The By-Pass Control

Chapter 5

Don’s coat was draped across the back of one chair facing the TV set, the wallet still in the pocket. There were three one hundreds, two fifties and a five there, his expensive diamond-studded wrist watch dropped carelessly on the set.

Robbery wasn’t the reason for his murder.

He had uncovered something important he wanted to pass to me. He found out the reason for the narcotics Vito Salvi had hidden in his apartment and possibly the supplier of the stuff. A quarter pound of H at its highest purity factor was worth a hundred thousand dollars and that placed the action in the big league, big enough to make somebody keep his eyes open if someone was around asking the wrong questions.

Don Lavois had plopped himself right in a trap. Damn, I should have called in one of the others who knew their way around the junkman’s back yard, someone they would not have suspected of being inquisitive! One question too many in the wrong place and a killer tailed him home. It was plain enough now... he stopped at the desk in his own hotel, picked up his message and came to mine. The killer had to have a good break and an easy getaway and I supplied all the avenues of escape. If he overheard the desk clerk’s conversation with Don it would have made it even simpler. And Don, expecting me, took it head on.

I looked down at his body. His gun was still in the holster on his belt.

The desk clerk was glad to give me the information. Yes, there were several people at the counter when my friend picked up my key. No, Mr. Martin, he couldn’t remember any of them. Oh yes, just one. A nice old lady on the ground floor who had been a resident for ten years. I thanked him and hung up.

Newark Control answered my call on the first ring and after I identified myself, put Virgil Adams right on. I gave it to him quickly and in detail, knowing that everything was being taped for analysis later.

When I finished Virgil said, “Have you inspected the body yet?”

“No. I’ll let the police do that. They won’t want anything touched.”

“Take a chance. See if the bullet penetrated.”

“Hang on.” I laid the phone down on the table and knelt beside the body, turning the head to get a better look at the wound. There was an exit hole in the back of the skull no bigger than the one of entry. I felt myself grimace, looked up toward the far wall and saw the tiny black ring in the window sill where the slug had buried itself after passing through Don. Automatically, I went to the spot, took the filler out of my ballpoint pen and probed into the hole. The filler capsule was a good four inches long, but it never touched the slug deep in that hard wood and plaster.

I picked the phone up, said, “High-velocity slug, probably a .22 and steel tipped. It went through everything.”

“Then it fits, Tiger.”

“Spell it, Virgil. What the hell are you talking about?”

“Niger Hoppes, the Soviet agent who escaped the Canadian network three years ago and made it back to Russia.”

“I remember him.”

“He never stayed there. He came back and was planted somewhere in the U.S. and held in abeyance until they needed him. And they need him now. He works with a .22 Magnum silenced pistol and is an expert marksman. He’s the one who picked off Daniels and those two consulate employees in Madrid our people had tagged as spies. Got them inside a jail cell from a building two hundred feet away.”

“Damn it, Virgil...”

“Don’t play him down. He’s another assassin type. He and Vito Salvi worked as a team right after the war and he knows his business. Product of everything from the C.Y.O. up... a party member and damned dangerous.”

“What was Don’s last report?”

“He had found a contact who was willing, for a price, to point out a person who was reputed to have been involved in an extraordinary narcotics deal. There were no names. He was down on Canal Street at the time but headed someplace else and was supposed to call back. He intended to make contact with you first to see how you wanted it handled.”

“It was handled, all right.”

“What’s your next step?”

“I’ll bring in I.A.T.S. Let them shuffle it around.”

“You think you can make it work after the Salvi deal?”

“They’ll be spooked.”

“Then duck out. I’ve already contacted Martin Grady and this thing is too big for any delays. He’ll cover you in anything you’ll need. He wants you active, not hamstrung in an inquiry.”

“Will do, Virg. I’ll check out of here and into another place.”

“Better use our own premises... There’s a new place on Fifty-sixth off Seventh Avenue, first floor over Shigley’s. All utilities and a month’s stock of food with some booze on the side if you need it. Grady owns the whole building and the key is with Shigley. The code word is Hallmark. Don’t let anybody near you... We want to keep this spot in operation.”

“Who’s replacing Don?”

“I’ve already dispatched Mason to Detroit to pick up Dave Elroy if it’s all right with you.”

“Good choice. He knows the narcotics end.”

“That’s why I asked for him.”

“Get him right on Don’s assignment then.”

