Consider Yourself Dead

Eight

Gun in hand, Frost moved cautiously into the cabin.

The thick smell of dirt, bodies and marijuana smoke was stomach turning. He bent over the body. He guessed this was Big Chet: no longer mean, and as dead as a floater, hauled in from the sea.

The knife had been driven in with such violence, the blade had sealed the wound. There was little bleeding, but the handle of the knife showed blood.

Frost then turned to Gina who sat motionless, her big eyes wide and fixed, her breasts moving as she breathed in spasms.

‘Gina!’

No response.

He passed his hand before her eyes, but they remained fixed. He touched her shoulder... hot and dry.

One hell of a situation, he thought, and his cop trained mind went into immediate action. What to do? This was murder!

He looked around the squalid cabin. A battered looking telephone stood on a pile of much thumbed Playboy magazines. He knew he couldn’t handle this situation alone.

He called the Ace of Spades. When Umney came on the line, Frost said, ‘I’ve found her, but there’s real trouble. Silk and Mitch around?’

‘They’ve just come in. What trouble?’

‘I’m down at Paddler’s Creek. I want you three here fast!’ Frost snapped. ‘Bring trenching tools. We have something to bury!’

‘What the hell do you mean?’ Umney demanded, alarm in his voice.

‘You’ll see! Get moving. You know Twin Oakes motel?’

‘Yeah, but...’

‘Take the second turning on your left as you come up the highway before Twin Oakes, then come down to the beach. I’ll be waiting for you. I want you three here fast, and don’t forget the trenching tools!’ Frost hung up.

He went over to Gina and stood looking at her. Apart from her breathing, she could be dead. Again he passed his hand before her eyes, again no response.

He went out of the cabin, and stood breathing in the hot humid air, feeling sweat on his face.

As he stood staring at the moonlit beach, he thought of what Grandi had promised. Five million dollars! This was something Silk, Goble and Umney would not know about! But suppose she died? She looked bad enough to die. The crazy little bitch must have gone on a trip. This big, dead slob must have given her L.S.D. She had flipped her lid and had stabbed the bastard.

He returned to the cabin, hunted around and found a filthy rag which he soaked from a trickle of water from a tap. He washed the blood off her thighs and her hands. She remained like a waxwork. Then he looked around and found at the end of a dirty, sagging bed, her clothes: jeans, a T-shirt, panties and sandals.

He went to her and dragged her out of the chair. She flopped like a sawdust doll with escaping sawdust, against him. Somehow, he managed to get her into the jeans. Twice she slipped out of his sweating hands and sprawled on the floor. Twice, cursing, he dragged her up, and finally zipped up the jeans. He was now worried sick. She still remained like a waxwork. He got the T-shirt on her, then dropped her back into the chair.

By now, hating the feel of her, sickened by the smell in the cabin, he went out into the open.

He was aware he was wasting time. Gina might die on him. There were complications. Suppose Silk wouldn’t play? Suppose he drew back on murder? Suppose he wouldn’t bury Big Chet?

Frost thought, then he returned to the cabin and using the telephone, he called the Spanish Bay hotel. Within a minute, Grandi came on the line.

‘I have real trouble,’ Frost said. ‘I’ve found her, but she is way out on a L.S.D. trip. She looks bad... really bad.’

‘Can you get her to the Paradise Clinic?’ Grandi asked, his voice like a fall of gravel, ‘or should I get an ambulance?’

‘I’ll get her there,’ Frost said. ‘No ambulance. There are other complications.’

‘I’ll alert the clinic,’ Grandi said, ‘and I’ll be there.’ He hung up.

Frost again looked at Gina, again passed his hands before her eyes. No response. Then he heard the sound of a fast approaching car. He ran out of the cabin as the car pulled up. Silk, Umney and Goble spilled out.

‘What the hell is going on?’ Silk snarled, walking up to Frost.

‘Take a look.’

Frost led the three men into the cabin.

‘That’s the way I found the scene,’ he said.

The three men stared at the dead body, then at Gina.

‘Did she kill him?’ Umney asked in a hushed voice.

‘Who else? She’s way out on a trip. She could die on us,’ Frost said. ‘Get this hunk of meat buried.’

‘If she’s killed him, we have Grandi just where we want him,’ Silk said. ‘We can still pick up twenty million dollars.’

‘But not if she dies,’ Frost said. ‘Bury this slob!’

Silk thought for a long moment, then turned to Umney and Goble.

‘Bury him, but know where he can be dug up. Bury him just as he is, and don’t touch the knife. She’ll have her prints on the handle. Get moving!’

While Umney and Goble were dragging the dead body out of the cabin, Silk smiled evilly at Frost.

‘This is the big deal,’ he said. ‘Grandi pays twenty million or we leak it to the cops. We can’t lose this time.’

Frost went to Gina, picked her up, like a sawdust doll, and carried her across the hot sand and through the humid heat to the Lamborghini.

Silk followed.

‘Keep out of this!’ Frost said as he placed the inert Gina in the passenger’s seat. ‘Stay away!’ He slid into the driving seat, gunned the engine, and leaving Silk, he drove fast up the sandy road to the highway.

It took him fifteen minutes of fast driving to reach the Paradise Clinic. He pulled up outside the emergency entrance. It took him less than two minutes to get action. Grandi had already switched on his power. An intern and a nurse were waiting, and they whisked Gina’s inert body away.

While he stood by the Lamborghini, sweating in the humid heat, Grandi drove up in the Rolls.

Frost went to meet him.

‘She’s in emergency,’ he said. ‘She looks bad.’

Grandi stood motionless, glaring at Frost.

