A little flash of fire came into her eyes. “I am not queer, if that’s what you mean.”
“I didn’t ask that.”
Her lips seemed to tighten then. “Outside of a simple function I often fail to see what purpose men really serve.”
“Maybe if I have time I’ll show you,” I told her.
“You won’t touch me!”
“It’s polite to wait till you’re asked, kiddo. Now let’s cut out.”
I left Phil’s key at the desk, grabbed a cab outside the Forty-ninth Street entrance of the Garden and rode Lily up to the Taft. She never said a word, just sitting there staring out the window. When I dropped her off I had the driver cruise back to my place, checked out of the hotel and moved downtown seven blocks to the Barnes House and signed in under T. Mann, Los Angeles, California.
It was exactly a quarter to ten.
I called the desk, gave the operator Rondine’s number, and heard her lift the phone. The simple word “Hello” was said with the velvety tone that only generations of culture and good breeding can achieve.
“Tiger, sugar.”
She felt the tightness in my voice instinctively. “You’ve found trouble again.” It was a statement, not a question.
“It found me.”
After a moment she sought her voice again. There was no sting in it now, no recrimination, just that same touch of sadness that had been there the last time it happened like this. “We should have gone away, Tiger. In two more days we would have been married. The trouble couldn’t have found you then.”
“This one would.”
“Yes,” she said slowly, “I rather imagine it would.”
“Can I see you?”
“It’s ... late.”
“Not that late.”
“Tomorrow, Tiger.” I let her hang up, then eased the phone back on the cradle.
So now I was a slob again, a person who didn’t belong in the world. I’d have to go up there and explain. I’d have to look into those purple eyes of hers and lie because she wouldn’t understand the truth. She’d be waiting. So was Teddy.
Who came first? Why ask when I knew the answer already.
The National flight out of Washington dropped the new man into La Guardia a few minutes after two A.M. Martin Grady had cleared the contact personally and I was able to recognize him by the bag he carried, a slightly built young guy about twenty-five who could have passed for a travel-weary junior executive about to make a suburban pad for the weekend, kiss an anxious wife and kids hello and have a couple of large belts before going into his routine.
But I knew better when I saw the way he walked and knew that under the gray suit he was one of those stringy types that was all trained muscle and ready to prove he could earn his keep in the organization.
I let him get loaded into the cab and give the driver a destination before I hopped in behind him and said, “Hi, kid, you flying?”
The cabbie started to turn it on, then the guy said, “Low down, man. Keep going, friend.” He grinned at me. “Lennie Byrnes.”
We shook hands briefly after the identification and I knew he had heard too damn much about me because his eyes were shiny with excitement and he tried too hard to put a squeeze into the grip.
“You got the poop?”
He nodded. “Ears only. When we’re in the hotel.”
“Your first time out?”
“I’ve been on office detail until now.”
“Stay loose,” I told him. “You’re just a courier. Maybe later you’ll see the big stuff.”
“Okay, so I’m anxious. I’m hoping something will happen. After the delivery it’s up to you what I do. Until you release me I take orders from you.”
“How far has your training gone?”
“The committee had me for six months, after that another six with the lab and three in the field. I was on the Cosmos bit and did the legwork for Hollendale in Formosa.”
“Good job. Who was your instructor?”
“Bradley.” He grinned at me crookedly. “Seems like you were his. He filled me in on a lot of wild stories.”
“He talks too much. Don’t let him scare you.”
Central had arranged quarters for him at the Calvin, a tenth-floor rear two-room suite, designating him as a representative for one of Martin Grady’s various companies. Just the same, we checked the place out completely to make sure it hadn’t been bugged. Any of Grady’s or his associates’ companies were under constant surveillance by Washington teams since the striped pants boys instigated an investigation a few months back, and they could be as instrumental in stopping our action as the Reds could if we let them get that close.
I let him get unpacked, turned the TV up loud enough to squelch our talk, and sat back in the armchair. “Let’s have it, Lennie.”
He didn’t waste words, getting right to the point. “We got the Skyline signal through London, but the transmission was slow and we don’t know what has elapsed since it was received. Tedesco can be dead by now or not. There’s no word on his activity coming through at all. Central thinks that it’s a deliberate cover-up. Teddy was there illegally and there’s no way of proving he ever entered or came out. Our State Department isn’t talking and neither is the bunch over there. We can’t squawk and they aren’t offering any information. It’s as if the entire situation doesn’t exist at all.”
“That’s what I thought,” I said.
“Did you know anything about his mission?”
“No.”
Lennie nodded. “It was pretty tight, even with us.”
“It’s always like that, kid.”
“Maybe you’re familiar with the topography of Selachin.”
“Half desert, half mountain range. I’ve flown over it, that’s about all.”
“Then you have it right. Anyway, like a lot of those undeveloped areas that are hot spots in the political war these days, they keep gaining importance. About two years ago an enterprising engineer from Indiana uncovered a vast oil reserve in the foothills of the east range of hills. However, it wasn’t the usual type of thing. The oil has to be extracted by a new process that one of our major companies has been experimenting with for about ten years.
