Cain joined Soldier and Slick in the open cockpit. The sound of distant laughter carried across the water. Somewhere on the other side of the harbor people were having a party. Music drifted on the warm night air, not the lilting beat of the windward islands, but the smooth, sophisticated rhythms of Cole Porter.
“Well, what do we do now, Cain?” Slick’s cigarette glowed in the dark.
Cain perched on the stern of the boat. “We have to get inside that casino.”
“You’re barred,” Slick said, “but there’s nothing to prevent Soldier and me from walking into the place. Unless things have changed.”
“That isn’t exactly what I had in mind: going in through the front door.”
“You mean, break in?” Soldier’s voice was incredulous.
“We aren’t likely to be invited.”
Soldier snorted. “Jesus, Cain, do you think those people just lock up and leave that place like it was a butcher shop? There must be a half a ton of money in there. They will have guards all over the place. Anyone trying to get in there will end up looking like Swiss cheese.”
“We can try.”
“Cain, did you get a good look at that place,” Slick protested. “There’s nothing around it that is any taller. We can’t jump off something and hop on the roof. The place is big and square, a regular fortress. It has windows, but take those away and you would have an impregnable castle. Soldier is right, we’d be slaughtered. There is just no way to take that place. At least, not without an army.”
“I doubt if they would have the place so intensely covered,” Cain said. “This is a small island, without much of a place to hide. If anyone did rob the casino, they would have to escape by water or air. They wouldn’t get far, not if all the islands were alerted. There’s really not much of a risk of robbery, so I don’t think they would take elaborate precautions.”
“Why do you want to get inside the casino anyway, Cain?” Soldier asked.
“I think it might be the focal point of all this pirate business. Finzanno was about to tell me something, and if you knew Finzanno, you would know how rare a thing that was. It would have to be pretty bad to make Finzanno want to turn anybody in.”
“Maybe he knew something that had no connection with the casino,” Slick said. “Maybe he just worked there and what he wanted to tell you was in no way tied in with the casino.”
Cain shook his head. “All three of those men I killed worked at the casino, and they weren’t exactly blackjack dealers. They knew their business, and they went after Finzanno in a very businesslike way. No, there has to be some connection with the casino. And at the moment it is the only piece we have to the puzzle.”
The three men fell silent for a moment.
“Hell,” Slick said, throwing his cigarette into the dark waters, “I don’t like this dock, Cain. It’s too dangerous. Look.” He pointed his long finger at the small hill rising above their anchorage. “All anyone has to do is set up a machine gun in any of those villas, and they would have us cold down here.”
“They would have to spray half the tourists on this island to do that,” Cain said. “Anyway we have no choice, not if we want to remain here. There isn’t a mooring anywhere in this harbor that would be any better. There are a million potential gun positions around here.”
Soldier sighed. “Give up on the casino, Cain. We don’t know the location of the guards or the kind of alarm system they use. It would be impossible to pull off a break-in.”
“Yeah,” Slick agreed, “and if we got caught and they didn’t kill us, we would be picking up pigeon shit from their prison yard for the rest of our lives. It’s a lousy idea.”
“Besides, don’t most of these gambling places stay open around the clock?” Soldier asked.
“Not this one,” Cain said. “I saw their hours posted when I was up there. They close at eleven on weekdays and two in the morning during the weekends. Since it’s the only gambling place on the island, and they have no competition, they don’t have to extend themselves to a round-the-clock operation.” He paused. “I’ll go up there just before they close and take a look around. Maybe I can figure a way in.”
“You’re barred from the place,” Slick said. “And they would recognize you in a minute. That blond hair of yours is quite distinctive, Cain.” Slick’s smile was apparent even in the darkness. “I’ll go up. I’ll pretend to be an African prince again. I do that rather well, I think.”
Soldier spit into the harbor. “They’ve seen you, Slick. They know who you are. That girl you were with is part of the operation, and you can bet other people saw you that night when …”
“When I gave up all my military secrets,” Slick injected.
“Yes,” Soldier nodded. “That night.” He paused for a moment. “I am the one to go. I have stayed aboard the boat all the time we have been here. No one here knows me by sight. I’ll go up there and take a look around. It is a logical solution,” he continued. “Johnson can’t go—he wouldn’t know what to look for—and they have seen him with you, Cain. I am the logical choice.”
Cain looked across the harbor at the lights on the other shore. “It could be dangerous, Soldier. This boat was probably watched from one of the villas up there.” He nodded toward the dark hill above them. “You were out in the open often. Anyone with a pair of binoculars would recognize you in a second if he saw you again.”
Soldier grunted. “So? It’s either give up on the casino idea, or let me get dressed. I don’t have much time.”
Cain nodded. “Get going,” he said.
*
Soldier had worked his way into the small group of players clustered around the roulette wheel. He placed a few chips and watched the little ivory ball begin its wild dance against the spinning wheel. The ball bounced around as the wheel slowed and finally fell into a red slot. The croupier shoved some chips to Soldier, who retrieved them and kept his original bet on the red. The croupier spun the wheel once again.