‘There’s a hell of a complication,’ Frost went on. ‘She picked up with a wayout freak who fed her L.S.D. She went on a bad trip, and she killed him.’

Grandi stood a step back.

‘Killed him?’ he croaked.

‘Yes... she stabbed him to death. The hippy is buried. If we have any luck, no one will know about this, but it’ll cost you, Grandi. My associates buried him.’

Grandi stared for a long moment at Frost, then he strode through the swing doors of the emergency entrance and out of sight.

Frost drew in a deep breath. He lit a cigarette with a sweating hand. The sound of a car coming to a screeching halt made him look around. Silk got out of the car and came over.

‘What gives?’ he demanded, planting himself in front of Frost.

‘I told you to keep out of this!’ Frost said angrily. ‘So keep out of it!’

‘Use your head!’ Silk said. ‘We have Grandi where we want him. She killed this creep and we can prove it. You set up the deal. Squeeze him for twenty million! Tell him he pays or his goddamn daughter faces a murder rap!’

Frost stared at this hatchet-faced, professional killer. He had a sudden feeling of revulsion. It came to him that because of his burning desire to be rich, he had let free this crazy girl, and because she had escaped, she had committed murder. His desire for sudden wealth suddenly turned sour, and he felt sick of himself.

Turning, he made for the emergency entrance.

‘Hey! Where are you going?’ Silk shouted.

Paying no attention, Frost walked up to the reception desk. An elderly woman looked enquiringly at him.

‘A message for Mr. Grandi,’ Frost said.

The magic name brought the woman immediately alert.

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Tell him I’ll be at the villa if he wants me. The name’s Frost.’

She wrote on a scratch pad.

‘I’ll see he gets your message, Mr. Frost.’

A thought dropped into Frost’s mind.

‘How is Mr. Amando?’ he asked.

The elderly woman’s fat face turned sad.

‘He died an hour ago. He had a second heart attack.’

‘He’s lucky,’ Frost said, and leaving her, gaping, he went out into the humid heat.

Silk grabbed hold of his arm.

‘Get back in there and talk to Grandi!’

Frost set himself, then smashed his right fist against Silk’s jaw. He knew there would now be little pleasure, if any, in his life before him, but, at least, as his knuckles slammed against Silk’s face, he did have pleasure.

Silk became airborne. He hurtled backwards and crashed down on the tarmac.

Frost got into the Lamborghini and drove fast to Orchid Villa.

Grandi sat in a lounging chair in a small room in which there were other chairs, and a table covered with glossy magazines. The air conditioner made the only sound. He had been sitting there for the past two hours, and while he sat, he thought back on his life.

He had been born in a Naples slum. His father had been killed in a knife fight. He had a strong tie with his mother, and at the age of six, he was selling phony Parker pens to tourists. Later, he sold them obscene postcards. His mother took all his earnings and saved them. They lived on spaghetti and the fruit he stole from the market. When his mother was killed by a drunk driver who didn’t stop, Grandi spent three months mourning. He was then entirely on his own. Using the money, his mother had saved for him, he bought a small cabin cruiser and began the smuggling run between Tangiers and Naples, bringing in cigarettes, then later drugs. Money, always carefully saved, accumulated in the bank. At the age of twenty, because of his knowledge of boats, he became friendly with a rich industrialist who was glad to have him around to handle his motor yacht. He told Grandi he was deeply troubled because his daughter had got involved with a lesbian. Grandi offered his help in return for a large sum of money. The industrialist didn’t ask questions, but had agreed. Grandi had walked into a de luxe apartment and had strangled the lesbian to death. Now, suddenly rich, Grandi moved to Rome. At the age of thirty-five, he had invested his money so well, he was now out of the danger of the poverty bracket. He cultivated the right people who were impressed by his shrewdness. He invested, saved, reinvested, expanded. He had the golden touch. When he was forty years of age, and already a multimillionaire, he married Maria Vendotti, the daughter of the Italian ambassador to France. This marriage increased his riches, but he was too occupied in turning his money into more money, and finally after sixteen years, his wife killed herself, and Grandi was left with Gina.

As he sat in the small waiting room, Grandi realised that Gina was the last of a family link, and family links meant everything to him.

Now, because of this bastard, Frost, Gina was slipping away. Grandi’s fingers closed into fists.

Then the door opened and a tall, lean man came in.

‘Mr. Grandi? I am Doctor Vance. About your daughter...’

Grandi sat like a stone man, listening to the quiet voice.

Finally, Dr. Vance said, ‘I’m sorry, but I want you to know the facts.’

Grandi looked down at his clenched fists.

‘You are telling me there is no hope for her?’

‘She will live, but... no... there is no hope for her ever to be normal again. She has suffered massive brain damage. We can keep her alive on a machine. That’s all we can do. She could live for ten years, even longer.’

‘Just breathing?’ Grandi asked.

‘Yes.’

Grandi clenched his fists.

‘Then she’s better off dead.’

‘That’s not for me to say, Mr. Grandi,’ Vance said quietly. ‘It is my job to keep her breathing.’

‘You are quite sure there is no possible hope of her recovering?’ Grandi asked. ‘You are quite sure?’

‘No hope at all. The brain damage is massive.’

‘I want to see her.’

‘Of course. She is on the machine now. Come with me.’

He led Grandi down a long corridor, and into a room where two nurses sat at desks with control panels before them.

In the middle of the room was a bed. Gina lay under a sheet. Wires and tubes ran from her to the machine that kept her alive.

‘All right, nurses,’ Vance said curtly. ‘I’ll call you when I want you.’