“Briefly, if this oil field proves out, it puts this previously small principality in a position of equality with Saudi Arabia. That means both the U.S. and the Commie group will be fighting to get control of the field.
“Luckily for us, we had the jump. It was one of our men who found it and our experimental processing is years ahead of anybody else’s. To be sure of what we had, Washington sent in two military technicians and began courting Teish El Abin, the King of Selachin, and suddenly this little creep gets off his donkey and blossoms out in Cadillacs. Naturally, the Reds caught the move and scouted around till they found out why. Now it looks like they’re romancing Teish, putting the hook into our men until they can gain the time to develop their own process for the oil recovery.”
“What happened to the two technicians?”
“Dead,” Lennie said. “What else? They were caught in an apparent landslide. Teddy’s last report said it wasn’t an accident at all. Those boys were murdered.”
“Any complaints from State?”
“There couldn’t be without revealing their hand. They have to play this one cute. If they accuse the Soviets it will bounce back in a fine propaganda move throughout the Middle East of how we’re trying to exploit the poor, poor peasants. Meanwhile, the Reds gain time. They’re closer to the operation than we are and have more latitude of action. What Washington is doing is wooing Teish. He’s due here in two days for some big festivities and comes in with his hand out like all the rest.”
“Any b.g. on the guy?”
“Very little. Until now he’s been more like a local chieftain. They have dozens more like him, but he’s got an adviser named Sarim Shey who was educated in London and knows all the ropes and this snake is playing for the highest stakes. What Central is afraid of is one
thing ... Sarim Shey is political. When he was a student he tied in with the Commie groups and there’s a strong indication he went the Moscow Institute route too. If that’s the case, he’s strictly leaning toward the Red end.”
“What was Teddy’s assignment?”
“To see if there was an oil reserve that could be developed and act as a buffer if any of the Soviets moved in. Someplace along the line he was spotted. Central thinks he’s dead. They couldn’t afford to let him stay alive.”
“And now I move in,” I said.
Lennie shook his head. “No. You’re to stay here. Our intelligence thinks there will be an attempt to knock off Teish El Abin. He has no heirs as yet although he’s engaged to some young girl named Vey Locca. If he gets killed control will pass into the hands of Sarim Shey and the stuff will hit the fan. He’ll walk off with U.S. loot and practically pass it into the hands of the Soviets. If he makes a deal with our government to experiment with the oil processing, the Reds can simply sit back until it’s done, then walk in with a political coup and take it away. We think Teish will be more inclined to go along with our side. He’s seen some of the Commie infiltration and knows if they get in, his power goes out. He doesn’t like that angle a bit. Trouble is, the Commies can’t hit him without causing one hell of a disturbance over there because Teish is as much a religious leader as he is political. Whatever happens has to appear to be an overt move on the part of the U.S. so the Soviets can step into the protector role.”
“Same old bit.”
“And you’re elected watchdog.”
“What happens to Teddy?”
“Pete Moore has been recalled and is going in on the search.” Lennie reached in his pocket for a cigarette and lit it. “In case you’re wondering why you’re staying on this end ...”
“That’s just what I’m doing,” I interrupted.
“You’ve heard of Malcolm Turos?”
“Number one Commie agent in the Far East?”
“The same, but he’s gained in stature the past year. He heads the Gaspar Project, a subdivision of KBD that works only primary targets. He’s been assigned to this one personally. You may not know it, but you ran into him once in Brazil when he used the name Arturo Pensa.”
“Hell, I shot that bastard.”
“Right in the neck. You ruined his beautiful operatic voice.”
“Tough.”
“He used to sing with one of the Russian companies.”
“Now he can do bird calls,” I said. “I thought I killed him.”
Lennie grinned at me. “He wants you, buddy. Word is out he took this job to get over here. He knew about Skyline and figured you’d be in on it.”
“I’d enjoy that. This time he’ll stay here.”
“Martin Grady says for you to play this one tight. You’re working against their finest. We’re getting heat from all directions and can’t afford any mistakes. One move in the wrong direction and Washington will have an excuse for an all-out push against us. Some of the heavy stuff we’ve had over important heads has been nullified by removal of parties involved. Even our pressure groups are finding too much resistance. The eggheads don’t like our interference and are fighting to do it their way even if we lose the cold war.”
“I know the picture.”
“Then it’s up to you now. I’ll stand by for instructions, the usual channels are cleared and I have the cash ready if you have to lay it out for anything at all. There’s a reception for Teish El Abin at noon the day he arrives at the Stacy Ballroom, then the parade, key to the city crap, then the next day a trip to Washington. You can make your contacts at your own discretion.”
I nodded, pulled myself out of the chair and stood up. “Okay, Lennie. I’ll file my reports through you. If you have anything new from Central I’m at the Barnes House. I may shift around, but Newark Control will always know where I am.”
“Right.” He got that gleam back in his eyes and added, “If there’s any action ...”
“I know,” I said, “I’ll call you.”
“Thanks, Tiger.” He dropped his grin for a moment and looked at me seriously. “Tell me something, how did you get that name?”