“Roger. Got a report?”

I brought him up to date, made sure it was recorded, and signed off. As quickly as I could I packed up, went downstairs to pay my bill and picked a dime out of my change to use in the phone booth. I dialed Charlie Corbinet’s number and said, “We lost another one, Colonel. Don Lavois... he’s in my room at the Salem. I’d suggest you get over here before they try to clean up the room and get a story ready for the city police.”

“You know what Hal Randolph is going to do.”

“Damn right, so I’m taking off.”

“You’d better stick around. This might be a stiff one.”

“Sorry, buddy.”

“Okay, I’ll see what I can do.”

“Anything from the teams in the field?”

“Only that the last trace of Agrounsky was in the Myrtle Beach area.”

“How about the Post Office Department?”

Charlie didn’t answer for a moment, musing over the question. “You sure about that letter?”

“Check it yourself. Well?”

“They went through every General Delivery station in New York, Jersey and Connecticut and didn’t turn up anything.”

“So try Pennsylvania.”

“I’ve already asked. They will tomorrow. Now what about Lavois?”

“Tonight I’ll type out a report for your eyes only. Process as you think fit.”

“Don’t take too big a bite.”

“It seems like I always do.”

“Keep in touch.”

I put the phone back, stepped out of the booth and carried my bag outside and walked two blocks before I picked up a cab and had him drop me a few blocks away from Fifty-sixth. When I was sure I didn’t have a tail I cut east until I saw the sign that said Shigley’s, found the doorbell and pushed it.

I had seen these strange people Martin Grady had in his employ before — funny little people who were well paid, asked for nothing, and did what they were told. I said, “Hallmark,” and the little old man in the worn sweater barely gave me a second glance over his glasses before taking a single key from his pocket and pointing upstairs.

Grady took good care of his operatives. The three-room apartment had every convenience anybody could ask for, completely antithetical to the outside of the house or the neighborhood. The kitchen windows led to an exterior fire escape and a steel ladder going to the roof had been recently installed outside the bathroom, not visible unless you looked up to spot it. Two escape ways and a normal entrance. The back of the door was steel plated and fitted with a massive slide bolt designed to give the occupant time to clear out before it could be battered down.

I threw my bag down beside the bed, undressed, and got into bed. For an hour I lay there thinking of the times Don Lavois and I had had together since the first drop into occupied France in ’43 and all I could picture was him lying there on the floor with a damn .22 bullet through his skull.

Okay, buddy. The old ones are fading away, but we’ll even the sides up little by little. Virgil Adams didn’t have to tell me what I already knew... that Niger Hoppes was the man without a face whose prints were on file, but of whom no photo existed. He could come and go as he pleased and no one would recognize his face. Except people on his own side.

I met Dave Elroy at Newark Airport, told Mason Armstrong to stand by and took Dave into the lounge where I briefed him on events up to date. He was a tall, lean kind of guy, his face weatherbeaten out of season, a little older looking than the thirty-two years his staff card indicated. He wasn’t the talkative type, preferring to listen and to look, but every question was pointed and direct.

He knew most of those involved in the international narcotics cartel who lived out of reach of the law, but he enjoyed working on a local level where his attitude and personality could make his work profitable to the Grady organization. I didn’t have to ask for his record — he was fast with a gun and would go in anywhere low and quick, able to make snap decisions and make them right. In a way I envied him the plus ten years he had on me — he had that much longer to go before something gave out that made you want a quiet life with a place in the country.

Dave wrote nothing down, committing it all to memory, then said, “That big a buy of H Salvi made would leave some taking behind it. No pusher handles that much stuff so it probably was made direct with the importers.”

“Know who to contact?”

“For the kind of money I’m authorized to pay for information, I know a lot of them.”

“Okay then, take it from there. We’ll stay in touch through Newark Control. Adams will assign you quarters and you can handle it on your own.”

“How’re you going to play it?”

“From Hamilton’s end. He’s still the key.” I gave him a copy of the Agrounsky photos and let him study them. “Show them around and see what you come up with. If Salvi was after him and Salvi was involved in a narcotics transaction there might be a three-way connection. We can’t afford to pass up any possibilities. If you do get anything, contact me before moving in.”

“Suppose there isn’t time?”

“You know the answers then. Just make sure you leave a record behind in case you feel like keeping company with Don.”

