No Flowers for the General (A Mike Faraday Mystery Book 3)

by Basil Copper

  ‘Shut your mouth,’ said Damascus. ‘You’ll get your cut when it’s time and not before.’

  ‘This is as far as I go,’ Myers blustered. ‘If I blew what I knew you’ll all be back up the river.’

  I had a funny instinct about the way things were shaping. Hernando stood at the top with the pistol. Clark and Macklehenny were to my front and at the side of the wall. The General and Salivar were out of the way down in the hall. That left me in the middle of the staircase with Myers right behind me and the trigger-happy Damascus with the Schmeisser right behind him. I didn’t like that very much.

  Something cold was breathing on my neck and there was an itching right between my shoulder blades. The warm bite of the Smith-Wesson chafed my instep, as I trod lightly and edged over to get between Clark and Macklehenny at the staircase edge. I had got over about two feet when shouting started behind me. The Schmeisser suddenly blammed twice, the two shots blurring together they were so close. Something like a warm wind went past my left cheek; there was a choking noise and the body of Myers passed me. He buckled at the waist like a toy doll, the breath whistling in his throat. Big scorch marks spread across the back of his blue suit and little white and blue flames rimmed the holes the bullets had made.

  The burning lapped the dark stains and became smoke. Myers retched once or twice, clawed the air and then went down the whole length of the stairs. His body left scarlet splashes on the treads. It bounced once or twice when it got to the hall and brought a small table and some flowers down with it. Myers was dead by the time he got there, I figured. There was a clicking behind me and the empty cartridge cases scampered down the heavy pile stair-carpet. Damascus blew into the breech of the machine pistol.

  ‘I told him he’d get his share,’ he said.

  I stood with one foot farther down the staircase, the other higher up, my leg bent at the knee. I hoped my left leg wouldn’t tremble.

  There was a long silence, then Hernando said, ‘Nice and slow, gentlemen, and no tricks.’

  We went down the staircase, stepping over the body of Myers. Salivar used the rest of the water in the upset vase to douse the smouldering cloth on Myers’ back.

  ‘Sorry about the mess, General,’ he said pleasantly.

  There came a muffled hammering on the kitchen door. It stopped when Damascus screamed at the staff to shut up. He had a glinter in his eye which I didn’t like. I decided I would try to drop him first, whatever happened.

  Salivar wheeled the General out into the hall and unlocked the main door. Hernando ordered us to pick up the food and walk in front of them. I picked up the General’s big tray, which was covered by a white cloth; Clark and Macklehenny followed me with packages of sandwiches and the flasks of coffee. It was a hell of a time for a picnic. Hernando and Damascus brought up the rear. They switched off the main lights, leaving only the porch.

  It was a raw, cold morning, with more than a hint of fog. The Dobermann still sprawled rigidly outside the main door. The light shone across the strip of drive and showed the station wagon in which Salivar had brought back Rodriguez earlier that night. The porch light also shone on the sleek sides of a white-painted ambulance which bore the stencil of the County Ambulance Service.

  ‘The surprise I spoke about,’ said Hernando. ‘We shouldn’t have much trouble in getting through with this.’

  Chapter 14

  Death of a General

  Salivar opened up the back of the ambulance and switched on the light inside. Hernando stood by with the Schmeisser as Clark and Macklehenny lifted the General’s chair up into the ambulance; I couldn’t see his face. Salivar had got inside and pulled the chair into the centre. There were four big metal strips screwed into the middle of the floor.

  The General’s chair just went between them; Salivar rummaged about in a locker and came up with four lengths of steel cable attached to spring clips. He clipped the cables from the arms and back rest of the General’s chair down to the struts on the floor. The whole thing was now securely fastened to the body of the ambulance.

  I stood at the rear of the vehicle; the cold was biting and I hadn’t got my trench coat. Though we had only one gun between the four of us and that difficult to get at, the odds were now in our favour if it came to a showdown. The thought had evidently occurred to the Cubans for Hernando and Damascus stood right behind us with the machine pistol and the sub-machine gun which Hernando had taken from Salivar. They watched with some impatience while the General was stowed into the big machine.

