Delta Factor, The

by Mickey Spillane

  “Morgan,” she said, “be careful. I really do care.”

  I kissed her then, just once and quickly, let out a short laugh of pleasure and threw the car into gear.

  This time I knew where I was. Ten minutes later I intersected the highway, followed the signs to the coquina road leading to the Rose Castle and turned down it. Up ahead was the end of the mission.

  At the gate, the guard admitted me without question. Another pair on patrol around the grounds merely nodded when I parked the car, then went off on their assigned route. I reached under the seat, found the two containers Angelo had left there for me, picked them out and stuck them in the bushes under one of the stained-glass windows.

  Now I was ready.

  So were they. The metal grating was already up, the guards awaiting me. One said, “You will follow me, please, señor,” and I nodded. But I was watching the other one to see where he located the switch that activated the grate. It was in a small metal receptacle attached to a supporting column and when he touched it I heard the grinding of gears as the thing slid down into place.

  The three of them were waiting for me, Fucilla and his two superiors. Their wineglasses were full, the huge decanter on the desk half empty, and I could tell by their expressions that they had taken on a damn good load while they waited for me. My delay and the thought of having Russo Sabin walk in at any moment had them on edge and the smiles they forced were more of malice than relief.

  Pomp and ceremony were demanded for the occasion and all of them were resplendent in their military uniforms heavy with braid and medals. Here rank was evident by the weight of their ornaments, the captain a real fruit-salad type, the lieutenant a little less decorated, and Fucilla, as head guard, sporting only a few awards. Each wore a Sam Browne belt with a polished holster at his hip, the gun butts protruding from one end.

  The captain waved the guard away after he admitted me and leaned back in his chair. “Ah, Señor Winters.” His voice was too smooth.

  I answered the question before he asked it. “They evacuated the place where I kept the stuff. I had a hell of a time getting in.”

  “But you do have it? ”His eyes scanned me closely, noting that it wasn’t on my person.”

  “Certainly.”

  “Well, then?”

  “All I want to see is the color of your money, Captain.”

  They let out a little chuckle all around. This attitude they could understand. In fact, the captain must have anticipated it because he rose from his chair, bowed curtly and went to the wall, pushed back a picture and spun the dial of the wall safe behind it. He found what he wanted and laid it on the desk where I could see it.

  “There, señor. Twenty thousand dollars in United States currency.”

  I counted it slowly. It was all there. I put it back on the desk. “I left the stuff in the bushes outside the window. Look in front of the Volvo.”

  The captain gave me another small smile, but his eyes flocked to the other two and he said, “Lieutenant, if you please...?”

  “With pleasure, sir.” The lieutenant put his glass down carefully on the polished desk top, smiled at me and walked to the heavy door behind us.

  And that eliminated one. The odds weren’t so bad now, but it had to be fast.

  I reached for the twenty grand and stuck it in my coat pocket. I was getting to be a walking bank.

  The captain shook his head. “Perhaps we should wait for the lieutenant’s return first, señor.”

  “Why?” I gave him a grin and knew what he was seeing because I could feel it on my face. “You have a thing about taking money off a dead body?”

  Maybe they were stupid enough to think that they were going to get away with it. Maybe they thought they had the odds on their side. They were so set to have their cake and eat it too that they never considered a cross and when it hit them they went for the guns at their sides and suddenly realized just how far the odds were against them. They never should have kept them holstered.

  My first shot took the captain in the bridge of his nose, and I spun, took two quick steps to the right as Fucilla was clearing the leather and planted one square in the middle of his chest, the impact of the .45 driving him back to crash into the ornate sideboard and bring a shower of glassware down around his head. The echo of the shots still reverberated in the room like the thunder of kettledrums, the stink of cordite sharp in my nose. I had to hope the thickness of the walls and doors was enough to muffle the blast, but if it hadn’t I was ready to cover both entrances and shoot my way through anybody who came in.

  Those ancient Spaniards had built the Rose Castle well. A full minute passed and the only company I had was the death-glazed eyes of the captain and of Juan Fucilla. Until the lieutenant arrived and let himself in.

  At first he didn’t see the two on the floor. Then the smell reached him and his eyes centered on the .45 in my fist before they swept the area and realized what had happened. He didn’t want to make their mistake and his expression was one of sickly pleading when he looked back at me again.

  “You can drop that stuff,” I told him. “It’s only sugar.”

  He let the containers fall from his hands.

  “Over here and turn around.”

  Eyes full of fear bulged over a slack jaw as he did as he was told. He thought he was going to be shot on the spot and his body twitched spasmodically. All he could get out was “Please, señor ...”

  “Shut up,” I said. I yanked his gun out of the holster, dumped the shells out of the clip and made sure the chamber was empty before sticking it back in the holster again. He couldn’t figure out what I was doing until I asked, “Who holds the keys to Victor Sable’s cell?”

  Then he gasped and shook his head. “Not I, señor. They are ... in the possession of Senor Carlos Ortega only.” I nudged him a little harder with the .45 and his voice became a near-shriek. “It is true, señor. There are no keys here. He was not to be moved except on Senor Ortega’s orders. Only then when he is questioned is the door opened.”

