gown and threw it up onto her back, exposing the long legs, full bare thighs, and splendid nude buttocks. The cane in Candy’s hand swished through the air and struck Chen Yi’s taut flesh viciously, curling around her seat.

  The cane rebounded violently as though rejected by the soft mounds. The Chinese girl’s thigh muscles clenched and unclenched, but she made no sound. A long, livid stripe sprang up across her twin globes. I could see a weal rising even before the stripe turned pink, then maroon.

  Swhissssshhhhh-crack!

  Chen Yi’s back arched, but she sank back upon the table top again, still silent.

  Swissssshhhhh-crack!

  Candy grunted from the effort. “Count, bitch!” he said hoarsely as his arm descended again with the cane a whirring blur at its end.

  “Four!” Chen Yi said clearly but in a strangled voice. “How — many?”

  “Ten of the best,” Candy informed her. Swissssshhhhh-crack! “Count!”

  “Five!”

  “Six!”

  “S-seven!” For the first time there was an audible catch in the Chinese girl’s voice as her meaty looking backside was scored again. Rising stripes criss-crossed her bare flesh. Her solid-looking thighs writhed like ivory snakes.

  “Eight!” I couldn’t understand how Chen Yi kept from screaming until I saw that after each count her mouth went to her arm where she bit herself to subdue her vocal distress.

  It was a contest of wills.

  Swissssshhhhh-crack!

  “N-nine!”

  Candy whipped the springy cane down into Chen Yi’s multihued twisting mounds with what seemed to be all the strength in his arm.

  Swissssshhhhh-CRACK!!

  “TEN!!!” It was almost a triumphant shout from Chen Yi.

  But Candy raised his arm again.

  The Chinese girl came up from the table like a pantheress. Her two hands hooked into Candy, and he went up into the air over her head so effortlessly it was unbelievable. Bright diamond tears glittered at the corners of her eyes but remained unshed. “You said ten!” Chen Yi gritted between clenched teeth.

  I expected her to smash Candy to the kitchen floor. Instead, after a three-second pause she lowered him again. “You would have left me no dignity,” she said almost in a whisper and left the kitchen without a backward glance. Her gown was still raised high enough on one side for me to see the dark weals standing out on one buttock.

  Candy tossed the cane onto the kitchen table. “I’ve changed my mind!” he snapped at me. “I want you out’ve here right now, an’ I’m not foolin'. An’ if you don’t believe me, the next time you see me, I’ll have a gun in my hand!”

  He stalked out, and I was left alone in the kitchen.

  The equation had certainly changed.

  I didn’t believe there was any necessity for Candy’s becoming as worked up as he had just shown himself to be even if Erikson and I actually had shoved our noses into syndicate business. Now I had to somehow make myself invisible during the remaining daylight hours before I could return to the airstrip under cover of darkness and sweat out the arrival of the plane in the morning.

  Even that presented a problem.

  We had touched down at Oakes Field, the island of New Providence’s only other landing strip except Nassau’s commercial international airport at Windsor Field. Oakes Field was an unlighted, dawn-to-dusk strip supposedly operated solely by and for the membership of the Nassau Flying Club. Erikson had mentioned once that it was through an employee that our spook early morning arrival and departure had been arranged. But I could hardly hang around a private flying field without provoking questions I couldn’t answer.

  There was one slight advantage. Oakes Field was closer to the downtown area than the international airport. It was within walking distance, actually. If I could just stay undercover during the day, I should be able to walk out to the field at night and deposit myself nearby in a grassy swale to await the plane’s arrival.

  I turned at a sound from the doorway. I was amazed to see Chen Yi reentering the kitchen. Her tears were gone, and her almost regal, high cheekboned features had regained their usual impassivity. When she reached for the shallow pan of green tea leaves which had been steeping on the back of the stove, her hand trembled, however.

  “I apologize for the — the exhibition,” she said in a low tone as she poured herself a cup of tea.

  “Why do you put up with that sort of thing?” I returned.

  She shrugged, smiling faintly. “A woman should be seen and not heard. I provoked him. He had to assert himself.” Her dark eyes met mine above the rim of her teacup. “What are you going to do?”

  “I’ve just been debating that.”

  “It’s not only the police who will be looking for you,” she said seriously. “There are those who are more to be feared.”

  “I don’t think I really feel — ”

  Chen Yi was shaking her head, and I stopped. “Candy wouldn’t be wrong about syndicate involvement,” she said. “Your best hope is to mix with the tourists. If we were on Freeport, I’d suggest taking a guided tour on a bus, but here on our little island we don’t have that.” She considered for a moment. “There are the surreys,” she said at last. “Have you seen them?”

  “No, I haven’t.”