  I handed up the General’s tray to the Cuban and he passed it over on to the front of Diaz’ wheel-chair. Then I saw him lean over and tear out the wire from the controls of the electric motor at the back of the chair. If we could unclip the chair and use the motor it would have made a useful weapon to ram the General out through the rear doors if it came to the pinch. Now that was out. Clark and Macklehenny got up in back with the General and laid out the sandwiches and coffee on top of a big locker that ran along the side.

  Salivar went round to the driving seat of the ambulance and started her up. He had to give four pulls of the starter; the motor was cold and damp in this foggy atmosphere. Then she coughed and broke into a roar. Salivar kept the choke out and then let her idle quietly. The exhaust smoke came up heavy and acrid in our nostrils. Hernando went back into the porch and doused the main house light. I could hear faint knocking now from the staff quarters.

  ‘Phone wires cut again?’ Hernando asked Damascus. He inclined his head.

  ‘Up in the back,’ he said, pushing the machine pistol into my side. I climbed up with Clark and Macklehenny. Salivar had gotten a long white coat on now, like a hospital intern My hopes of being able to make a break before dawn were beginning to ebb. Damascus kept the light on inside the ambulance when we started. We couldn’t sit on the bunks either side because we could have been seen through the glass doors; for some reason they weren’t frosted or painted black. This wasn’t the genuine thing; even so, it would pass muster with nine out of ten people.

  Hernando went over to the station wagon parked behind the ambulance. He came back and threw the ignition key into the bushes. Damascus climbed in with us and Hernando slammed the rear doors. Damascus sat down on a low level locker opposite us and nursed the pistol.

  He put his free hand in front of him and motioned us down. We sat on the floor. Macklehenny was up against the bunk behind Salivar, who was driving; there was just a low wood partition between us and the driver and passenger seats. Nothing that would be of any use in stopping bullets. The General was slightly to the front of us, almost between Salivar and Hernando who had got into the passenger seat. He sat facing the rear and the muzzle of the tommy gun was all set to spray the interior.

  Clark sat next to Macklehenny, and I sat in the middle of the ambulance floor and propped myself against the back of the General’s chair. Damascus had myself and Clark clearly in view; Hernando covered Macklehenny and the General. It was as good an arrangement as could be devised, short of having us all lying on our faces on the floor. But if the ambulance was stopped for any reason it would be difficult to explain away. Not that the ambulance would stop. Hernando would simply blast his way out. Hernando turned round and smiled slowly at us. He also had put on a white coat.

  ‘All set in back?’ he said.

  Damascus slapped the side of the partition with his clenched fist in reply. There was a pleasant aroma of liver and bacon. General Diaz had opened up the silver dish cover on his tray. He rubbed his hands. I looked over his shoulder and saw a ketchup bottle, silver salt cellar; the works. This was no wagon-lits but even so his breakfast looked pretty good. Except that I wondered how he could eat it when he was leaving behind a house containing three corpses and a room full of frightened domestics; he was made of strong material.

  ‘Let’s move,’ said Hernando. The engine throbbed, Salivar put her in first and we moved smoothly down the drive.

  *

  Branches tapped against the body of
the big machine as Salivar took her round the curves in the drive; he drove well, keeping in low gear and not using the brakes at the corners. We ghosted down at about fifteen miles an hour; it was fairly steady inside here over the well-sprung chassis and the General’s knife and fork started a steady rhythm that didn’t cease until he’d finished his breakfast.

  Mist swirled by the windows and Salivar had got his wipers going. We stopped at the gate and Salivar got out. He left the engine idling. All through he had made a minimum of noise; there wasn’t much likelihood of waking up anyone who shouldn’t have been awake. I glanced round. Damascus’ Schmeisser came up imperceptibly at my gentle movement. Hernando had the tommy gun ready. I saw that the safetys on both weapons were off.

  There came the clink of iron on iron as Salivar opened the gates. He drove gently through, past the mist-shrouded lodge. He drew up on the road and went back and re-locked the gate. I saw him throw the key away before he got back in the driving seat. Nothing moved in all the world. Salivar engaged the gear again and we pulled slowly away, moving northwards. I felt the perspiration gathering on my forehead; it was close in here, even though the night air was cold outside. Hernando had kept all the windows shut. The General’s knife and fork kept up their measured click as the ambulance nosed along the quiet lane.

