Delta Factor, The

by Mickey Spillane

  “Now how the hell would I know?” I tossed them back, irritated at her manner. “They either came from the bank in Miami or the tables downstairs.”

  “You had some of your own funds too, didn’t you?”

  “A little. Why?”

  “Was it a little, Morgan, or a whole lot? Maybe a whole bundle you could pass over here without being detected?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “The serial numbers on those bills match those in that forty-million-dollar robbery you staged.”

  “Look . . .” I started.

  She shook her head, her expression cold and accusing. “And I was just beginning to think . . .” She stood up, stared at me hard and added, “Never mind.”

  9

  AND NOW THE LITTLE things were starting to fall into place. The probables were balancing out against the possibles and a fine thread was drawing them together. They still made a wavy, indiscernible line, but as the threat tightened the line would straighten and the pattern would become visible.

  Time was all it took, and that was running out fast.

  I let the day go past, ignoring the occasional contemptuous glances Kim threw my way. Twice I went down to the casino, noticing that the crowd had diminished by half, with more leaving every hour. The hurricane tracking chart showed that the storm, which had swung northward for three hours, had veered back into its original course and was approaching Nuevo Cádiz with unhurried deliberation, picking up in intensity as it moved. There was still a good possibility of it cutting out again erratically, but not too many seemed willing to take the chance.

  The huge plate-glass windows of the casino that fronted on the street had been taped and boarded over, but through the still open main doors I could see the activity on the street, the lines of taxis going to the airport, the overloaded wagons piled with household goods and wide-eyed kids coming into the city for greater protection against the storm.

  Outwardly it was just another beautiful tropical day, the sun warm and red in a bright blue sky, with only a few wisps of high-altitude clouds in the southeast. Yet there was an oppressive sensation about it all. A dozen birds wheeled overhead, their senses alerted to the thing bearing down on them, calling to each other with shrill, annoyed screeches.

  For a half hour I watched the unconcerned play at the tables and even tried a couple of spins of the roulette wheel, but it wasn’t a day for winners and the stickmen were encouraging any kind of activity they could. Whatever hung in the air was too stifling to interest the players and they stayed with the games only out of habit or instinct.

  For me there was more than just that heavy feeling. There was that strange warm spot between my shoulder blades, the knowledge that it was an exposed target area and somebody was preselecting it. The past had held too many similar occasions for me to ignore it. It wasn’t a premonition, simply a combination of circumstances only my subconscious recognized and flashed a danger signal to that one spot in my back.

  I turned slowly, surveying the faces in the casino. Some of Ortega’s people I knew by sight, some were so casual in their behavior as to be obvious. I spotted Marty Steele, who happened to look up while I was watching him, threw me a short wave and went back to the game. The regulars couldn’t have cared less for the storm and played with no show of concern, but the tourists kept checking their watches and consulting the flight schedules every so often, marking time until they could take off.

  But there was nobody I could lay a finger on. Just the same, that warm spot wouldn’t go away. I was going to pick up a drink at the bar, then saw Angelo, caught his signal and moved to the elevator bank instead. At this time of day they were on automatic and when we stepped into an empty and pushed the floor button we were alone.

  There wasn’t much time, so Angelo gave it to me as quickly as he could. “The altered passport has been delivered to Señorita Gordot as you wished, señor. This evening she will receive a maid’s uniform to wear over her clothes. Her ticket has been purchased in her name for Flight 51 tomorrow night. She will go out with the other maids when their shift is over and be driven to the airport in the truck of Maria López’ brother.”

  “You sure of them?”

  “As I am of my own mother, senor. They are of us as Rosa Lee was.”

  “Sabin has a watch on the airport, Angelo.”

  “I assume that as a woman she knows the art of makeup. It will not take too much imagination to make her look like a maid or a worried tourist in a hurry. I know those people there, señor. Customs is a big joke. It is Russo Sabin’s own men we will have to be careful of, but that will be taken care of.” He looked at me and smiled. “There are ways of attracting their attention elsewhere.”

  “Will they check on the tickets?”

  “That is unlikely too. The airport people are not used to such confusion. They will be glad to push them through as fast as possible without asking questions. Once on board the airliner she will be safe. The planes are taking off the moment they are filled.”

  “You clear, kid?”

  “I can take care of myself. You are the one who will be in danger from Director Sabin.”

  “If that’s all I have to worry about, I’ll be happy,” I said. “What about tonight?”

  “I will be free for one hour at exactly six o’clock. A call at your room will be my last before I am relieved for my supper.”

  “Good. I’ll be waiting,” I said as the elevator stopped and he got off.

  Kim wasn’t in the room when I got there. Her handbag was gone and so were the three five-hundred-dollar bills, but the rest was back between the rug layers where I had kept them. As far as I could tell, her clothes were all in the closet. I scoured the room for a message, but she hadn’t left any.

  I swore under my breath because she should have known better. Nobody authorized her to do one thing on her own except stay with me and if she were trying to make anything out of those three bills that had turned out she could be throwing a noose over both our necks.