  “They are like old-fashioned hansom cabs drawn by a horse. You will find them near any of the beach hotels.” She took a sip of tea. “You have given up the plan to rescue your partner?”

  “Certainly for now.”

  She nodded. “That is wise. I don’t think you understand the syndicate situation here in relation to gambling nor the extent to which they can command obedience to their orders. Not from the government, of course, or at least only from a few minor officials. And from only a few of the businessmen, although that is increasing. But from this part of society — ” with a sweep of her arm she indicated both the apartment and the area “ — they demand and enforce allegiance.”

  “Where were you educated, Chen Yi?”

  “In London, principally.” She smiled. “Sometimes it seems like a long time ago.”

  “I guess I should be leavi
ng before your lord and master comes back to find out why I haven’t.”

  “I wish there were some way I could help you,” she said.

  “I’ll borrow a rabbit’s foot if you have one.”

  “I wish I had one to give you.” She turned serious again. “I’ll take you downstairs. It’s better that you leave from the massage parlor entrance.” She led the way toward the barricaded door at the head of the stairs.

  I watched her graceful stride. “You’re walking well for someone who just about had her tail cut off,” I remarked.

  “The female behind is a resilient article,” Chen Yi said over her shoulder as she threw back the bolt on the door. “Although I’ll be sore today, tender tomorrow, and carry the marks for a month.” She descended the stairs, and I followed behind her. “This is my place of business.”

  I stood inside the massage parlor and looked around. The room seemed narrow because of a free-standing wall which divided the space in half. In front of the wall Chen Yi had set up a small office-waiting room equipped with a reception desk, filing cabinet, and a few pieces of lounge furniture.

  Four partitioned cubicles were stationed along the back wall behind the room divider. Each had a canvas curtain hanging from brass rings on a bar across the open front to provide a degree of privacy. I moved to one of the cubicles and pulled the curtain aside. In the center of the enclosure was a sheeted massage table surrounded by heat lamps. Everything was clinically clean. The room had the faint, pleasant odor of rubbing alcohol and wintergreen oil. “How’s business?” I asked.

  “Steady.” She looked significantly at the door.

  “Yes,” I agreed. “It’s about that time. Thanks for all your help.”

  “I wish I could do more.”

  “Thanks again,” I said and stepped out into the brilliant sunlight that assaulted my eyeballs after the continual artificial lighting at Candy’s. I blinked my way up the street, wondering what came next.

  I felt as exposed in the hard white light as a freshman girl’s pubic hair at a sorority initiation. I was tempted to duck into the first bar I reached, but I passed it up. I knew that bars would be closely checked by both the police and the syndicate, assuming Candy was correct about the syndicate’s involvement, although I still found it hard to believe despite Chen Yi’s affirmation. My notion of syndicate operation didn’t jibe with this tropical locale.

  Ahead of me in the next block I saw a father, mother, and two small daughters window shopping. I lengthened my stride to catch up to them and then settled down a few paces behind, close enough so that at a casual glance I could be considered one of the group.

  I heard my deliverance before I saw it. Around the next corner came the clop-clop-clop sound of a very slow-moving horse. An ancient surrey appeared, complete to the fringe on top, drawn by an aged mare sheathed in layers of fat. The mare wore a bonnet crowned with pink feathers, giving her a saucy look.

  The surrey carried no passengers. I moved out to the curb and raised my hand. The driver didn’t see it, but the mare did. She was already slowing down when the driver did a belated double take and began vigorously sawing on the reins. “Yes, sair?” the driver inquired with a wide, beaming, black smile.

  “What are your rates?”

  “Fo’ dollar hour, sair.”

  “How much for the rest of the afternoon?”

  “How fi’teen dollar sound, sair?”

  I climbed up into the surrey and handed him fifteen dollars from my thinning roll. “Let’s go.”

  “Yes, sair.” Another wide grin. “Someplace special?”

  “I want to see it all. Take your time. There’s no hurry.”

  The driver nodded and slapped the reins on the mare’s broad rump. “Proceed, Ermintrude,” he directed. The mare started up in a swaying canter that rocked the surrey from side to side like a rowboat in a mild cross chop.

  The balance of the afternoon was predictable. The driver took me to the usual sightseeing stops and also to all his relatives and friends who had anything to sell. I bought a few small, inexpensive items and stacked the packages on the back seat beside me. There is nothing more touristy than a man with packages. Ermintrude navigated what was evidently a set route by herself while the driver pointed out places of interest to which I paid little attention.

  Nassau was small enough so that we soon ran out of the usual tourist attractions. The driver looked at me expectantly. “I’d like to eat,” I told him, mindful that I probably wouldn’t be eating again until well after daybreak. “Some quiet place.”

