The Complete Bragg Thriller Box Set

by Jack Lynch

  “I’ve been busy since I got in. I tried calling here but I missed everybody.”

  “Who were you in a fight with?”

  “It wasn’t a fight. I just stood up and took punches. The two men who killed the fellow at the airport stopped up to visit.”

  “At the office?”

  “Yeah, but don’t panic. They didn’t break anything but parts of me. Have you heard from Mrs. Shank since yesterday morning?”

  “Not a peep. But have you heard the autopsy news about her husband?”

  “I heard he’d been shot.”

  “Yes, and television is having a grand time with that one. Big newspaper executive, et cetera.”

  “Did I have any calls today?”

  “Several from an Edward Bowman, whoever that might be. He wanted to know if you were back.”

  “Did he leave a message?”

  “No. He speaks as if he just got out of broadcasting school.”

  “You should see what he looks like. Anyone else?”

  “No, he was the only one. Will you be in tomorrow or are you going to the hospital?”

  “That’s not nearly as funny as you might think. I don’t know what I’ll be doing. But I’ll phone in.”

  After we hung up I just sat there a moment. My breath was funny and I still felt a little cockeyed. When I got out of the chair the dizziness returned and I had to grip the edge of the desk for a minute. I went back to my office and stared at the footlocker. I didn’t know what to do with that. The only two who mattered already thought it contained nothing but bricks from the Phinney Ridge streetcar line. I decided to leave it where it was and turned off the light. I went back to the bathroom off the Sloe and Morrisey conference room and went to work some on my face, dabbing sore places with a wet cloth until I got the dried blood off. I put on a little Vaseline here and there but still looked like a prize fighter who’d had a long night of it. But then nobody had ever accused me of being a thing of beauty, even on my best days. I was putting stuff back into the medicine cabinet when the phone rang again out on Ceejay’s desk. This time it was Edward Bowman.

  “Mr. Bragg, I’ve been trying to reach you all day.”

  “Sorry, I wasn’t here.”

  “But so long as you are now I would like to come up and see you. I’m only a few minutes away.”

  “What do you want to see me about?”

  “My God, man, what do you suppose? This is very serious business we’re involved in.”

  “Somebody keeps reminding me of that. All right, do you have the address?”

  “Yes, it was in the phone book.”

  “I’m on the top floor. When you get off the elevator turn right. I’m down the corridor a way around the bend. On your left.”

  “Thank you, sir. We shall be there directly.”

  “We?” I asked, but he’d already hung up. Maybe he had the girl with him again.

  I didn’t want anybody else curious about the footlocker. Not everybody would believe the Seattle streetcar story. I unlocked the corridor door again then went back to the attorneys’ conference room and turned on the lights. I shut the doors to their private offices. The conference room was nicely appointed, with thick carpets, walls lined with law books, soft plush chairs and a long cherrywood table in the center of the room. It made the client feel it was only fitting to be separated from the sort of money charged there. A fake fireplace was at the deep end of the room next to a small bar. I turned on the fake fire in it, little gas jets concealed among the fake embers. I had tried to tell the counselors once that it was a cheap note among the plush, but Sloe said he’d grown up with one just like it in his family home and it made him feel comfortable.

  I heard a clatter in the outside hallway. I went back out into the reception area just as there was a brief knock on the corridor door. Bowman opened it and stuck his head in.

  “Hello, may we come in?”

  “Sure, over here,” I told him. The gray man entered, wearing mostly dark blue this time, except for gray flannel slacks. He had on a turtleneck sweater, sports jacket and beret, all of them navy blue. He held open the corridor door for the others. One of them was the girl, Brandi, wearing a burgundy-colored pants suit and a lacy white blouse buttoned up around her neck. She was wearing another pair of high-heeled shoes, as if she were determined to walk around in them until she got it right. She went past me into the conference room with a glance that could have meant most anything.

