Get Thee Behind Me...

Chapter 5 Bullets Unrationed

His eyes swept across the room. The scene was graven on his mind with frozen clarity. He sensed the unreality of it — as though it were a scene in memory rather than a picture of here and now. Like awakening with the guilt-sense of drunkenness on the previous evening, remembering little, then having one scene leap into vividness in the mind — a scene separate and apart, with no memory of how it came to be and no memory of how it ended.

As he appeared conversation had ceased. All of them stared at him. Schanz sat on a deep windowseat, hands locked around one knee, smoke from the cigarette in the corner of his mouth a grey ceilingward line, eyes calm, dead, unstartled.

Billy Lemp sat with a half deck of cards in his left hand, a single card in his right hand, poised to drop it, face up, onto the cards in front of Rocko. His narrow face was vulpine and white in the light. The card he held was a four of diamonds.

Two of the strangers sat side by side on the deep couch. Hard, competent, watchful, red-brown from sun and sea. Close-cropped hair and wide blocky faces. Another one of the same cut sat at the card table on Rocko’s right, heavy lips spread in a childish uncomprehending grin. The fourth stranger stood behind Rocko. His was not a peasant face like the others. It was a lean, knotted face, whip-twisted with the experience of years of strain, of intrigue. Carla had said there were five. Only four were in the room. Cooper had the feeling that the fifth stood a pace behind him, smiling.

Carla was in a deep armchair, slumped to one side, her cheek pillowed on the arm, one hand hanging limp so that half-curled fingers rested on the rug. Her eyes were closed.

It was Barbara, facing Rocko, her back to the corridor entrance, who was the first to move. She turned stiffly and looked at Cooper. Her face held the stiff dignity of the very drunk. Her eyes were solemn and glassy.

“Enter Mr. Cooper,” she said thickly, “Pride of the Marines, or the FBI, or the Immigration Service or the Narcotics Bureau or something. Sorry, friend. Couldn’t get out of here to go fix up that raid.”

“Put your hands up,” Cooper said. No one moved.

Rocko said, “Cooper? Cooper? What you say, sweet darling? Is not Cooper. Is old friend. Allan Farat. In the morning he digs hole for himself and for dronk blondie.”

“Put your hands up!” Cooper said. He pointed the weapon at Rocko’s face. He lifted it and aligned the sights, as though firing on a shooting range.

Rocko smiled, almost sadly. “Am tired old man. Too tired for games. What can you do? Nothing, best friend. Too many here.”

“He’s not Farat,” Barbara said, “He’s Cooper.” She took the note out of the pocket of her slacks and tossed it on the table. “He gave me this.”

“You think I don’t know best friend, sweet darling?”

“Why did you hit Carla?” she yelled with a loudness that startled Cooper. She half stood up, reaching across the table with her fingers curled, clawing at him.

Rocko moved his face back. Barbara fell across the card table. The legs gave way on Billy’s side and she slid, face down, across Billy’s knees. With the table out of the way, Cooper could see that Rocko’s small, thick, white hand was steady in his lap, holding the silenced gun with which he had casually killed Alice Fane.

Cooper pulled the trigger, knowing even as he pulled it that he was too late, that the pain which knifed into his right shoulder had spoiled his aim. The man with the stupid smile jumped and clamped Cooper’s right wrist in two powerful hands and twisted. Cooper went down heavily and the smiling man jumped up, holding the gun and looking at it as though he had acquired a new toy.

Billy had untangled himself from Barbara and jumped back, knocking over his chair, leaving Barbara sprawled on hands and knees.

Cooper sat up, feeling the spreading wetness in his armpit. The man who had been standing behind Rocko, the man with the air of command, staggered back several steps, planted his feet. Dark red began to discolor his grey shirt on the left side above his belt. He shoved his left hand inside the belt to press it hard against the area.

His anger cracked at Kadma like a whip. “Ah, you had everything arranged, Kadma. There would be no trouble. No trouble at all. I played along with your childish ideas of revenge.”

Rocko stood up slowly. He thumped his chest with his free hand. “Please to shut up. You boss until we land. Rocko is boss here. Never forget that.”

The lean man moved carefully back to a chair and lowered himself into it, his hand still wedged under his belt. “Go wake up that woman,” he ordered. “Find out how I can get a doctor here. This is a bad wound.”

Rocko shrugged. He walked over, grasped a handful of Carla’s black hair, shook her head brutally. Her head wobbled loose on her neck.

“Stop that! Take your hands off her, you dirty little man,” Barbara said. She was standing, not far from Billy. Schanz was the only one who hadn’t moved. He sat with all the comfort and quiet appreciation of a spectator at a play.

Rocko let her head drop back. He slapped her exposed cheek twice. Then he grunted and bent over her and pressed against the side of her throat with a thick thumb.

He shrugged. “Very funny. Is dead. Didn’t hit very hard.”

Cooper edged back toward the wall. He looked at Barbara. There was shock there, and grief — but also an enormous anger. Billy was staring stupidly at Carla. One of the men had gone from the couch over to the wounded man. They talked in low tones,

“Very intelligent, Kadma,” the wounded man said, “Enormously efficient. You killed the one person who could make this whole plan function properly.”

“Can get another front,” Rocko mumbled.

Barbara whirled and ran for the terrace. Billy gave a gasp and started after her. Cooper lunged forward and caught Billy’s thin ankle. Billy went down with a jar that shook the room. He was up like a cat, his lips pulled back from his teeth. He kicked hard at Cooper’s face. Cooper caught the first blow on his arm. The second kick struck him between the eyes. Billy turned and ran again. Two of the strangers went with him, and so did Schanz.