In the few minutes he had been in the casino Soldier had counted over a dozen security men. Quiet and almost invisible in their tuxedoes—a uniform that blended in with the crowd of players—they were alert and they appeared to know their job. Soldier, who made a show of meditating about his bets, carefully studied the layout of the gambling house. He had glanced up at the ceiling. A thin strip of mirrored paneling ran along the rim of the ceiling, and Soldier knew it was one-way glass. Above them someone was watching the play to insure that no player cheated a dealer and that no dealer cheated the house.
Soft, vibrating tropic rhythms provided by a four-piece native band pulsated in the air-conditioned room. The musicians played softly, but they moved gaily, their movements matching the bright costumes they wore. The music was soft—so as not to interfere with the voices of the players—but it was played with a spirit of mad abandonment: a spirit the management hoped would infect the customers with a desire to throw off caution and risk their all on the tables.
Cain had told him that the business offices were located in a hall leading off from the east side of the main room. Soldier spotted it. He also cataloged in his mind the other halls and doors leading from the main gaming room.
The ivory ball landed in the black, and Soldier’s chips were quickly raked in by the houseman.
Soldier stepped away from the roulette table, giving his place to an obese woman who seemed enveloped in a cloud of perfume and deodorant. He strolled easily between the tables until he reached the archway leading to the business offices. He stepped into the carpeted hallway.
“Can I help you, sir?” A hand tapped his shoulder.
Soldier turned and found himself facing one of the tuxedo-clad security men. He was a young man but powerfully built. Soldier smiled uncertainly, and nodded. “Ja, mein Herr. Ich bin …”
“I’m sorry, sir, I don’t speak German,” the young man said.
Soldier pretended to be embarrassed. He stepped close to the security man. “Me.” He pointed a finger at his own
chest. “Go.” Soldier pointed discreetly at his crotch.
The security man’s face broke into a smile. “Of course, the men’s room. Certainly, sir.” He took Soldier’s arm and turned him back into the main room. “Right over here, in this alcove,” he said as he steered Soldier to an almost hidden door marked “Gentlemen.” The man patted Soldier’s back and pointed to the door. “There you are, sir.”
Soldier hoped his smile looked like sincere gratitude. He waved his thanks at the man and stepped through the door.
The gambling casino favored Victorian decor, but the washroom was decidedly modern, all tile and chrome. A washroom attendant stood lazily next to a pile of white fluffy towels. “Good evening, sir,” he said pleasantly. “Can I help you?”
“Nein,” Soldier replied, waving him away. He moved into one of the toilet stalls.
“Better hurry, sir, the casino is about to close up,” the attendant said.
Soldier, from the other side of the closed door, informed the attendant in German that he did not speak English. Perhaps the attendant might move off and leave him. Then he would be inside after they closed. Something like that had to be done, Soldier decided. The place could not be taken during the hours it was open because there were far too many professional-looking security men. Perhaps, Soldier thought, even if he were apprehended after they closed, he could put on his confused-German-tourist act and evaluate the forces defending the casino at night.
He heard some low voices at the entrance door. He guessed the security men were checking with the attendant. He had to respect them; they overlooked nothing. He stood up, flushed the toilet for appearances, and then stepped out. The blackjack hit him just over the eyebrow. He reacted, but not in time to escape the swinging sap. He fell to the tile floor, fighting to stay conscious and at the same time pretending that he had been knocked out by the blow. He could dimly see from the closed slits of his eyes that he was surrounded by several men. He hoped they would believe he was unconscious. But if they were really professionals, he thought, they would …
The sap once again smashed against his head. This time there was no pretense. Soldier slipped into mindless blankness.
*
He had been tied in a chair, strapped into a sitting position. Resisting the impulse to open his eyes, Soldier commanded his other senses to scout for him. There was no noise except the sound of some very soft breathing. He listened, trying to decide if it was only one man. He smelled cigarette smoke. The pain in his head throbbed, but he guessed he was not seriously hurt. The pain was not the kind that accompanied a skull fracture. He had more than enough experience to know the difference.
Soldier opened one eye just a crack. His head hung down against his chest so his range of view was limited. He stared down at his bloodstained trousers. The head blows had obviously split his skin. He saw nothing more except the navy-blue carpeting below him.
“Coming around, eh?” The voice was not unpleasant, even friendly.
Soldier raised his head, opened his eyes, and looked around. He was in a small office, occupied only by himself and two men who watched him with interest. One—a tall thin man with a skull-like face—stood a few feet away, a humorless grimace curling across his thin lips. The other man was older with streaks of gray coloring his sandy hair. He sat perched upon one corner of a desk, a cigarette dangling from his lips. Both were attired in the casino’s uniform—black tuxedoes.
The man seated on the desk removed the cigarette from his mouth and smiled at Soldier. “Tell me, my friend, just what sort of a game did you expect to play up here tonight?”
“Was tust du …”
The man with the cigarette laughed. “Let’s dispense with the act, shall we? We know you are no German tourist.”
“Nein, ich heisse Kurt …”
As the thin man stepped forward, his long arm snapped out and his fingertips smashed into Soldier’s cheekbone like a hammer, jerking Soldier’s head up. The thin man’s eyes glittered. He was enjoying himself.