“Hell, you’re a happy one,” he said sourly, hiding a grin.

“It’s happened before,” I told him.

“All right, Tiger. Good to see you again. Sorry Don caught one, but we all know the risks involved. Nice to be working with you.”

“Same here.”

We shook hands briefly and split up at the cashier’s counter. I started out to the cab stand, stopped just inside the door, then turned back to the telephone booths and called Charlie Corbinet. The police had already been notified about the body in my room, but I.A.T.S. had kept a lid on the news and Hal Randolph was raising hell about my involvement, threatening everything he could think of if I didn’t show.

I said, “Relax, Charlie, I’ll come in when I have something going for me. Look, I forgot to ask you something... Doug Hamilton filed reports on everyone he investigated including the unsatisfactory ones. Washington has copies of his information. You know what bureau handles that sort of thing?”

“I can find out.”

“Then get me the names of those not considered fit for jobs requiring security. I’d say hit the reports dated from the last two months. How long will it take?”

“If I call now and it’s available it will be in the mail tomorrow and here the day after.”

“Good. Suppose we meet at the Blue Ribbon for lunch then... twelve o’clock.”

“In the open? I have a feeling Hal Randolph is going to be watching me a little closely now.”

“So I’ll give you something to ease the pain. You know the shot that killed Don?”

“ .22 Magnum. Nobody heard it so the gun probably had a silencer.”

“Throw a net out for Niger Hoppes. That’s his trademark and he’s in this country now.”

“Hoppes!”

“You remember him, don’t you?”

“Certainly. He’s been suspected of being the gun in quite a few high-level political kills in Europe.”

“Check through ballistics. Interpol can get you a telephoto of the slugs they have there and if they match you know who to go after.”

“Nobody’s ever seen him.”

“Don Lavois did,” I said. “Somebody else will. I hope it’s me.”

“Okay, Tiger, if this matches out maybe some of the heat will come off you. Just do me one favor.”

“What?”

“Pass on any information. Don’t go into this alone.”

“That’s too big a favor to ask, Colonel. Don’t forget, I have an official position now.”

“And I outrank you.”

“So I’ll resign,” I laughed and hung up.

It had started to rain again, a dreary, slow rain that seemed to ooze out of the cloud cover overhead. There was a chill in the air too, but I couldn’t tell if it was the temperature or what I was thinking.

And what was I thinking?

An annoying little faraway thought that was always there because I was playing in a dangerous game where the stakes were beyond comprehension and the rules limitless. If there were any rules at all.

By now the committee in Moscow would know how Vito Salvi died. They had their own ways of finding out things just as we did and the orders would be out. No matter where I went I would be a target whether on assignment or not. They wouldn’t know just how I got involved... they wouldn’t know what Vito Salvi had told me in a vain attempt to stay alive. They’d figure I was in at the beginning the same as they were and an obstacle to be eliminated in the search for Agrounsky.

Unlike Niger Hoppes, my photos were on file. I wasn’t exactly unknown in the operational areas and until now could be reached without too much trouble. The only thing that slowed the process of elimination was that the Soviets had too much to lose by knocking me off as a direct project because they could expect the entire Martin Grady machine to grind into action and take their men out of play ten for one.

That was before. Now with the stakes what they were it would be worth the risk. Oh, they’d play their game well. It could be direct or insidious, but it would have a purpose. If they couldn’t get me directly, they’d get to me somehow and that was the little faraway thought that was always there like a snake waiting to strike from the shadows.

I hopped in a cab and gave the cabbie Rondine’s address and sat against the cushions while he threaded through the traffic to the Jersey Turnpike and in the Lincoln Tunnel. He cut right on Forty-second, turned north on Eighth Avenue, making the lights all the way, then eased across town and stopped outside her apartment.

The big doorman gave me a nod of recognition after I paid off the cab, his battered Irish face that had seen too many prelim fights in the Garden squinching up a little because he had lent a hand in a game before with me and knew the results. I asked, “Edith Caine at home?”

“Yes, sir,” he nodded. “Came in about an hour ago.”

“Alone?”

“Staff car from the U.N. brought her. Somebody was with her but didn’t get out,” he told me. “Everything all right?”

I knew what he was thinking. I said, “Anybody nosing around?”

He shrugged his heavy shoulders under his uniform, his mouth twisting into a thoughtful grimace. “Nothing I can say for sure.”