Cooper shook the dark mists out of his eyes and looked out the glass wall to the floodlighted sand. It was like a strange game played at night. The pursuer and the pursued. She ran toward the water but a figure cut her off. She doubled back, swerved away from a second and, for a moment, seemed to have eluded all of them. But another dark figure cut across from the side, turning her back again. As she ran down toward the sea a second time, one figure gained on her, merged with hers and they tumbled over and over on the packed sand. They all came slowly back toward the house, and she was between two of them.

“Find the telephone and get a doctor here, Kadma,” the wounded man demanded. His complexion had changed. It was grey under the heavy tan. His voice had lost some of its force.

“A doctor comes here,” Kadma says. “He finds gunshot wound. What then? He has to report. We can’t kill him. That’s no good.”

“By the time he makes his report we’ll no longer be here, Kadma.”

They came in with the girl. The sand had scraped her chin and her bare elbow. She was sullen and defiant.

“What you saying?” Kadma demanded of the wounded man.

“That you’ve made such a bloody mess of all this, that we’re giving up the idea. We’ll leave as soon as the doctor treats me. Once we’re out in the Gulf we can radio the ship to stand by. There’s still time to catch her.”

“Is crazy!” Kadma said thickly. “Five years I wait to come back. Not leaving now. Staying here. All planned. New face from plastic surgeon. New name. Everything new. Nobody takes Rocko away now he’s here.”

The weak voice strengthened. “I told them you were unreliable, Kadma. We can’t risk leaving you here. And we can’t risk leaving any of these people alive. You’ll get a doctor immediately and as soon as I am treated, we will leave.”

Schanz said calmly, “Now you’re being unwise, aren’t you? I have a fair idea what you’re after. I’ll pick up the strings of Carla’s organization. Give me six months. At the end of that time I think I can promise you a setup that you can use. It will run smoothly. I can do the job you thought Rocko could do.”

The wounded man stared speculatively over at Schanz.

“What is?” Rocko demanded. “You work for me, Schanz. I put you here to get Carla in line. You got my messages. You got Farat and the girl here on my orders.”

Schanz looked at Rocko with visible distaste. “Correction. I was working for you. You were very shrewd up until the time they deported you. I didn’t know you’d changed. Now, Rocko, you’re a blunderer. You’ve lost the touch. If you’d killed Farat and the girl quickly and neatly and kept your hands off Carla’s sister, none of this would have happened.”

“You know what we want,” the wounded man said. “A quiet base accessable by boat. Stocks of the proper clothes. Current periodicals so that our people can be up to date in casual conversations. But are you certain you can get out from under the trouble here?”

“Yes, if you take Kadma with you. All this needs is a little stage management.”

“You tell him to take Rocko away again,” Rocko said thickly.

“You’re all through, Rocko,” Schanz said calmly. “You should have known that a long time ago.”

Rocko lifted the gun and shot Schanz in the forehead. Schanz remained on his feet for a long second. His eyes were wide, staring. They rolled up as though he sought to look at the tiny black hole, at the blood gathering on the lower edge of it. As Schanz folded gently down onto the rug, Rocko sidled over toward the wall like a wary beetle. The small dark eyes were filled with dancing, animal lights. His shoulders were hunched and the tiny mouth was open showing the frame of little pointed teeth, like the mouth of a manta ray. Even as the wounded man shouted a hoarse order, Rocko shot again. He hit the man who had twisted Cooper’s gun away from him. He hit him in the base of the skull and the chunky man went down, not as Schanz had fallen, but with the horrible slackness of a severed spinal cord.

“Billy!” Rocko called with a shrill note in his voice, dropping behind the chair which held Carla’s body.

Billy pounced on the gun the man had been holding. Cooper had gotten his legs under him by then. He thrust against the wall, drove hard for the corridor, grabbing Barbara’s unresisting wrist, yanking her along with him. Behind them he heard the deep-throated slam of the 38 revolver. He counted three shots. Barbara had come out of her trance of shock. She raced at his side. He ran to his room at the end of the hall, pushed her inside, yanked the door shut.

“Out the window,” he said. “Fast!”

He followed her out. He knew that he was losing blood, but as yet he could detect no weakness. He felt the raw pull of torn muscles when he tried to use his right arm. Each breath she took was a sob. He guessed that she was close to hysterics.

She went along the shadows as he directed. She fell and suddenly she screamed. He had forgotten Susler’s body and guessed at once that she had fallen over it, had touched it with her hands in the darkness. He yanked her up, swung her against the wall, slapped her. The scream stopped. She took a deep, shuddering breath.

“Sorry,” she said, her voice completely calm.

“Take it easy. Look around the corner. If you don’t see anyone, run for the convertible. The key is in the ignition. I’ll be right behind you. You better drive. I’m not sure of my arm. You can horse it around in one swing.”

She looked around the corner, then began to run. He followed her. Their footsteps sounded too loud on the concrete. Both the doors were open as he had left them. She got behind the wheel and fumbled for the starter. He reached across her and pressed it. The big engine jumped into roaring life. He yanked on the lights and she swung the wheel hard, tires screaming on the concrete, the car rocking almost onto two wheels.

As the lights swung onto the road leading to the gate, they outlined a man running toward the house. Cooper saw at once that he was the fifth man, and guessed that he had been on guard at the boat.

As the car leaped toward him the man stopped, flat-footed. Metal glinted in his hand. He shouted something.

“Run him down,” Cooper ordered harshly.

The man fired twice at point blank range, jumped to the side and fired again. The car roared by. Cooper cursed as the motor began to cough and miss. They made the next corner and the motor died.

“Brakes,” he said. She jammed them on hard. He opened the door, yanked her toward him. She stumbled out after him and he pulled her along, plunging through brush that whipped his face, tore at his clothes. When he judged that he was twenty feet from the road he dropped and pulled her down into the circle of his left arm. With his lips near her ear he whispered, “Not a sound, now.”