Ignoring them, Grandi walked to the bed and looked down at his daughter. For the first time since he had lost his wife, he felt overpowering sorrow, but he kept control of himself. He stood motionless, regarding his last and only link with a family life.

He watched the slow rise and fall of Gina’s breasts, hidden by the sheet. He stared at the blank mask of her face and her half open, blank eyes.

‘She could remain like this for years?’ he asked, half aware that only Vance and himself were now in the room, and the nurses had gone.

‘Yes.’

‘You are quite sure?’

‘Yes. There is no hope for her.’ Vance walked around the bed and pointed to a red plug. ‘That is the connection to the machine. I must now leave you. I have other patients.’ He regarded Grandi. ‘If she was my daughter, I would pull out this plug and let her die with dignity.’

Grandi rubbed his hand over his sweating face.

‘Is that all I have to do?’

‘If the plug remains in, she will continue to breathe. If it is pulled out, she will drift painlessly into death. I’ll see you are not disturbed. It is your decision.’

He walked out of the room, closing the door behind him.

Grandi pulled up a chair and sat by the bed. For a long time, he regarded her, watching the rise and fall of her breasts, then suddenly, he realised the hopelessness of it all.

‘At least, baby,’ he said, ‘you killed the bastard who fed you the drug. Now I’m going to kill the bastard who set you free, you poor, crazy little daughter of mine. He’ll suffer, baby, be sure of that.’ Getting to his feet, he bent and kissed her cheek, then walking around the bed, he pulled out the red plug.

He stood at the foot of the bed, his eyes on the rise and fall of her breasts, then after a while, and when the sheet became still, he put his hand against Gina’s face, then left the room.

As he walked across the reception lobby, the nurse at the reception desk said, ‘Excuse me, Mr. Grandi, there’s a message for you.’

Grandi paused.

‘Mr. Frost says he will be at the Orchid Villa if you want him.’

Grandi stared at her, then inclined his head, then walked on into the hot humid night.

As he was opening the door of the Rolls, a voice, out of the darkness, said ‘My name is Lu Silk. I work for Mr. Radnitz.’

Back at his cabin in Orchid Villa, Frost had one burning desire: to get the hell out of Paradise City. The whole setup had turned sour. His dream of owning five million dollars had gone up in smoke. He felt instinctively that Gina would never again be normal, and it gave him a sick feeling, that he had been responsible for freeing her.

He walked around the room, slamming his fists together. How could he have known she was a nut? How was he to have known that Amando was a brain-shrinker?

What a goddamn mess!

Now, he had to look after himself. He dropped into a lounging chair. He took out his wallet and checked on his money. You can’t live, you can’t move without money! He still had the four thousand dollars he had got for Gina’s ring, and another thousand. So, okay, he was worth five thousand dollars. Where to go? He had no transport. Too risky to take the Lamborghini. Grandi could nail him for stealing his car.

He looked at his watch. The time now was 23.15.

Tomorrow, he told himself, was another day. Getting to his feet he took off his jacket and tie, then walking over to the bed, he dropped on to it.

Tomorrow, he told himself, he would hire a car, and drive away. That would be the end of this stupid nightmare. Drive away to where? He was still wondering, still trying to make a plan for his future life, when he drifted off to sleep.

He came awake four hours later, hearing a constant tapping on the cabin door. He became immediately alert. His hand groped for his gun as he swung his legs off the bed. Holding the gun by his side, he walked to the door.

‘Who is it?’

‘Ross. Sorry to have woken you up, Mike, but there’s talking.’

Keeping the gun behind him, Frost slid the bolt, then stepped back.

‘Come on in.’

Umney came in, his charming, wide smile in evidence.

Frost kicked the door shut and slid the bolt. He looked at his watch.

‘For God’s sake! Do you know the time?’

Umney crossed to one of the lounging chairs and sank into it.

‘I could do with a drink.’

Frost slid the gun into his hip pocket.

‘What do you want?’

‘That’s a good question,’ Umney said. ‘No Scotch?’

‘Talk!’ Frost said. ‘What’s all this about?’

‘I like you, Mike,’ Umney said, smiling. ‘You are my people. The moment I saw you, I said...’

‘Skip the crap!’ Frost barked. ‘You like me as I like you! What are you here for?’

Umney made a grimace.

‘Don’t play so tough, Mike. I’m sticking my neck out coming here. I want to tell you something. I’m being a good friend.’

‘Okay, so tell me,’ Frost said, ‘and cut the good friend out of the script.’

‘It’s about Lu,’ Umney said.

‘What about him?’

‘A good question. Lu makes his money putting bullets into people, and he’s good at it.’ Umney made another grimace. ‘We all do things for money... that’s the way the cookie crumbles, but I don’t go along with it. That’s why I’m here, Mike.’

Frost tensed.

‘So... go on.’

‘This girl... Gina... died. She was on a machine that would keep her going for years and Grandi pulled out the plug.’ Umney shook his head, and his expression was sorrowful. ‘I’m glad I didn’t have to do it.’

‘Cut the crap, Umney!’ Frost said, ‘and get to it.’

‘Well, once she was dead, there was no money, was there?’

‘So, okay, there was no money. It was a foul up. So why are you here?’

‘Lu is a professional killer,’ Umney said. ‘He looks around for money. So he and Grandi got together. I felt I should tell you.’

‘Tell me... what?’ Frost said, staring at Umney.

‘A good question,’ Umney said with his wide smile. ‘Well, Grandi and Lu got together. Grandi needs you dead. He has got this bee that if it hadn’t been for you, his crazy daughter would still be screwing and swimming and having a ball. So he comes up with a proposition. He has hired Lu to knock you off. Crazy, isn’t it? I thought I’d tip you off.’ He rubbed his fingernails on his shirtfront. ‘The money is good... two hundred thousand dollars. We were after millions, but I guess two hundred thousand is better than nothing.’