  She was followed by an older woman I assumed to be Gretchen Zane, the Duchess, the one Catlin had mentioned. She had a tall, angular figure and was wearing a fawn-colored, tailored suit that was just beginning to show a few years’ wear. She carried a matching bag with a shoulder strap and moved with a firm stride. As she went past she measured me with an unfaltering gaze through greenish-gray eyes. Her face was as stern as her carriage; not humorless, perhaps, just no-nonsense where business was concerned, and business obviously was what she’d come to talk about. I ushered them all in and closed the door. I started to pull the drapes across the bank of tall windows along the front wall, but decided to leave them open. Lights from the building across Market Street were distorted pleasantly by the rain streaking the windows. It looked like a large panel of fireflies.

  I dragged some chairs down to the fake fireplace end of the room and offered them a drink from the counselors’ bar, more because I wanted one than anything else. At least I thought I wanted one.

  Brandi declined. She was staring at the fake fireplace with a frown of amusement on her face. She gave me a puzzled glance.

  “Wasn’t my idea,” I told her. The older woman accepted a snifter of brandy. Bowman had a Scotch and soda. I poured a lot of bourbon over some ice and sat on the edge of the table.

  “Make yourselves comfortable. I’m Peter Bragg,” I said, addressing the older woman.

  “I’m sorry,” said Bowman. “This is Gretchen Zane. Also referred to as the Duchess. The girl you’ve already met.”

  Gretchen Zane gave me a curt nod and fiddled around until she’d screwed a cigarette into the end of a long holder. Then she spoke.

  “What happened to your mouth, Mr. Bragg?”

  “I had an accident, but figured I’d doped it up pretty good. Does it still look all that bad?”

  “It looks as if you’d been in a street fight.”

  “It wasn’t a street fight, exactly. Maybe I’ll tell you about it some day. Meanwhile, what is it you all trooped up here for at this time of night?”

  “Information, what else?” asked Bowman, sitting erect. “You were, I believe, engaged to take certain steps in the negotiations now underway.”

  “Not by you people, I wasn’t.”

  “True enough, but we certainly are a part of them. We are as important as anybody in this matter, despite the distribution.”

  “Distribution of what?”

  The Duchess shot him a warning look.

  “Out of the question, sir. We can’t tell you that.”

  “You mean you just don’t want to.”

  “One thing I can tell you,” Bowman continued, “Harry Shank didn’t die in that automobile accident. He was murdered.”

  “I heard about that already. A bullet in the head. What else?”

  “Isn’t that enough?” the gray man asked. “It shows the danger we’re in. All of us. Two deaths we’ve had now. The sooner things can be concluded the better. Did you find Catlin?”

  “More importantly,” said the Duchess, leaning forward, “have you learned where the money is?”

  Brandi had turned from the fake fireplace and was watching the other two. There was a crinkle of something playing at the edge of her eyes, what I couldn’t say. Amusement, maybe.

  I half snorted at their questions. They really expected me to babble on about what I’d learned. I raised the bourbon unthinkingly and took a bigger swallow than I should have. The whiskey sped down into a stomach that hadn’t had food for a long time, but had received the beating of i
ts life. The other people there knew I was in trouble from the spasms of my mouth. The Duchess half rose from her chair. I clapped my handkerchief over my mouth and hustled to the bathroom.

  I got there just in time and finally my stomach had its way. I was sick. It took a while for the spell to pass. The Duchess came to the doorway once and turned away with a stricken expression. A few moments later the girl, Brandi, came in, took one look and moistened a cloth under the tap. I was still bent over as the muscular contractions gripped my stomach. She held the cloth to my forehead, giving me support.

  When I finally felt it was all over with I flushed the toilet and lowered the lid. I sat down while Brandi rinsed out the cloth. She turned and wiped off my face. She rinsed the cloth again and dabbed at my clothes a moment.

  “Whew, you’re a mess,” she told me. “What happened? You drunk?”