“My old man gave it to me. He thought it was a big joke. I had to fight my way around it since I was three years old.”
“Ever lose?”
“Once. A girl four years old kicked the crap out of me.”
“Oh?”
“When I was twenty-five I met her again.” I grinned at him. “I really got even,” I said.
I went out, closed the door and stood there in the corridor a moment. There was nothing to be funny about, nothing at all. Five thousand miles away one of my own could be dying a slow and painful death. Or be already dead. And I had to play the cool end.
chapter 2
The early A.M. editions of the papers had a few squibs in them about the arrival of the foreign dignitaries. None of the news services had enough information on Teish El Abin to do more than give a sketchy account of the colorful background of the country, Teish’s position in his kingdom’s affairs and its proximity to the major Arabian governments. Each story mentioned his engagement to the younger Vey Locca and his attachment to his chief adviser, Sarim Shey. Only one of the Washington columns hinted at the reason for his visit and even then the supposition was closely guarded in ambiguity.
I put the paper down, showered and got dressed. Down below the hotel the symphony of the city had started with the dawn, garbage cans and sirens announcing a new day. When I reached the street a few drunks were arguing on the comer until a beat cop crossed over and they took off mumbling to themselves. Taxis on the early shift slowed down hopefully at each comer, checking for possibles. Two hours later you’d get a go-by with a growl for trying to flag an occupied, but right now they were on their best behavior. I walked down a way to the Carnegie Deli, got a Danish and the best coffee in New York, then took a dime from my change and got into a pay phone.
Jack Brant was one of the few rugged individualists left. After the war he took a fleet of Cats into Israel, moved on into other areas screaming for development, fought flies, heat, dirt and natives with his team of bulldozers, helped irrigate half the deserts in the world and wound up in Saudi Arabia with an oil company until he got disgusted with the political system, plowed under a couple of gooks who tried to kill him and got out before they could stick his head on a pole in the middle of the street.
I hadn’t seen him for five years and he hadn’t changed a bit. When he answered he said, “What the hell do you want! You know what time it is?”
“Sure.”
One word was enough. He stopped short, said something under his breath, then: “Damn! Tiger! You old son of a sheik! Where the blazes are you?”
“Across the river from you. I didn’t think you’d still be in Brooklyn.”
“Man, they don’t shoot at you over here. Look, what’s going?”
“Need help, buddy.”
“Oh boy.” He laughed then and added, “I’m afraid to ask. The last time you gave me the pitch we mounted fifty-calibers on a Cat and took off after an army. I’m too old for that stuff any more.”
“So I won’t ask.”
“Nuts to you. Where do we meet?”
“How about the Automat on Sixth and Forty-fifth?”
“Give me about an hour and a half.”
“Shake it.”
How do you say hello to an old friend who played guns with you against a common enemy? How do you say hello to a guy ready to go without being asked even if he wasn’t ready any more? You grin, hold out your hand and take it up like there was no time in between the last time and even if the years have left their mark it doesn’t show because you know how the other guy is inside and that’s one thing that never changes.
I had the coffees ready, but like all the heavy equipment men, he wasn’t satisfied until he loaded a tray army style and had it down in front of him. Jack was one guy I could talk to and knew it stopped th
ere. He had seen our operation in action, been part of it twice and knew how we felt. I gave him the details as fast as I could and watched him soak it up, judging each sentence and trying to correlate it with what he knew.
When I finished he sat back, nodded and said, “Where do I fit in?”
“The last time you came back from Saudi you took some of your men with you who begged to get out of there. You smuggled them in, got them new identities and they’re still here. Right?”
Jack nodded, frowning.
“They know the dialect of Selachin?” I asked him.
“Hell yes. They’re all from that area. They cut out of there and went west into Saudi when we moved in to pick up some scratch. The peanuts they earned was like a fortune to them and when they learned about the good old U.S. it was like they were hearing about Mecca. That’s all they ever had on their minds. They broke their backs just to stay with us and when the chips were down they stayed on our side all the way.”
“Good. Think they’d buy into this game?”
“Tiger buddy, if I ask them to jump off the Woolworth Building they’d jump. Now get to the point.”
I nodded, straightened it out in my mind and said, “I want to meet a ship tomorrow. Teish El Abin and his entourage will be on it. We’ll dress those guys in their native costumes, give them the right things to say, and get a first-class introduction to the big chief. Me, I’m going along with them but stay in the background. I’ll be a listener. It’s funny, but go to another country only one day’s flight from your own, meet a country-man and you’d think you were having a reunion with a lifelong friend. Teish will be getting a formal reception and all that routine, but I’d like to be there first with a gimmick before the masks can go on. When can we get with your boys?”
“How about this afternoon?”
“Good deal. I’ll arrange for the outfits, get a pitch ready and they can rehearse all night. I just want it cool, friend. No pushing. That has to look good. They’ll be up against some experts.”
“I wouldn’t worry about these boys. They’ve been around a long while and know the angles. Two of them even finished night school. They’ll go along. Where do we get together?”
The Death Dealers Page 2