Frost leaned back in his chair.

‘Let me get this straight,’ he said. ‘Grandi has hired Silk to kill me and the payoff is two hundred thousand... right?’

‘That’s it,’ Umney said. ‘Liking you as I do, I thought I would tip you off.’

‘When does Silk plan to kill me?’ Frost asked.

Umney nodded with approval.

‘That’s also a good question. So you get the photo, Grandi now hates your guts. He wants to prolong the agony. He’s that kind of freak. That’s why I’m here to tip you off. It’ll be the long gun. Lu’s in a class of his own with a silenced telescopic rifle. Last year, he did a job just like this. The money wasn’t so good, but it was good enough. He didn’t put the guy away for six months, but he kept piling on the pressure, and after six months, this guy was a complete wreck. He was a real toughie, just like you, but after six months, never knowing when he would have a hole in his head, he fell apart.’ Umney leaned forward, waving his charming smile at Frost. ‘Because I liked this guy, as I liked you, I tipped him off. I told him, as I’m telling you, never walk on a lonely street. Never look out of a window. Never answer a knock on your door without checking. Be careful when you get into a car, and be ready to drop on the floor when the windshield shatters. I told him to go to ground, but I also told him, that sooner or later, Lu would find him.’

‘And of course, he did,’ Frost said.

‘That’s right.’ Umney’s voice hardened. ‘This guy followed the tips I had given him, but he ran out of guts. He did something stupid. He got a gun and went looking for Lu.’ Umney looked sad. ‘This guy’s wife gave him a good funeral. Lu sent a wreath.’ Umney got to his feet. ‘Well, if you’re not going to give me a drink, I guess I’ll go biddy-byes. I just wanted to tip you off. Sooner or later, Lu will get you lined up. He’s a professional.’

Frost leaned back in his chair and released an explosion of laughter.

Umney, staring, stiffened.

‘Do you imagine all this crap scares me?’ Frost asked. ‘It’s pathetic. If you imagine you can wage a war of nerves on me, you’re a bigger jerk than I thought. Now I’ll tell you what you say to this one-eyed phony. Tell him he’s picked on the wrong guy to scare. I can take care of myself. I’ve been taking care of myself since I could walk. Tell him from now on, he and I have a war on. I’m a professional too. His nerve could be softer than mine. Tell him he will have to earn his blood money the hard way, and tell him, I’ll kill him with pleasure and for nothing.’ Frost pointed a finger. ‘Take off. The next time I see your face you start praying. Get out!’

The two men stared at each other. Umney felt a sudden empty sensation inside him. The cold, vicious expression on Frost’s face sent a chill through him.

‘Don’t get me wrong, Mike,’ he said hurriedly. ‘I’m just passing on the message. I told you, I’m your friend. I am keeping out of this. It’s between you and Silk.’

‘Losing your guts already?’ Frost grinned. ‘You’re in, and so is your pal, Goble. Tell him. When I’ve fixed you two, I’ll fix Silk, but you two go first.’ He drew his gun from his hip pocket and aimed it at Umney. ‘Piss off! I won’t send a wreath to either you or Goble, but tell Silk, I’ll send him one. Get out, before I give you a second navel!’

White faced, Umney bolted out of the cabin.

Frost had a built-in instinct for survival. As the door slammed behind Umney, Frost slid out of his chair, reached the light switch and plunged the room into darkness. He then dropped to the floor.

A split second later, the window smashed and he heard the thud of a bullet into the back of his chair.

He lay still.

A warning shot? Beginning of a war of nerves or was this the business?

He waited until he heard a car start up and drive away. He heard the car stop, then start up again.

Could be Umney had picked up Silk. Could be it was a fake, and Silk was still out there in the darkness.

Frost remained on the floor, his mind active. Silk had proved he was the better man with a rifle, but he still had to prove his nerve was better than Frost’s.

During the Vietnam war, Frost had learned you don’t sit around, waiting to be shot. You took the initiative. You went out into the jungle, and you hid, and you waited for movement, a rustle of leaves, a passing shadow, a stifled cough, then you squeezed the trigger, and there was one sniper less.

Frost felt a surge of excitement run through him. This threat of death was like a shot of adrenalin in his veins.

‘Okay, you one-eyed punk, let’s see who’s the better man,’ he said, half aloud.

Getting silently to his feet, he left the cabin by the back door. Storm clouds shrouded the moon, and it was dark. Even if Silk was still out there among the flowering shrubs and the trees, Frost was confident he couldn’t see him.

Keeping in the darkest shadows, he ran silently to the guardroom. He heard the dogs snarling and barking and bounding against their wire compound. No one had fed them. They sounded ferocious.

Reaching the guardroom, Frost closed and locked the door, then turned on the light. From the gun rack he took down one of the automatic rifles, checked the magazine, then laid the rifle on the desk. Then he picked up the telephone receiver and called the guard at the entrance of the villa.

‘Did my two friends just leave?’ he asked, when the guard came on the line.

‘Yeah. I’ve just checked them out. What’s going on?’ The guard sounded worried. ‘Was it okay I let them in?’

‘No problem. I’m leaving. Miss Grandi died. You go home.’

‘She died. For the love of mike!’

‘I’m shutting the place up. You be here tomorrow at 08.00. Marvin will take over.’

‘Well, if you say so...’