  “No. Two men were here a while ago. They worked me over some. Gave my stomach quite a beating. I couldn’t defend myself. I’ve been fighting this since they left. Got careless with the bourbon is all.”

  She gave my shoulder a little squeeze. “I’m sorry. Just sit there ’til you feel better. Their bloody questions can wait.”

  “Yeah. You’re a good kid. Thanks.”

  She went out into the next room. I heard her murmuring to the others. I took a deep breath and began to feel half fit once more. I turned on the cold water tap and ran some more over my face and neck. I toweled off and looked at myself in the mirror again. No question about it. I had at least another hour to live. I went back out and joined them. Bowman and the Duchess looked uncomfortable.

  “You’re very pale, Mr. Bragg,” said the Duchess.

  I dismissed it with a wave. “I’m feeling better than I have since my last visitors left. Sorry to put you people through this. I shouldn’t have gulped the whiskey.”

  “Brandi told us what happened,” said Bowman. “Who were they?”

  “The two men who killed Polaski at the airport day before yesterday.”

  Bowman came out of his chair as if somebody had pinched him. “They were here?”

  “They sure were. They’ve been following me off and on for a couple of days. They thought I could tell them where Polaski’s money might be. They didn’t like it every time I told them I couldn’t help them.

  “That’s what happened to my mouth,” I told the older woman. “Only it wasn’t a street fight, because in a street fight I have a chance to hit back some. No such luck this time. They still carry the guns that dropped Buddy Polaski. They made me strip down to my shorts and stand with my arms behind me. It was a little one-sided.”

  “Are they apt to come back?” asked Bowman.

  “Not tonight. They seemed satisfied for now. But I think I’ve taken enough physical punishment to earn me some information in turn. You might feel I’m just a small part of this, but I’ve taken a lot of pounding for all of you, and I’ve kept your identities to myself. That ought to buy me something.”

  I took the rest of my glass of whiskey over to the bar and watered it down some. I lifted the glass and sipped carefully. It tasted fine. I went back to lean against the table again. Bowman and the Duchess were having a silent communion between them. The gray man spoke first.

  “How much should we tell him?”

  The Duchess looked across at me. “Did you find Mr. Catlin?”

  “Yes, but he didn’t want to tell me much, either. A hint or two at most about a treasure you all came across many years ago. But I’ve dug up some other things on my own since then. Some things the rest of you would be interested in. But I’m not parting with any of it until we’re all more comfortable with one another. So far as I’m concerned, that means somebody has to let me know what’s going on.”

  Brandi gave a nod of encouragement. I was pretty confident if I spent ten minutes alone with the girl I’d learn everything I wanted to know, but it would be better coming from the other two. If I was going to run the risk of getting beat up and maybe shot, I wanted the confidence and cooperation of everybody involved, not just Brandi.

  Gretchen Zane turned in her chair. “I think we might as well tell him everything, Edward. It might be best in the long run. I think he’s earned it. I only hope he’s an honorable man.”

  TEN

  Bowman didn’t look up right away. He was sitting with his eyes lowered, deeply in thoughts of his own. But then he nodded his head. I took a deep breath and carried my glass back over to the bar. I felt like a new man. I poured a fresh drink with just a splash of water added to it. I didn’t think I was going to be sick anymore. I was going to be just fine, because finally I was going to learn what it was all about.

  “Try to make it brief, Edward,” said the Duchess. “I know it’s difficult, but…”

  The gray man nodded, then leaned back in the chair and raised his eyes, stretching one foot out before him. “It started a long time ago, for me at any rate. I was a smuggler, you see, out in Southeast Asia, in the thirties. I didn’t quite think of it that way. At an early age I had shipped out of Halifax, Nova Scotia. Those were very difficult times throughout the world, not just here in the United States. And one day out in the Philippines, I heard of a chance to make some very good money just by transporting some cargo in a hush-hush manner. Thought of myself somewhat as a soldier of fortune, really. It wasn’t so much the money, you see. Didn’t need much, then. It was the adventure, and romance of it all.