  The sun tucked itself under the horizon, leaving a purplish glow before the night wiped it out and wrapped the city in a moonless black mantle. Whatever had happened to her, I couldn’t go trying to track her down. At a few minutes to six I slid the .45 into my waistband, made sure I had the lock picks in my pocket and as I finished Angelo knocked on the door.

  He came in with the supper for two, pocketed the check I signed that he would turn in later and said, “You are ready, señor?”

  “All set. What about the guard?”

  “Satisfying his thirst with a bottle of wine in the house-keeper’s closet.”

  “And if they ask about it later?”

  “He was the one to request it, señor. Shortly he will fall asleep.”

  “Okay, let’s go.”

  The route out was simplified by the lack of traffic in the hotel. We made the basement through the service elevator, sent the lift back to the main floor by hitting the button before we hopped out, then picked our way past stacked cartons and barrels of dishes to a window that opened on an airshaft between the hotel and the building adjacent to it. Angelo forced open the window in the other building, squeezed down through it and motioned me to follow him. Once inside, I put my hand on his shoulder and let him lead me through a maze he seemed to be familiar with until we came to a service entrance that led to a side street.

  Angelo wasn’t taking any chances with cabs. A battered panel truck was parked at the curb and when Angelo motioned to it I jumped in and let him drive a circuitous route toward the house of Rosa Lee to make sure we weren’t being followed.

  We entered Rosa’s house from the rear, the lock giving easily to the pick. I snapped the small flash on and let the beam probe the darkness. From what Angelo had found out, the police investigation had been limited to ascertaining the means and time of death and removal of the body. The prime suspect had been me, so other avenues of investigation had been dropped for the time being. At the moment Sabin’s men we
re making inquiries among the many admirers Rosa had at the Orino Bar, following up the possibility that it might have been a crime of passion.

  Angelo pointed to the kitchen. “She was killed there, señor.”

  I threw the beam around the room. Pieces of broken dishes were still scattered on the floor, a bread bin was overturned in the corner and its contents strewn all over the place and one of the two wooden chairs was flattened as if something had crashed on top of it.

  “She put up a fight,” I said.

  “Si. She was much bruised.”

  I knelt down and raked pieces of the dishes into a pile and sorted them out. In three minutes I had them assembled enough to see what had been broken. One dinner plate, one cup, one saucer.

  As Angelo watched the process curiously, I said, “She wasn’t entertaining. Whoever did it came in the way we did and killed her as she was getting something to eat.”

  “I don’t understand, señor.”

  “Never mind,” I told him. “Come on.”

  He followed me out the back way to the old garage, watched while I jiggled open the padlock and came in through the door behind me. I let the light pick out familiar items, searching for any sign of disturbance, then ran it over the beam that concealed the radio transmitter.

  Angelo said, “Señor ...”

  “No political angle, Angelo. She was killed because of me. Now listen carefully. If Sabin digs in hard enough he’ll come up with either the right answer or some excuse to tear this place apart. There’s a radio setup hidden back here your people can use. When I’m done with it, have it dismantled and taken to some safe place. Can you arrange it?”

  “Si, with no trouble, señor.”

  “Good. Get somebody on it right away.” I let him hold the light while I checked him out on the operation, then cut in the power, let the set warm up and dialed Art’s frequency, hoping somebody was monitoring the channel. I gave the call signal five times before Art himself answered, made sure of my identity, then told me to go ahead.

  I said, “Rosa’s been killed, Art. Nothing on it yet and I haven’t time to explain the details. Did she reach you?”

  “Roger, Morgan. The stuff you requested is on the way. I blew a cylinder on the plane so it went out on the only boat available and you were damn lucky. Nothing’s moving around here with the hurricane on the way. It will be landed at José’s place and he’ll get it up to you.”

  “Good ...” I started to say.

  “Hold it. You’re getting some additional cargo besides. Your friend Joey Jolley made it down here and he’s one hell of a scared boy. He wouldn’t talk to me at all and insisted on seeing you so he hopped aboard the same boat too. The condition he’s in I’d keep him under cover if I were you. I got the feeling he thought he was followed, and the guy who’s taking the boat over told me at the last minute that somebody broke into his cabin. He had his course marked out on the chart in the pilothouse and I never gave that a thought because he said some booze was missing and it wasn’t the first time it had happened.”

  “Joey mention any names?”

  “Not to me he didn’t.”

  “You sure no other boats are leaving?”

  “Morg, after that last blow that ripped this place apart you couldn’t get anything for hire for a million bucks. The guy coming in to you did it as a personal favor. I saved his neck for him twice. Your luck is still running if the storm doesn’t hit.”

  “You kidding? How the hell are we supposed to get out of here? Can’t you get that plane repaired?”

  “Not a chance. No parts are available locally and it will be a week before they’re delivered. All I can tell you is that you might be able to take the boat back if you can move that fast. If you don’t get caught in the middle of the blow you might be able to outrun or outride it. It’s a pretty seaworthy job with twin diesels and the captain knows his stuff.”

  “Will he stick around?” I asked him.

  “I guarantee he’ll wait until the last minute, but when he’s ready to go he’ll cut out and you’ll be on your own. These guys aren’t under orders these days, buddy, and he’s got a wife and six kids to think of.”