Frost hung up, then picking up the rifle, he walked back to his cabin. He quickly packed his clothes, then carrying the suitcase and the rifle, he walked to where he had parked the Lamborghini. He was uneasy about taking the car, but he had to get away fast. He remembered what he had been taught in the Army: Always take the initiative. Always strike first.

There was a light on in the guardhouse, but the barrier was up. He gave a tap on the horn as the guard appeared in the doorway and shouted something to him, but Frost didn’t stop.

The clock on the dashboard showed 03.15. He drove fast to the airport. A sleepy-eyed clerk behind the Hertz desk rented him a 200 Mercedes. He drove the car to where he had parked the Lamborghini, transferred the rifle and his suitcase to the boot of the Mercedes, then headed back to the highway. He stopped at the Twin Oakes motel, booked in and shut himself in a small, air-conditioned cabin. He stripped off his clothes, took a shower, then dropped on to the bed.

Tomorrow, he told himself, would begin his own private war: not a war run by generals who couldn’t care less how I many men died as long as the battle was won. This was I going to be his own private war against three men who had started the war, and he didn’t intend to die.

The time was 02.50.

The Ace of Spades was in darkness except for a light from the room over the swimming pool. The clients had gone home. Marcia had returned to the Spanish Bay hotel. The staff had left.

Mitch Goble sat at the table, a flabby hamburger on a plate before him. His eyes felt heavy. He liked his sleep, but he wanted to know how Umney’s prepared talk with Frost had gone off. The three had discussed the best way to soften Frost, and it had been Goble’s idea of the long gun threat.

As he was cutting a slice off the hamburger, he heard a car arrive, then he heard pounding feet, and the door jerked open.

Goble felt an unease run through him when he saw Umney’s white, scared face.

‘Didn’t it work?’ he asked, knowing what the answer was going to be.

Umney sat down.

‘The bastard laughed at me!’

Goble screwed up his eyes.

‘Didn’t you lay it on the line, Ross? About the other guy, about...’

‘Lay it on the line!’ Umney shouted. ‘I gave him the works but he laughed!’

Goble pushed the plate away. The sight of the hamburger suddenly sickened him.

‘Lu agreed that was the way...’

‘I don’t give a goddamn what Lu said!’ Umney exclaimed. ‘I’m telling you, Mitch! We were crazy in the head to get mixed up with Frost! You’ve always said he could be too smart! Now, I’m telling you he’s going to become more than too smart! He says he is coming after us, and he’s going to kill us! If you had seen his face when he said that, you’d be in my state! He’ll do it! That look on his face! Jesus! I wish to God I hadn’t listened to Lu!’

‘Where is Lu?’ Goble asked.

‘In bed and asleep,’ Umney snarled. ‘We played it the way we agreed. While I talked to Frost, Lu stayed back with the rifle. When I was through, Lu took a shot at Frost. I wish he had killed him! When I told Lu Frost was going to kill me, he told me not to worry. He said Frost was no problem! Imagine! You know, Mitch, there are times when I wish I had never had anything to do with Lu. He’s crazy or something!’

‘Get a grip on yourself!’ Goble snapped. ‘Lu’s never steered us wrong. We wouldn’t be where we are without him.’

‘Now where are we?’ Umney demanded. ‘We’ve got this bastard gunning for us!’

At this moment the telephone bell rang, making both men start. Goble snatched up the receiver, listened, then talked.

Getting up, Umney poured himself a big shot of Scotch. His nerves were fluttering so badly what Goble was saying made no sense to him.

Goble hung up.

‘That was Hi-Fi. I sent him down to the airport in case Frost took off. Hi-Fi says Grandi’s Lamborghini is in the car park and Frost hired a Mercedes from Hertz. Frost could be heading for Miami for a New York flight.’

‘No! He’s coming after us, Mitch! I know it!’ Umney banged his clenched fists together. ‘We are crazy to keep this light on! He could be out there with a rifle!’

Goble walked up to Umney and hit him across his face.

‘Wrap up! We’ve got to find Frost before he goes into action. Lu has gone to bed. Could be Frost has also gone to bed. So we start checking the motels. I’ll take the west side. You the east side. Come on, Ross! How many finks have we set up for Lu? This is just another fink! Get started!’

After half an hour, Goble called the Twin Oakes motel. He had called four other motels, now he struck gold.

‘Yes, sir,’ a voice told him. ‘A man booked in half an hour ago. He had a Mercedes. He is registered in the name of Peter Jarrow.’

‘Tall, dark, good looking?’

‘That is an exact description, sir,’ the voice said, now sounding worried. ‘I hope there is no trouble.’

Goble had identified himself as Sergeant Baski of the Paradise City traffic control.

‘Routine check,’ Goble said. ‘No problem,’ and he hung up. He was so pleased with his quick success he didn’t take into consideration the night clerk’s reaction.

As Goble ran to the door and bawled down the passage, ‘I’ve found him!’ the night clerk who had lived in Paradise City all his life and was on good terms with the police, slowly replaced the receiver. Sergeant Baski! This was a name unknown to him.

The night clerk who was a seventeen-year old student, doing night duty to earn a few dollars while he worked for a master’s degree in economics, decided that a call from the police about a routine check at 03.50 was more than odd.

He called the police headquarters and asked the night duty sergeant to be connected with Sergeant Baski, traffic control.

The night duty sergeant said in a bored voice, ‘You have made a mistake. We don’t have any Baski. What’s this all about?’

The night clerk hung up.

Two minutes later, the sound of the telephone bell woke Frost. He came awake, alert, and became even more alert as he listened to what the night clerk told him.

‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘I have a drunken friend who starts trouble. Forget it, but thanks all the same.’