“You don’t have to be sure.”

“So I know the regulars in the buildin’, y’know?”

“So?”

“Like I know most of ’em who go up and down the street. People from the other apartments, tradesmen, the walkers from the other block... all that. Standin’ out here all day for a few years you get to know them things. So today I get a cruiser in a cab, like a guy looking for a street number.”

“What’s so unusual about that?”

“Hell, man, the cabbies do the lookin’ for you. They all know this number anyway. I see this guy just looking and the cabbie going straight ahead like he’s been told to do or somethin’ and it’s outa place. Later he does it again. Sometimes they cruise for broads that way but not on this block. No hookers work this section. The next time it’s the same face in a blue sedan.”

“Think you could recognize him?”

“Hell no. It was just a face. It was what he was doing, I saw. He was lookin’ only didn’t want to be seen.”

“When did he go by the last time?”

“Maybe a half hour ago.”

I reached in my pocket and took out a ten-spot, folded it and handed it to him. “Keep your eyes open. I’ll be upstairs if it happens again. Don’t let anybody into the building you don’t know and if one comes in supposedly asking for anybody else, call me right away. Watch the elevator pointer and tell me what floor it stops at.”

“Sure enough.” He put the bill in his pocket with a grin. “I could stop ’em here for you to look at if you want.”

“Don’t bother. Just make sure you’d be able to recognize them again.”

“Expecting trouble?”

“All the time, friend.”

“I’m on your side,” he said. “If you need help I can always get Bert from across the street or Herman from next door. They was both heavies a few years back. They owe me some favors.”

“I’ll keep it in mind,” I told him, then went inside and pushed the buzzer under Caine and waited impatiently for the series of clicks that would unlock the door.

When I reached her apartment I knocked on the panel, saw the light shoot through the thick glass of the peephole in the door, and heard her low, throaty chuckle behind it. She held it open, pleasure bathing her face, and reached out her arms for me. “Hello, my darling,” she said and let her lips tickle against mine in a teasing gesture before I grabbed her with all the hunger I had built up inside me.

I kicked the door closed with my foot and held her off with a grin. “Ummm,” I said.

“You Americans have barbarous reactions. Ummm indeed.” She took my hand and tucked it under her arm, nestling it against the firm rise of her breast unconsciously. “I didn’t expect you tonight.”

“I didn’t expect to be here, either.”

“Then...?”

“I don’t like the idea of you being alone,” I told her.

She turned and gave me a sober glance, the curious expression in her eyes telling me she had sensed the reason for my stopping by. “I see. This has to do with the Hamilton affair?”

“Make me a short drink, then sit down and I’ll tell you about it.”

“The usual?”

“Natch.” Once again, out of sheer habit, I checked through the rooms while she mixed the two drinks, making sure we were alone and all points of entry were locked. Not that it meant too much... anybody who really wanted to could force an entrance anyplace but at least a lock breaking or a window snapping gave you a little advance warning.

When I got back to the living room she handed me the drink and sat beside me on the arm of the big chair beside the record console and ran her hand over my hair. “Do you think you should break security by telling me?”

I tasted the drink and leaned back into the chair looking up at her. “I’ll pick my own security levels, Rondine. You’ve been trained in the British Intelligence Service and gone the route with me. Damn it, right now we need every experienced hand we can get.”

“But that isn’t the point you’re trying to make, is it?”

“No.”

“You rather think I might be a stumbling block for you, is that it?” she asked.

“In a way. I’d hate to have any heat put on me through you. Not now.”

“Oh?”

“This is too big, kid. It’s more than you or me. If someone got hold of you to force me into the open I might take up the challenge and land in their net. It’s a chance I can’t take.”

Her fingers stroked my forehead easily, then slipped down the back of my neck and kneaded me there gently. “I don’t think you would, Tiger. I really wouldn’t expect you to.”

The love was there in her eyes, bright and full, but knowledgeable love that realized the fullest extent of the job that had to be done. Before I could answer her she moved her hand and touched my mouth with her fingertips. “Don’t argue against it. We have both adopted an ideal that can’t be altered or destroyed no matter who has to fall. It’s the chance we know we all have to take.”

“You amaze me, doll.” I squeezed her hand, then kissed it.

“If you want to tell me, I’ll listen.”