  ‘Will you not join me, gentlemen?’ said the General to everyone at large. ‘The food is excellent.’

  ‘We’ll get clear of the area first,’ said Damascus sourly. I could have done with a cigarette. It was becoming clear to me that I should have to think carefully before starting to get to the Smith-Wesson; it would have to look natural. If they handed out the sandwiches I might get an opportunity then.

  I shot another glance over my shoulder. Macklehenny’s face looked pale but he still had the crust to return me a wry wink; Clark had picked his people well. I knew he could be depended on if we got half a break. I felt certain I could take Damascus at the right moment, but that still left Hernando and the tommy gun, with the General right in the line of fire. Big odds but we had next to no choice. Once at the helicopter our limited usefulness as hostages was finished. It was a real mess, as they come; and they didn’t come any better than this.

  Salivar wasn’t driving at more than twenty miles an hour; he kept to side lanes and evidently knew the way by heart. We met no other cars. The mist seemed to get thicker and then we started to go uphill. I caught a glimpse of my watch and saw that we had already been travelling about twenty minutes.

  ‘How about that food, then?’ said Clark. Damascus stood up and held the pistol at the ready.

  ‘Don’t try anything,’ he said. Clark and Macklehenny started handing out the packets of sandwiches. Hernando shook his head. Damascus tore open a packet and started eating a sandwich, holding it in one hand. He still had his finger round the trigger.

  The sandwiches weren’t bad; my package contained a mixture of ham, cheese and sweet pickle. Any other time I might have been more critical but right now I was surprisingly hungry. Clark got out a flask of coffee; he poured the General’s first. The housekeeper had provided plastic cups. It was scalding hot. It gave me an idea too; I hoped Clark would cotton on when the time came.

  In ten minutes or so we would surely be getting near the area chosen for landing. It was already turned seven but Salivar showed no sign of faltering either in his speed or his sense of direction. I guessed the route had been driven over and timed not once but many times. There remained the supposition that the Cubans hadn’t revealed their correct plan to us; that didn’t matter a lot either and after daylight would be academic to most of us travelling in the back.

  The darkness was growing imperceptibly lighter and I thought this was about the time. Within the next few minutes we would have arrived and once we were out of the ambulance it would be too late. I asked Clark to pass me another sandwich. I had to take it over my shoulder and I contrived to drop it on the floor.

  I scrabbled around for it, smearing the sticky mixture of pickles and cheese on to my trouser leg. Damascus started snickering.

  Under cover of mopping up the mess I had retrieved the Smith-Wesson and transferred it to my right hand. I got out a handkerchief and dabbed at the sandwich with my left hand while I leaned back on my right, holding the revolver behind me. I pushed off the safety catch with my thumb. Damascus thought I was merely supporting myself.

  I put the handkerchief back into my pocket and glanced over my shoulder, asking Clark for another sandwich. I saw that both he and Macklehenny had seen the revolver. Clark had the half-full flask of boiling coffee in his right hand. It had the plastic top off. I hoped he knew what to do with it. He nodded slightly like he was replying to my question about the sandwich. I saw Macklehenny scramble into a different position against the bunk.

  I turned back to Damascus leaving the revolver behind me. I got out the handkerchief again and put it over my legs. I offered a sandwich to Damascus but he waved it away. While I had the packet under his face I had picked up the revolver again with my right and put it under the handkerchief. It was going to be a difficult shot. I kept my hand there, pretending to hold the handkerchief in position. The barrel of the Smith-Wesson was pointed towards the ceiling of the ambulance and I should have to allow for the angle by bringing the barrel forward at the last minute.