“You had better tell us the truth, my friend. We wish to know exactly what you were up to here, and we don’t plan to spend much time getting that information.” The man’s smile was as wide as ever. “We would be unhappy if you cause us to use force.”
“Nein …”
As agile as a ballet dancer the thin man rose on one foot, turned, and kicked Soldier in the mouth. The foot snapped like a whip, and the jolt of the blow caused Soldier to almost lose consciousness again, but his head cleared quickly. He could feel blood running from his lips and down his chin. He regretted being conscious.
“That was a bit much, George,” the man on the desk cautioned the other man. “Don’t break his jaw, or he won’t be able to talk.”
“What is your business here?” the thin man said, his voice high, almost female, and full of menace. “We know you are part of the crew on that Zinner Company boat. We know you work for Cain. We want to know what you are doing here.”
Soldier decided there was no advantage in trying to convince them he was a mere tourist. Cain had been right; someone had been watching the boat. “We are looking for old man Zinner’s great-grandson,” Soldier said, remembering that Cain had told the head man at the casino the basic truth. “He and his wife were on a sailing honeymoon, and this was their last port of call. They disappeared. We are looking for them, and that is the only reason we are here.”
The man on the desk beamed. “There, isn’t that better? Now we can converse like civilized people. Although I do believe the English language sounds a bit better when one is telling the truth.”
“That is the truth,” Soldier protested through swollen lips.
“Oh dear, I had hoped you would be more cooperative about all this. That is a nice cover story, but it fails to explain why several employees of this establishment are dead, or why you come up here and pretend to be someone else.” The man on the desk sighed deeply. “George, I think you must try harder to persuade our friend here to be a bit more candid with us. After all, Mr. Van Pelt will be here shortly, and he will expect us to have discovered all that this gentleman knows.”
The thin man’s glittering eyes were fixed on Soldier’s face as he extracted a long switchblade knife from his tuxedo pocket. The click echoed in the room as the long blade snapped out. It was more of a spike than a blade, and it looked razor-sharp as its steel caught and reflected the room’s light. With a deliberately slow movement the thin man brought the blade up close to Soldier’s face.
Soldier detected the soft hint of garlic as the thin man spoke. “What are you really doing here?” The words were spoken in a soft voice, almost a whisper.
Soldier made no reply. His head jerked away as he felt the sharp point of the knife bite into the flesh of his cheek.
“My friend,” the man at the desk said, “I would talk if I were you. He will literally skin you alive.” He giggled. “He really will, you know.”
Soldier gave no indication of having heard the man’s threat. He had endured pain before. They left him for dead in the streets of Berlin. That had been his first experience with real pain. All the other boys of the Hitler Youth who had stood with him at that street corner had been killed. And although he was consumed with pain and had expected to die, he had been rescued during the night by an old man. It took time, but his young body had healed without the benefit of any pain-relieving drugs. It had been his first lesson in handling pain.
But it was in the Legion that he had received his advanced training. An old Legionnaire had lectured him on the subject and had explained to him the technique, but it wasn’t until the Algerians had captured him that he had the opportunity to try out his new knowledge. Nothing in the world is so refined in causing pain as Arab torture. But he had withstood it. As the old Legionnaire had taught him, it was a matter of the mind.
Soldier forced his mind to think of the Bavarian hills where he had been raised as the knife point bit deeper into his skin. Concentration, that was the key. It was a
ll a trick, a form of self-hypnosis, but it worked. He pictured the little mountain stream he had known as a child, seeing in his recollection every stone, watching in imagination as the clear water tumbled past the green-covered bank. In his mind he was once more back in the forest, alone with the sound of the wind and the smell of the mountain pines. He exerted all his will to keep that picture in his mind.
“A tough one,” the thin man said, stepping back to examine his handiwork. Blood welled from the deep hair-thin cuts on Soldier’s face.
The man sitting on the desk lighted a new cigarette from the glowing butt of his old one. “Everyone is squeamish about some place on their body, George,” he said, inhaling deeply. “Experiment around a bit; don’t just hack away at his face.”
Using the knife, the thin man cut and ripped at Soldier’s shirt until the big man was bare from the waist up.
“Look at those scars,” the thin man said. He looked into Soldier’s vacant eyes. “Where did you get those scars?”
Soldier remained silent, staring at nothing in particular.
The man on the desk spoke. “Try around the scars. He may be a bit more sensitive there.”
The thin man glared at Soldier. “One way or the other you are going to talk.” The thin blade cut a red road through the heavy white scarring above Soldier’s left nipple.
Soldier said nothing, nor did he flinch. He was a boy once again, back in his beloved Bavarian hills. And he would stay there until they were through with him—or he was dead.
*
“He should have been back by now.” Slick’s cigarette glowed as he nervously gulped the smoke. “That casino has been closed for over a half hour.”
Cain said nothing.
Johnson, who was seated at the rear of the dark cockpit, spoke. “Maybe we had better go up there and have a look around.” He sipped at the can of beer in his hand.
“Soldier can take care of himself,” Cain said. “We’ll wait.”
The Mark of Cain Page 9