And I gave her the picture all the way. If she was going to be in it she had a right to know. An informed agent can make a lot more progress than one working in the dark. If you were alerted to an attack you could prepare for it and reach the enemy before he reached you and I didn’t want her sticking her neck out any further than she had to. When I finished she took the empty glass from my hand, made another and curled up at my feet.

“What do you suggest I do then?” she finally asked me.

“Stay with me. If Hal Randolph puts a stakeout on you to reach me the operation can be slowed down if it works. If the Soviets corner you it puts a crimp in things because it diverts time and attention. I’d sooner have you within reach where nobody can screw things up.”

“I have time coming to me,” Rondine mused. “With this latest shakeup in the Kremlin our embassy will be holding fast awaiting developments before they set policy so there won’t be anything critical for me to do.” She leaned her head back against my legs and looked at me upside down. “So I await your command, master.” She gave me an impish little grin and added, “Just don’t yell at me again.”

“Only if you need it, baby.”

“Okay.”

“So pack a bag, make your call to your boss and let’s get out of here.”

Rondine spiraled up from the floor with a single, smooth motion and held a glass out to me. “One for the road. You make them. I’ll be ready in ten minutes. Do I leave a forwarding address?”

“No.”

She gave me another one of those grins again. “Your country has a thing called the Mann Act, remember?”

“That’s a different Mann, honey,” I said. “If I take you across a state line it won’t be for immoral purposes.”

“You mean you might even marry me?”

“One can never tell.”

She gave me a little laugh and said over her shoulder as she walked to the bedroom, “Either Mann sounds interesting. But I think I like your way better.”

Inside, she went about the business of emptying drawers into a suitcase while I made a pair of soft highballs for both of us. My watch read a little past seven and outside the sun was fading into a hazy twilight that had the look of rain again. I walked over to the window fronting on the street and held the curtain aside, watching the traffic below. The big doorman kept up a slow pace under the canopy, appearing on either side at regular intervals like a sentry on patrol, hands clasped behind his back while he watched each passing car. He wanted to really earn that ten bucks I gave him.

When I let the curtain fall back I crossed to the bedroom with the glasses and pushed the door open. And there are times when sudden movement just can’t be accomplished... like being upwind of a deer and watching him feed, unaware of your presence, or coming on a wild turkey, so normally given to flight they’re never seen at all.

That was the way Rondine was, beautifully half naked, skin glistening in the light, her breasts arrogantly thrusting out and upwards from the athletic grace of her body, their ruby-hued tips like tiny warheads capable of destroying a man on contact unless they were disarmed first with a gentle touch.

She stood there, one foot up on a hassock, smoothing a stocking over her thigh, then clasping it in the hook of a garter belt to match the other. When she was satisfied she stepped into a half slip, adjusted it, then went to the full-length mirror on the opposite wall to be sure of the fit.

Then she saw me silently laughing at her, spun around grabbing for her blouse, then realizing how silly it was, gave me an impatient stamp of her foot and said, “How long have you been there!”

“Long enough.”

“Well, it isn’t polite...”

“It isn’t polite to undress a guy and put him to bed, either,” I reminded her.

“That was different.”

“I hope so,” I said. I walked across the room and held out the drink. “You look better all the time, kid.”

She took the drink, shook her head in feigned annoyance, and reached for her bra. “You keep it up and there won’t be anything left for when we’re married.”

I gave her a long, long appreciative stare and grinned. “With you, honey,” I told her, “there’s always going to be plenty left over.” Then before she could throw something at me I went back outside.

When she finished dressing I heard her call the embassy and arrange for a short leave of absence, then she came out carrying a leather suitcase and white trenchcoat slung over her arm. She let me take it from her, checked the windows and the lights and checked the door lock behind her when we went out. Downstairs she remembered another call she had forgotten to make, stopped at the wall booth while I waited near the door and dialed her number.

That was when the doorman came in. He started toward the desk, saw me and waved me over. “He went by again. Same car. I was just gonna call you.”

“Get the number?”

“Damn right.” He handed me a slip of paper with the license number scrawled across it. “Last year’s Chevy, dark blue sedan and there’s a dent in the left rear fender.”

“Thanks, buddy. Can I use this phone?”

“Sure, go ahead.”