  I glanced at Hernando but his attention was taken up by Clark and Macklehenny. The General had finished his breakfast, and was drinking the coffee. Now seemed as good a time as any. I waited until Salivar changed gear at the top of a hill. Damascus, though still concentrating, was finishing off his sandwich. He had the Schmeisser barrel lowered an inch or two from the horizontal. I braced myself against the back of the General’s chair and prayed for accuracy. I fired twice, shifting the barrel over a little each time. It was one of the most tricky pieces of shooting I’d ever attempted. The gun jumped and the roar and flare of the explosions momentarily deafened me. Powder smoke stung my cheeks and my trousers burst into flame where the slugs had passed through them, just over the top of the barrel.

  The first shot missed and blew a hole in the top of the ambulance. But the second didn’t. Though the angle was very shallow it seemed to go in Damascus’ mouth and come out just over his eye. His body sagged and the Schmeisser fell on to the floor of the ambulance, where I kicked it over towards Clark. A fine spray of blood misted the bunks and particles of white substance flew about the interior of the ambulance. They appeared to be some of Damascus’ teeth; not that he would be needing them any more. My ears were singing from the explosions.

  As soon as the first shot sounded I heard Hernando scream. Clark had thrown the flask of scalding coffee in his face. He clutched at the back of the partition and the tommy gun fell on to the floor of the driving cab. Macklehenny was already up and had his braced arm round Salivar’s neck. The ambulance swerved alarmingly and started to go off the road.

  ‘Hold on, General,’ I yelled. I was rolling towards the rear doors. I had my hand on the latch when the ambulance started to lurch, then it was turning over. Clark was slung along the interior after me and Damascus’ body followed. We landed up in a heap of arms and legs against the rear doors. I could hear Clark scratching for the Schmeisser. He had the presence of mind to turn off the light in the back.

  I had just got the door open when there was a tremendous crash and we were right off the road; I fell out and landed in wet bushes. I held tight to the Smith-Wesson and fell down an embankment. I heard Clark come after me. He yelled something to Macklehenny, then the sky was wheeling above me; it span faster and faster until I was hurled off the rim of the world.

  *

  I tasted blood and felt myself to see if anything was broken. I heard Clark groan and saw him get up from the wet earth a couple of yards away. I had been out only a few seconds but the sky was already lighter. I could see the ambulance heeled over, silhouetted against the sky at the top of the bank. It had gone off the road and rammed a tree before it could come down th
e scree-strewn slope. I recognised the roaring in my ears as an unnatural silence. I hoped the General was all right.

  Then I heard two shots close together; they came from the interior of the ambulance. Clark and I had the same idea. Macklehenny hadn’t got out. It could have been the deputy or the General. Or both. Unless Macklehenny had got to one of the guns. Hernando hadn’t looked in too good a shape when we were thrown out. Then I heard the General’s voice, precise, cool and controlled through the early dawn.

  ‘Admirably done, Mr Faraday. An excellent piece of work.’

  Clark smiled grimly. He got up wincing and I saw that blood was streaming from a rent in his pants.

  ‘Just a graze on a rock,’ he said. He lay down again and we started crawling towards the ambulance. Just then we both heard the faint sound coming from the north. It was the distinctive beat of a helicopter. I pulled Clark down. I had just seen someone get out of the ambulance. He dropped on the far side. I used the lull to get the package from my right shoe and re-load the Smith-Wesson. I now had a full chamber of five, with three in reserve. I didn’t know how many the Schmeisser held but I felt we were a match for the Cubans. Would they try to break the General out or finish him off before they left? It was a calculated risk and the longer we left it the greater the danger.

  Orange flame bisected the dark sky, throwing the area into harsh relief. The flare burnt brilliantly about a hundred feet from the ground and I could hear the rotor-blades of the helicopter change note, as the pilot thrashed the air on a different course, heading towards the signal. As the flare died, Clark and I wriggled farther along the bank. There was a fairly level area up ahead, which was evidently the rendezvous. If we could get there ahead of the Cubans we should have a better chance to intercept.

  Just before the flare went into the ground, I saw two figures near the ambulance. There was no sign of Macklehenny and it was safer to assume that Salivar had survived the crash. The tommy gun hammered with heartstopping suddenness and a chain of sparks burst the darkness in front of us as the bullets ricocheted from the stony ground. We went down the bank in a long, tumbling glide and found ourselves in a small plantation of trees. The tree boles weren’t very thick but wide enough for our purposes.