  “Okay, Art, keep this channel open in case I need another contact.”

  “Will do. How’s the project coming?”

  “Change of plans. There isn’t time for fancy footwork. It’ll have to be a straight bust out.”

  “Think you can handle it alone?”

  “Hell, man, who has a choice?”

  I heard his low laugh before he signed off and I flipped the power switch. When I had the antenna down and the set back under wraps I made sure Angelo was familiar with its operation, then retraced my steps outside.

  For a minute I stood in the darkness smelling the night, feeling the warm, humid air touch my skin. But the warm spot between my shoulders wasn’t there anymore and I knew that whoever had been tracking behind me was waiting someplace else.

  At five minutes past seven we parked the truck where we had found it and went back in the way we had come out. On my floor the guard was having a gentle sleep in a sitting position on a pile of packaged laundry, and Angelo waved me on so he could awaken him.

  When I opened the door I knew she had come back. The suite was steamy from the open bathroom door and the scent of perfume seemed to dangle in the air. She came out of the bedroom in a fresh dark-blue silk suit, her hair glistening blackly in soft waves down around her shoulders. I went to the radio and turned it up nearly full volume in case there were listening ears.

  All I could say was, “Where the hell have you been?”

  Only for a second was there a slight trace of anger, then the cold professional attitude returned and she stalked past me to the sofa and sat down. “My contact called me.”

  “Damn it! How many times . . .”

  She shut me up with a single look. “It was an emergency. Ortega got his man into Miami to hit the safe-deposit box we had set up. Our people closed in and got him. Unfortunately, there was an error in judgment. They didn’t handcuff him and on the way out he made a break for it and got away. They think they have him holed up in a general area, but there may be the possibility that he can make contact with Ortega if they don’t get to him in time.”

  I got it out of my system with a few choice words, then took a deep breath to cool off. “They had to be cute about it. Damn it, they had to be cute.”

  “What’s done is done.”

  “Don’t be so smug, sugar. It’s your neck too.”

  “I knew the risk I was taking.”

  “So did I. That’s why I feel like such a sap.” I stopped and looked at her. “Where did you meet this contact?” I kept my voice at whisper level.

  “Here in the hotel. He took a lower-level room like a lot of the other local businessmen are doing who have places along the beach. And don’t worry about the guard. He never saw me go either way.”

  “How’s this guy keep in touch with the mainland?”

  “He has a radio unit built into a recorder he uses for business.”

  “Supposing the guy manages to reach Ortega?”

  “Then we’ll know about it too. The agency requested cooperation from the Naval Station at Key West to cover all frequencies in case of a transmission and relay the information to us. Since Ortega probably didn’t expect this development they wouldn’t have prepared a code, but in case they did the Navy will have their cryptographers ready.”

  “Okay. We’ll just have to go along with it. Who is he and what room is he in?”

  She hesitated a moment, then said, “Luis Rondo. Room 203. He’s in the import-export business and has been a resident here eight years. Except for an initial police scrutiny by the police he has been accepted and runs a legitimate business at a profit. He has never been suspected of being planted here by our government. Two years ago he married a native who died a year later of cancer.”

  “Good enough.”

  “Now, what are your plans?” she aske
d me.

  “First I want to clear Lisa Gordot out of here. That’ll hit Sabin where it hurts and he’ll split up his forces to try to scratch her out. The more we thin out that bunch the easier it’ll be to operate.”

  “And if it doesn’t work?”

  “Let’s try it first. We’re playing this tune by ear all the way at this point. If anybody hits a wrong note it’ll get lost in the shuffle.”

  With a touch of sourness she said, “That takes care of your delta business. Our primary target was Victor Sable. Or did you forget about him?”

  “Stop the sarcasm,” I said. “All we can do is wait.” I filled her in on the latest details and let her absorb them. She wanted further information on Joey Jolley, but I told her it was none of her damn business and let it stand at that.

  Kim wouldn’t accept it that way. A wry smile twisted the corner of her mouth and she said, “You don’t have to play any games for my benefit, Morgan. You’ve gone to some elaborate pains to make me think you were falsely accused and it isn’t any use.”

  “What if it were true?”

  She gave a meaningless shrug. “Why think of it?” “You have a lot to learn, baby,” I told her. “Now let’s finish this honeymoon farce and get it over with. If things work right tomorrow’s going to be a busy day.” I walked over and turned the volume of the radio down so we could speak in normal tones again.

  “Bedtime, doll?”

  Her voice had a smile in it, but not her expression. “Wonderful idea,” she said. She walked into the bedroom, threw a pillow and blanket at me and shut the door.

  In the morning no one had to check the weather advisory to know where the hurricane lay. The sky was a dismal gray and a moist breeze blew in from the tip of the island, still too languid to dissipate the oppressive heat, but it was an early warning sign that the monster was building and heading steadily in our direction.

  Bags were stacked beside the hotel desk with the guests busy demanding immediate space on outgoing flights. The same crowd was still at the table gambling, committed to staying and not giving a damn what happened.