Frost slid off the bed.

So they had found him! Silk could be out there in the darkness, waiting for him. Frost groped around in the dark, found the rifle, then dropping flat, he edged open the cabin door and looked out into the night.

The sky had a purple light. The palms and the shrubs were sharp edged against the coming dawn. In another ten minutes, it would be dangerously light.

Frost felt completely relaxed. This was the kind of warfare he revelled in. Moving like a silent snake, pulling the rifle with him, he crawled into the open.

Nothing happened. Nothing moved.

He decided it was too soon for Silk to take action, but he took no chances. He reached the Mercedes as the edge of the sun came up behind the trees. With one swift movement, he had the car door open and slid in, ducking down, he waited. His built-in instinct showed him the green light. He started the car and drove fast towards the Ace of Spades.

Silk lifted his head off the pillow and glared with his one eye at Umney who stood in the doorway.

‘Can’t you see I’m trying to sleep!’ he snarled.

Umney moved into the room, snapping on the light.

‘Frost is at the Twin Oakes motel,’ he said excitedly. ‘You can take him!’

‘Get the hell out of here,’ Silk barked. ‘I’m trying to sleep!’

‘Lu... for God’s sake! Frost is dangerous!’ Umney came to stand at the foot of the bed. ‘This is the time to fix him!’

Silk rolled on to his back and yawned.

‘I made a deal with Grandi and I stay with it,’ he said. ‘We are going to break Frost’s nerve. What’s the matter with you? You want a piece of the money, don’t you? We rush this and Grandi won’t pay. Leave me sleep!’

‘All you have to do, Lu, is go to the Twin Oakes motel and nail him!’ Umney said. ‘If you don’t nail him now, he’s going to nail us!’

‘Get the motel staked out,’ Silk said. ‘We wait. I can take care of Frost any day. Turn that goddamn light out. I want some sleep!’

With a sick feeling of fear and frustration, Umney turned off the light and returned to the room over the swimming pool.

‘He’s crazy!’ he said, his voice shaking. ‘He says to stake out the motel and when he’s ready, he’ll take care of Frost. He says Grandi won’t pay unless it’s slow! Jesus! While we’re farting around, Frost could come after us!’

Goble had just finished the hamburger.

‘Take it easy, Ross. No need to get excited. I’ve alerted Louie to watch the motel. He’ll be there in twenty minutes. Frost won’t do anything. He’s not all that stupid. If Lu wants it slow, we do what he wants. He’s never been wrong, so quit yelling.’ He got to his feet. ‘I’m going to bed. Look at the goddamn time.’ He walked over to the window and drew back the curtains. ‘Look, the sun’s coming up.’

He presented an irresistible target to Frost, hidden by the flowering shrubs. Frost lifted the rifle, aimed and gently squeezed the trigger.

The top of Goble’s head exploded, scattering brains and blood, and he went down like a stricken elephant, taking with him the table and two chairs.

For a brief paralysed moment, Umney stared, then threw himself on the floor as another bullet smashed the screen of the big TV set by which he was standing.

Umney, his heart hammering, sweat pouring down his face, lay still. To his horror, he found his hands were lying in Goble’s blood.

Hearing the two rifle shots and the thud of Goble’s body as it hit the floor, Silk swung off the bed, slid into a black shirt and black trousers and into sandals. His movements were fast but unflustered. He snatched up the target rifle, crossed the room in two swift strides and stuffed a .38 automatic into his hip pocket, then he opened the door and stepped out into the half dark corridor.

His thin lips were drawn back in a snarl of fury.

‘Ross! Mitch!’

He started down the corridor, then paused as he saw Umney come crawling out of the room above the swimming pool. Umney was making a gibbering noise of fear.

The sun was now above the trees and there was enough light for Silk to see Umney’s bloodstained hands. He moved by Umney and peered into the room.

A beam of sunlight fell directly on Goble. One quick look told Silk all he wanted to know. He reached forward and pulled the door shut, then putting down the rifle, he caught hold of Umney by his shirt and dragged him upright.

‘I told you! I warned you!’ Umney said hysterically. ‘He’s out there! He’s going to kill us both!’

Silk slammed him hard against the wall, shook him and then slapped his face.

‘He’s not going to kill you and he’s not going to kill me!’ Silk bit off the words. ‘Mitch was unlucky, but not us. Okay, so he’s out there. He’s on our ground! We’ll take him!’

Shaking, Umney stared at Silk.

‘He’s killed Mitch!’ he cried. ‘He’s out there! If we show ourselves, he’ll shoot us! You said you could take care of him, and now look what’s happened!’

Scarcely listening, Silk’s mind was busy. The whole operation had been an utter foul-up, but, at least, out of the mess, he had got Grandi’s promise to pay two hundred thousand dollars to kill Frost, but the agreement had been to make Frost sweat, and not to hurry the killing. Silk realised now he had greatly underestimated Frost. He should have listened to Umney’s warning that Frost wasn’t going to be scared. Frost had had the nerve to come out here and kill Mitch. The chances were that Frost was still out there, rifle in hand. Silk was very confident in his own shooting. If Frost was out there, then he was as good as dead. Silk was determined to earn the promised money, but he wasn’t going to take any chances unless he was sure of getting the money.

‘Stay right here,’ he said to Umney, and he moved swiftly to the office. The curtains were drawn but, taking no chances, Silk snatched up the telephone, sat on the floor, away from the window, and called the Spanish Bay hotel.

The time now was 04.55.

At first the night reception clerk refused to connect Silk with Grandi’s suite at such an hour, but when Silk said there was an emergency, he did so.