  He was too shaken up to be lying, so I had to go along with him. I said, “Now I’m going to tell you this only once. All you have to do is make one little mistake and I’m going to put a hole in you big enough to throw a cat through without touching the sides. Is that understood?”

  “Sí, señor.” His head nodded in vigorous acknowledgment. “I ... understand.”

  “Very well,” I told him. “You’re taking me to Sable’s cell and if there’s any question, it’s on the captain’s orders. I’m going to walk a little ahead of you and this gun is going to be right where I can get at it before you can bat an eye, so if you try one funny move you’ve had it.”

  The lieutenant tried to swallow, but his mouth was too dry, so he just nodded again. He turned his head and I could see the fear in his eyes. He was wondering what was going to happen when I was finished doing what I came to do. One thing I couldn’t afford was having him go past the other guards shaking with terror.

  “One more thing and consider this carefully. I don’t know you and I don’t give a damn about you one way or another. Whether I kill you or not depends on you. Frankly, I don’t think you really give a hoot about anybody in this place yourself, so if you want to stay alive, play it square. If I get out I’ll leave you with nothing more than a lump on your head and everybody will think you’re a hero. They won’t know whether I shot these other two before or after I got Sable out and your story can be that you acted on the captain’s orders to let me view his prisoner, then I kept you under a gun and killed the captain and Fucilla on the way out. You tried to stop me and I knocked you out. Hell, they might even put you in as head man here. Got that?”

  It was the last thing I told him that did the trick. He could visualize the whole picture and it looked good to him, especially the part of sitting in that big chair behind the desk himself. This time his nod was slow and deliberate. The only ones who would take the blame were dead. He was about to be a hero.

 
; 12

  ONCE A PATTERN is set it is easy to accept it. The guards stationed at each vantage point had seen me go by once before with Juan Fucilla and what had been a question in their eyes before at the irregularity in the procedure now was simply complacency. Who were they to question the motives of their superiors, especially an officer of great authority? Only one of the older ones, whose lean, scarred face showed that he had been through the trouble times, contained any doubt, but it was shrouded in the cynicism that meant the grapevine had passed the word on higher echelon activities which he personally scorned, but was forced to tolerate. He looked at the lieutenant with openly hostile eyes and admitted us through the steel gate only after a careful study of the pass he had written under the captain’s signature.

  I didn’t have to coax the lieutenant at all. He was seeing bigger things and was fitting himself into the role perfectly, staying a step behind me and a little to my left so I could see him plainly, purposely carrying on a pleasant running conversation that made us seem like old-time friends. Back in the office were two dead men that nothing could be done about anyway, except to take advantage of them. My mission didn’t concern him personally in the least and there was no value in his death at all, so playing my game was the best way out with the greatest reward, and he seemed almost anxious to be cooperative.

  The guard at the last post was the only one who showed any curiosity at all. Down this far in the bowels of the Rose Castle, anything that broke the monotony of the night was something to be enjoyed. He watched us go past, half turned in his seat to see what we were doing, his ears alert to catch every word.

  A barked command from the lieutenant brought him to his feet and a sharp order to bring a glass of water sent him scurrying out of sight while I fingered the picklocks out of my pocket and went to work on the door of Victor Sable’s cell.

  Both my hands were busy and if he had wanted to jump me it would have been the time and he knew it, but he simply smiled, moved away a few feet and watched while I started manipulating the tumblers.

  From inside a querulous voice said, “Yes ... who is there?”

  I stopped for a moment, opened the peephole and spoke through it. “Quiet down. We’re breaking you out of here.”

  There was a startled intake of breath, then: “Who ... are ... you?”

  If he even indicated a refusal I was going to kill him. I said, “I represent the United States Government.”

  His little cry of elation was enough. I went back to work on the locks again. I had the first one open in two minutes, was interrupted by the guard bringing the water while I faked looking through the peephole for his benefit before the lieutenant sent him off on another errand.

  The other two locks took a little longer. One of the picks broke in my fingers and I had to fish the remnant of the metal out of the lock before I could continue. When that one opened, the guard had returned and taken his place at his desk.

  Softly, the lieutenant asked, “How long, señor?”

  “A few minutes if I’m lucky.” There was an expectant look on his face.

  “Something must be done about that guard, Señor. He is armed and stupid enough to interfere. He knows I have no keys to this cell.”

  I knew what he meant. I left the pick in the lock with most of the tumblers already fallen and made like I was ready to walk back out with him. The guard saw us coming, a note of regret in his fatuous smile because now he would be alone again.

  But it didn’t last long. Just as we reached him I twisted, grabbed the lieutenant’s arm and threw him against the desk, spilling the guard to his knees, the gun in my hand where he could see it. Instinct made the guard grab for the pistol at his belt, but the lieutenant was still in the game and his struggle to get to his feet knocked the guy’s hand away intentionally so I could bring the barrel of the .45 down against his skull and stretch him out on the floor with only the story of the lieutenant’s heroic struggle to subdue me still in his memory.