  He took me to a restaurant called Bow Bells on Frederick Street, one of the quieter backwaters of the business district. The sun was sinking, but there was still a good two hours of daylight left. “You like this place good, sair,” the driver assured me.

  I might well have liked it good if I hadn’t had so much on my mind. I dawdled over the meal, and when I rejoined my transportation, the sudden tropical night wasn’t too far distant. “I’d like to see a few of the homes now,” I proposed. “The better homes.” I already knew that the better homes at this end of the island were in an enclave between Thompson Road and Blue Hill Road. More importantly, so was Oakes Field.

  Ermintrude turned into Thompson Road when the driver clucked to her. Five minutes later he stopped by the side of the road while he lighted a lantern which he hung from a hook at the rear of the surrey. Then Ermintrude resumed her steady pace.

  The homes on either side of the roadway suggested affluence. It was almost dark, and once back in town there was no reasonable excuse I could use to request the driver to retrace his course to the vicinity of Oakes Field again. I had to make my move now. “This is far enough,” I said.

  The driver looked around at me in surprise. “Sair?”

  I handed him a twenty. “That’s a bonus for a good job. It was a pleasant afternoon. I’ll stretch my legs now by walking back to town. You can bring the packages to the Anchorage Hotel in the morning. Room 422.”

  His expression indicated that he didn’t like any part of the proposition. “Gentlemon walkin’ alone in this neighborhood after dark attract much attention to himself, sair,” he suggested delicately.

  This district of fine homes was undoubtedly a well-policed area. I could understand it, but I had to buck it. I slid down from the surrey seat and stood by the side of the road. Even Ermintrude turned her head to regard me inquiringly. “I’ll be fine,” I announced cheerfully. I took hold of Ermintrude’s bridle and turned her around in the roadway until she was headed back toward Nassau. “See you in the morning at the hotel,” I said and whacked the mare an open-hander across her wide beam. Her eyes rolled at the indignity, and her hooves did a skittish little time step in the road before she got the surrey rolling again.

  I stood and watched its bobbing tail light disappear around a corner. I hoped the bonus would keep the driver quiet tonight. Nothing was going to keep him quiet when he tried to deliver the packages to the Anchorage in the morning.

  But by that time I wouldn’t care.

  I hoped.

  FOUR

  I KNEW approximately where the field was because Erikson and I had hitched a ride to town with the same flying club employee who had agreed to close his eyes to our unauthorized use of it. I walked along the edge of the road in the deepening twilight. The stars were out although the western sky was still pale. The first onset of the night breeze blew gently, and a dog barked occasionally. There was enough scrub brush and foliage just off the roadside that I wasn’t concerned about getting myself out of sight in a hurry in case headlights appeared from either direction.

  I almost passed Oakes Field without seeing it in the gathering darkness. Only the fact that one asphalt runway extended almost to the road enabled me to spot the darker strip against the green grass. Then I could make out the dim outline of a wire fence. I couldn’t see any sign of an adminstration building.

  I tried to estimate the direction of a plane’s approach in the prevailing wind, th
en moved in from the road along the fence in a direction that would place me near the touchdown point. A hundred yards off the road I saw the deeper shadow of another runway angling off the first one, shattering my hope that I could predict accurately where the plane would land.

  I burrowed down into the waist-deep grass alongside the fence at a point near the junction of the runways and prepared to try for a little sleep before sweating out the final hours before dawn. I didn’t get any real sleep, but I dozed off from time to time. Once I woke myself by rolling over in the grass and striking my hand against the chain link fence. I couldn’t see my watch, but there was no feel of dawn in the air.

  I tried to shift to a more comfortable position, and the papers inside the canvas sack still suspended from my neck crackled noisily, reminding me why I was there. I thought of Karl Erikson trying to sleep in whatever cell the Bahamas police force had lodged him in.

  I became aware that my gaze had fixed itself upon a pair of headlights slowly circling the perimeter road outside the fence bordering the airport. A night watchman? The police? The cruising car didn’t come near enough to where I lay next to the fence for me to make an identification, and I wasn’t about to leave my comparatively safe haven to satisfy my curiosity.

  When I saw the headlights a second time twenty minutes later in the same deliberate pattern through the area, I was sure it was the police. If a manhunt were actually underway, it would be poor police tactics if one of the prime escape areas on the island — even if an unlikely one in their estimation — went unpatrolled.

  It changed my thinking about my own tactics. I had planned on remaining outside the fence until Erikson’s pickup plane actually arrived. Now I couldn’t afford that luxury if the police remained as active as they gave every indication of being.

  During an interval when the cruising headlights were absent, I knelt in the grass and made a shield of my jacket while I risked striking a match to take a quick look at my watch. It was 3:35 A.M. There was still no light in the sky, but a change in the quality of the darkness promised that the first light streaks of dawn would be evident before too much longer.