Grandi’s voice came on the line. Silk was surprised how alert Grandi sounded, but he wasn’t to know Grandi had been sitting by the window all night, mourning for his daughter.

Speaking softly, Silk explained the situation.

‘There are two things I can do, Mr. Grandi,’ he concluded. ‘It’s for you to decide. Frost has killed my partner. I can call the police and they’ll take over and arrest Frost. He’ll talk. The newspapers will headline your daughter. The best solution would be for me to fix him right now if he is out there, and I think he is. But before I go hunting for him, I want to know I get paid. What’s it to be?’

‘Kill him now and you’ll get paid,’ Grandi said, a snarl in his voice, and he hung up.

For a minute or so, Silk remained on the floor, his evil smile in evidence. He thought, then nodding, he got up and joined Umney who was leaning against the wall of the corridor, his face ashen as he breathed in frightened gasps.

‘Grandi says take him now,’ Silk said. ‘So, we take him.’

Umney stared at Silk, horror in his eyes.

‘Not me!’ he quavered. ‘This is your end of the pitch! I’m staying right here!’

‘He may have gone,’ Silk said, ‘but we’ve got to find out. Now you are going through the door, Ross, with your hands on your head and you’re going to yell I’m not here and not to shoot. Then when he shows himself, I’ll take him.’

‘You’re crazy! The moment I show myself, he’ll kill me!’ Umney began trembling.

‘No, he won’t. He wants me. Come on, Ross, get going!’

‘No! You can’t do this to me, Lu! I’m not going! I’m not going to walk out there to be killed!’

Silk transferred the rifle to his left hand and jerked out the .38. He held the barrel within inches of Umney’s sweating face.

‘Make up your goddamn mind!’ he snarled, his face a mask of vicious fury. ‘If you don’t get moving in ten seconds, I’ll blow your head off!’

Umney sucked in his breath with a sob.

The look in the one glittering eye told him he was within seconds of death.

‘Okay... okay... I’ll go.’

Silk stepped back.

‘Take it dead slow. Start shouting as soon as you open the door. He won’t kill you, but I’ll nail him. Get going!’

Umney stumbled down the corridor to the door leading into the garden. Silk shoved the .38 into his hip pocket, then moved silently after Umney, the rifle now in both hands.

Umney looked beseechingly at him as his hand fumbled for the door handle.

‘Yell loud!’ Silk said, ‘and hurry it up! He may have gone.’

As Frost saw Goble reel back, blood on his face, then drop out of sight, he felt a surge of elation run through him. He saw a movement of white through the window and immediately fired again. He heard the smash of glass as the TV tube exploded.

Then moving swiftly, crouched down, keeping under cover of the flowering shrubs he changed his position some fifty yards further away.

He paused and flattened out, knowing he was completely concealed. He wondered if he had killed Umney. He thought not, but with luck he could have winged him, but he must still count two against one.

He lay there, listening, but heard nothing. He was able to survey the whole front of the restaurant. There was no cover. If either Silk or Umney came out through the front entrance, they would be committing suicide. There was probably a side or a back door. He wanted them penned up in the restaurant. Once they were in the open they could split up, and that would shorten the odds in their favour.

Moving silently, still behind the screen of shrubs, Frost surveyed the left side of the restaurant and saw a door at the head of a short flight of wooden stairs. He kept moving, and around the back of the restaurant he saw the staff entrance. This was bare of cover. He decided if they were coming out they would use the side door. He moved back until he was some sixty yards from the side door. He was in a perfect position: complete cover, yet with a clear field of fire. He settled down to wait.

By now the sun had come up behind the trees, casting lean shadows. Frost looked at his watch. The time was close on 05.00. He wondered at what time the staff would arrive. If Silk and Umney elected to stay put, under cover, he would have a problem, but he doubted if they would. They would have to get Goble’s body out of sight. Silk wouldn’t want to get involved with the police. Silk had to try to kill him before the staff arrived.

A half hour crept by, but Frost was used to waiting. He remembered he had waited four long hours in the jungle for a sniper to show. He relaxed, the rifle at his shoulder, aimed at the door and waited.

There was no sound except the distant traffic, no movement except a hawk floating in the sky.

Then the side door opened and Umney stood in the doorway, his hands clasped on top of his head.

It would be a difficult shot, Frost thought. The angle was wrong. He couldn’t risk a miss.

Umney screamed, ‘Don’t shoot! Lu’s not here! I’ll help you find him! Don’t shoot!’

Frost’s mind flashed back into the past. He was once faced with exactly the same situation. He had cornered a Viet sniper who had yelled to him that he surrendered. From out of the thicket where he was hiding, the sniper had thrown his rifle which had landed near Frost. Then the sniper had appeared, his hands in the air, and Frost had fallen for it. He came out of his hide, his rifle level. The sniper took off his conical straw hat in which was concealed a hand grenade. As Frost shot him, the hat floated towards him. For a split second, Frost had watched death floating towards him, then he dropped flat. He had spent two months in a field hospital with splinter wounds, but he had survived. He had promised himself that if ever a man came towards him with his hands in the air, he would shoot first, and apologise later.

He rose up on one knee to correct the angle of fire.

Silk lying on the floor of the corridor, peering through the open doorway, caught the movement, but Umney was in the way.

Umney was yelling at the top of his voice. Silk didn’t dare shout to him to drop so he could nail Frost. He didn’t want Frost to know he was there.

Frost shot Umney through the head as he reached the bottom step, then Frost dropped flat, but he wasn’t quick enough.