  When I stepped back he said, “An excellent performance, señor,” then smiled because I was still careful enough to watch him, knowing he was thinking the same thing I was. He could be an even greater hero if he stopped the action and nailed me too. There was just that one wall in between and he could see it. Even in his uniform with all the medals, he was still a rank amateur and I was a hard-assed pro with two kills he already knew about and just as ready to kill again. He smiled indulgently, took his place in front of me this time and let me finish opening the final lock on Victor Sable’s cell.

  I looked at the man standing there, wondering just what he could contribute to national security that made his safety so important. There was nothing exceptional about his appearance at all. Time had left its mark on him, but hadn’t erased the dignity from his posture or the intelligence from his eyes.

  He was sniffling, his body reacting to an order from his mind to control a sneeze, and when he saw me frown, said, “They have addicted me to narcotics, sir.”

  “I know. How badly?”

  “Not as badly as they think.”

  “You need a fix now? We have a lot to do.”

  “I prefer immediate withdrawal.”

  “You might louse us up. I know where some stuff is.” I was thinking of the decoy packet I delivered to Fucilla that the captain would have kept someplace in his office.

  “No.” His tone was adamant.

  “Okay, it’s your sweat, buddy.”

  The lieutenant said nervously, “We’ve been too long, señor. It would be wise to hurry.”

  I nodded and looked at Victor Sable. “Let’s go. Stay in front of like you’re being marched to an interrogation. If there’s any trouble, hit the floor.”

  He smiled gently. “Tell me one thing, please.”

  “What?”

  “Are you instructed to kill me if this is unsuccessful?”

  I nodded.

  “Good. Please don’t hesitate. My death is more preferable than falling into the hands of the Reds.”

  “You’re that big, then?”

  “Exactly. I’m that big. Alive, and they somehow force me to talk, I can be responsible for the death of millions. Dead ... well, at least it gives the world a chance to come to its senses.”

  “First we’ll try to get you out alive,” I told him.

  “You’re a brave man,” he said.

  I shook my head. “You’re looking at the stupidest guy alive,” I said. “Come on.”

  No one questioned us as we passed through the corridors. The lieutenant represented the chain of command whose word was law and the gates opened and closed behind us. In the dim light from the emergency bulbs strung along the walls, none of them could see the bulge of the gun under my coat or the note of urgency that must have been in our expressions. They simply did as they had done before, allowed the prisoner out under escort for interrogation. Later, to protect themselves and their new captain they would remember how I pressed against him as if I had a gun in his side and how he had tried to warn them silently that something was wrong, but how they, as simple guards, weren’t equipped to handle such subtleties.

  Only the one with the hostile eyes who had seen the world come and go, who had a hatred for all authority whose positions he coveted so badly, put up any opposition at all. In his ferretlike mind a few things fell into place and he saw the lieutenant in a gross error that could reduce him to nothingness while he elevated himself, and he whipped the pistol from the topless holster and pointed it through the bars of the gate.

  His mistake was thinking the lieutenant was in charge. I shot him through his smile, watched him rebound off the desk and collapse in a heap in front of us. Without a word the lieutenant snaked his hand through the bars, recovered his keys and opened the door. Victor Sable gave me an odd look, then went through in front of us.

  The others had heard the shot. They came running around the opposite end of the corridor as we were walking up it, guns drawn, then saw us approaching and stopped. They looked at eac
h other, waiting for somebody to make a move, then glanced back at the lieutenant.

  I spoke in their own language to make sure they understood. “An accident. The lieutenant had told him not to cut the top from his holster. When he dropped his keys and bent down to retrieve them the gun fell and went off.”

  Apparently the dead guard had stated his views on locked holstered guns too often. The explanation was enough. Their relieved grins broke the tension as they thought about the ribbing they were going to be able to give the smart old campaigner who always treated them like the idiots they were, secretly enjoying the chewing out they figured the lieutenant must have given him.

  We were passed through the last gate and behind us everything became quiet and routine again, only our feet making hollow, echoing sounds on the flagstones as we walked toward the office.

  But Lady Luck who had been so generous up to now decided to get a little waspish. The startled shout behind us echoed off the walls and was picked up by others. One of those guards who hadn’t been able to wait to stick the needle into the one who had dropped his gun had gone back and found him dead.

  I grabbed the lieutenant by his arm. “How many up ahead?”

  “About thirty at various stations, señor.”

  “Can they be alerted?”

  The lieutenant held up his hand for quiet. In back of us the excited shouts had quieted and we knew they were trying to work out a course of action. The only thing that was holding them back for the moment was that the lieutenant still represented authority and the responsibility was his. To them, he hadn’t been under a gun and what he had pleased to tell them was his own affair. It wouldn’t take long for them to put the pieces together and investigate even further back to the initial guard, and when they found him out cold all hell would break loose.

  The lieutenant understood it as well as I did. He said, “If they hit the alarm it will bring the others inside to their stations. They will converge on us from all sides. There are standing orders as to what they should do then.” He gave me a hopeless shrug.