  “There was a great opium trade throughout that part of the world even then. But other traffic as well. Somebody always in the market for guns, everything from rifles to pack howitzers. I dealt in them all. And gems, even. Yes, that is something that few people these days know about. There was great traffic. It was home to some of the finest jade ever seen. Whenever a pocket of Imperial jade was found it would set off a tremendous scramble among dealers, both legitimate and unsavory. And there was alexandrite from Ceylon and other things. A man never knew what he might be asked to transport next. Those were the years I learned the country, and the people who lived there. It was an education quite different from what others had, and although I didn’t know it then, it would prove invaluable in the darkening days ahead.”

  He took out a handkerchief and blew his nose, then stuffed it back and sat up a little straighter. “It all changed with the onset of war. The Japanese came marching out everywhere, disrupting trade, everything. They muddled up business badly enough so that everybody out there hated them. They were good fighters, but despotic as the devil when they got their hands on a piece of territory. Natives and foreigners alike spent many dark days in those years, thanks to the Japanese.

  “Finally, when the Allied countries began the long job of beating them back, there were any number of us eager to help out in any way that we could. And that was considerable, back then. The Allies were happy to have the services of anyone familiar with those parts. And I and others who’d been living out there for years on little more than our wits knew the territory and natives as well as any white man. And some of our armies then were ragtag collections at best. God, you should have seen the mob poor Stilwell had to try dealing with during the time I knew him in Burma—warlords and bandits…”

  “You’re drifting, Edward,” the Duchess gently reminded him.

  I got up and replenished his Scotch and soda. He nodded gratefully.

  “To cut through then,” he continued. “In the closing days of the war, in Forty-Five, right near the end, I became part of a very unusual force. We were a detached group of more than two hundred men, from several different units. British and Australian, American Marines and some Army people. An odd civilian or two like myself. We were a long-range snatch party. Our job was to go in seventy, eighty kilometers behind Japanese lines and kidnap one of their generals the intelligence boys had pinpointed. Kosura, I think his name was. We were told he was a planning and tactical genius who had devised the Imperial Japanese Army plans to counter any incursions by the Soviets into Manchuria.

&nbs
p; “In those last months he was being kept busy, sent from one combat area to another to try shoring up things, but the Allied people knew that as soon as the Russians crossed the border, as they were planning to do, Kosura would be the man the Japanese would send there in an attempt to repel them. Our job was to take him, alive preferably, but dead if need be, before the Russians made their move. Looking back now it does seem as if it were a desperate sort of journey we set out on, but none of us knew then that the atom bomb was on the way. Everybody still expected some very bitter and protracted fighting on the Chinese mainland and in the Japanese islands themselves. The idea of snatching the general seemed only one more difficult task in what had been a very long succession of such jobs. We went gladly.”

  Gretchen Zane changed her position and Bowman smiled briefly. “I know, dear, I’m off the mark again. Well, as it turned out, the general wasn’t where we thought he’d be, and they soon after dropped the bomb and the Russians crossed the frontiers and it was all for naught anyway. But we did have ourselves a time on that raid. Killed an awful lot of the enemy. We were superbly supplied, you see. Because they wanted us not only to kidnap the general but to get back out with him, if it were at all possible. We had a whole series of carefully plotted air drops, coordinated with radio teams attached to local guerilla units. We were supplied on the way in and on the way out. Everything from arms and ammo and food to Atabrine and new jungle boots—they don’t last long in the tropics.

  “We operated for the better part of a month behind enemy lines. Became the absolute terror of the Japanese field troops out there. Then, toward the end, once we learned the Jap general wasn’t where we’d been told he was, it was decided to break us down into smaller groups in order to slip back out through the Japanese forward positions. We were a large body of men for such activity, still nearly at full strength. Couldn’t have lost more than a dozen or so men the whole time of it.