As Umney was falling, Silk got a clear line of fire and squeezed off a shot. The bullet went through Frost’s ribs and his arm, ploughing a furrow through the flesh of Frost’s chest. He glimpsed Silk, scrambled back, out of sight. He fired. The bullet whistled by Silk’s face and sent wood splinters flying. One big splinter smashed Silk’s glass eye, bringing blood running down his face. Cursing, Silk retreated further down the corridor.

Frost, feeling blood soaking his shirt, crawled away. His Army training stood him in good stead, and like a snake, silent and not moving the shrubs, he reached a clump of trees away from the side door without drawing any more fire.

He looked at his bloodstained shirt, flexed his fingers, grimaced and told himself it could have been worse.

How that one-eyed bastard could shoot! he thought. Well, it’s between the two of us now. One against one... fair enough. Silk’s expertise with a rifle against his expertise as a jungle fighter. It bothered him that he was bleeding, but he had bled before. He took out his handkerchief, made it into a pad and, using his belt, strapped the pad against the wound. Then he crawled away to another position where he had a clear view of the side door, and he settled down to wait.

Silk went quickly down the corridor, down the stairs to the toilets. He bathed his face and stopped the bleeding: a mere scratch. He wasn’t sure if he had hit Frost. If not hit, was Frost still covering the side door? Silk looked at his watch. Time was running out. In another hour the staff would be arriving. He had to kill Frost quickly, then he would fade out of the scene. He had good contacts who would give him a cast iron alibi. The police wouldn’t be able to pin any of these killings on him, but Frost had to be killed or if arrested, he would talk.

Maybe he was already dead, Silk thought, but he mustn’t take any chances. He was now sure he was within grasping distance of two hundred thousand dollars. What to do? If Frost were only winged, he would be as dangerous as a cornered tiger, and he was concealed.

Certainly too dangerous to leave the building by the side door. There was no cover from the main entrance nor from the staff entrance.

The roof!

Silk cursed under his breath. Why hadn’t he thought of the roof before. If he had gone up there when Umney had made his exit, Frost would be dead by now.

Catching up his rifle, he ran up the stairs and to the fire exit. He climbed the iron ladder that brought him on to the flat roof around which was a two foot high wall.

Dropping flat, Silk crawled across the roof until he was immediately above the side door, some ten feet below.

Frost, lying amongst the shrubs saw there was a small puddle of blood beside him. He looked at the pad which was soaked and he began to feel uneasy.

‘Jesus!’ he thought. ‘I’m bleeding like a goddamn pig!’

Savagely, he tightened the belt, holding the pad, and pain shot through him. He was aware of lassitude, and the rays of the sun beating down on him, bothered him. He was also developing a raging thirst.

You one-eyed bastard, he thought. You’ve really done damage! Well, come on, damn you... show yourself!

All was silence and stillness except for the hawk, still floating in the sky.

Frost thought of Marcia. Out of the past, he heard her say, Paradise City is where the real action is. There’s more money to be picked up there than in any other city in the world.

How he wished he hadn’t listened to her!

A dream of five million dollars! Some dream!

If he got out of this mess alive, what would he do? Once more hunting for the crock of gold: always in sight, but always out of reach! That had been his life, and would be his future life.

There was a relaxed feeling of lightness in his body that urged him to sleep. The pool of blood around him was growing larger. He shook his head, blinked his eyes and caught hold of the rifle.

Dismay ran through him as he found the rifle impossibly heavy.

‘I’m bleeding to death,’ he said, half aloud. He made a clumsy effort and dragged up the rifle, disturbing the shrubs around him.

Watching from above, Silk saw the movement, then he saw Frost. His thin lips drew back in a snarl. In one swift movement, he aimed his rifle and fired.

At that moment, Frost looked up and saw Silk on the roof. His reflexes had gone. He saw the gun, but there was nothing he could do. He knew he was an instant away from death. His last thought, as he died, was that this one-eyed punk had beaten him.

Silk knew he didn’t have to fire again. He stood up, stretched, then walked to the edge of the parapet. He looked down at the still body.

Two hundred thousand dollars! Well, no one could say he hadn’t earned it. This had been the most dangerous and tricky kill of his long list of killings.

Then he heard what sounded like the whirring of wings.

A bird?

As he began to look around, the blade of a throwing knife buried itself in his back. In agony, he crouched forward, lost his balance and fell the twenty feet on to the grass, writhed, then went still.

Suka, dressed in black, climbed down the iron ladder, ran out of the restaurant and paused beside Silk. He kicked him over, pulled out the knife, wiped the blade on Silk’s shirt, then walked to where Umney was lying. Satisfied that he too was dead, he walked over to Frost. He looked down at his body for a few moments, nodded, then ran swiftly into the thickets from whence he had come.

Grandi was speaking to Dr. Vance over the telephone.

‘I want my daughter’s body sent to Rome, doctor,’ he was saying. ‘I will leave the arrangements to you. Rome was her city.’

‘Yes, Mr. Grandi. I will arrange everything.’

‘Thank you.’ A pause. ‘I will see that your hospital is endowed,’ and Grandi hung up.

He heard a slight sound behind him. He looked around.

Suka had come in and was standing by the door.

‘All dead, signor,’ he said, as if announcing dinner was served.

‘Silk?’

‘All dead as you instructed.’

Grandi thought of his daughter.

‘Pack,’ he said. ‘We leave for Rome in an hour.’

‘Yes, signor.’

Grandi moved to the big, picture window and looked down at the bay. In spite of the early hour, yachts, with their multi-coloured sails were already leaving the harbour. Already people were coming down to the beach. The traffic was building up. The hot breeze was moving the heads of the palm trees.

Paradise City was beginning yet another day.