I caught Charlie Corbinet at his apartment, read the number off and hung up while I waited for him to check it through. His contacts were damn thorough. In ten minutes he was back to me with the information that it was a rental car operating out of Surfleet Corporation on Fifty-first Street and a check there said it had been taken out two days ago by a John Clark identified by his driver’s license. The same license had been reported stolen a month ago and reissued to John Clark with a Buffalo, New York, address.

Charlie let me note it all down, then said, “What’s it mean, Tiger?”

“I may have to move faster. Anything from Interpol on the .22?”

“Uh-huh,” he said. “You were right. Same gun used in those other kills. Hal Randolph is jumping all over the place. There isn’t an agency left who hasn’t been alerted. They’re going all out now.”

“And the by-pass control?”

“Nothing.” He paused, then: “Tiger...”

“What?”

“We can’t afford to miss.”

“I know it, buddy.”

“We can’t afford to let this thing leak, either,” he said. “One word and there will be a panic like we never saw before.”

“Hell, the papers will cooperate. Washington is big enough to demand that if somebody tries to break the story.”

“That isn’t the angle I mean. Supposing the Soviets let the story out themselves. There are enough left-wing and liberal-type publications that drool the Moscow line to get it started. All it takes is one — one lousy do-gooder, one-worlder garbage-eater to get the nitheads screaming in the streets.”

“Yeah, I know. All we have left is the element of time. If they’re sure Agrounsky pulled the trick off with the by-pass control they might try it, but they have to be sure or it will backfire on them and at this stage of the game they can’t afford adverse criticism.”

“And how much time have we got?” Charlie asked softly.

“Hardly any,” I said and hung up.

Rondine was watching over the doorman’s shoulder, keeping him out of earshot. I shoved the phone back, walked over and picked up her bag. “Where does that rear exit lead to?”

“Goes into the courtyard,” the doorman said.

“There’s a service alley that runs along the west side of the building behind this one?”

“You got to jump the fence.” He thought about it a second and added, “The garbage cans are back there. You could stand on them. That fence is about eight feet high.”

I took Rondine’s arm. “Show me,” I said.

With the doorman leading the way we turned left at the rear of the lobby, went through a fire door into a bare concrete corridor that had service rooms opening off it to the door at the back. At the far end was another metal plated fire door with a red exit bulb over it and a three foot horizontal latch handle stretched across its middle. Like all emergency doors, it opened out, but had an added safety lock of a length of two inch angle iron resting in arms attached to the door with the ends butted against the door jambs to keep it from being opened from the outside.

He pried out the bar easily, stood it on end, and pushed against the handle. The door swung out easily and he turned to me with a grin, half stepping outside to let us go past, and just as I reached for the bag the angle iron in his hand jerked back as if somebody had pulled a string and caught him flat across the forehead and he went down like a poleaxed steer, the door swinging shut until it hit his legs.

I gave Rondine a shove to one side, hit the floor and pulled the angle iron away from his face and checked the massive bruise that was beginning to show over one eye. His cap had saved him from cracking his skull on the floor but aside from the welt he was going to have when he woke up, he’d be all right.

Rondine stood there unmoving, then said softly, “What was it, Tiger?”

I pointed to the head high spot on the surface rust of the angle iron, a dimpled indentation the size of a nickel barely reflecting the dull gray color of freshly spattered lead. “We almost were suckered, kid. They pulled that cruising game out front to force us into a back exit. Somebody’s been planted across the way waiting for us to show. They couldn’t make a hit on the street without taking too many chances. We damn near fell for the bit.”

“Are you...?”

I shook my head. “Uh-uh, baby, I’m not going to do a thing. Whoever fired that shot expected to get me. He isn’t the kind who misses, either. In this light all he saw was a body fall and the feet are still there to prove it. This guy and me are both about the same size and for now he’ll think I was the one coming through the door. When our friend here comes around he’ll go back on duty with a little larger hat to cover his bump and a pocket full of dough to salve his pain and we’ll get out of here as nice as you please. If someone’s spotted around to watch the action we’ll make it nice and authentic for him.”

She got the picture fast enough. A simple sketch was all she needed and she grinned from her position against the wall and said something soundlessly that would not have gone with the common concept of a cultured British broad and I grinned back because I knew what she said and that she meant it.

It was fifteen minutes before the doorman let out his first feeble groan and reached for his head and massaged it gently, his eyes flicking open a moment before he squeezed them shut again.

“Can you read me, buddy?”

“Yeah, but not too loud. What the hell happened?”

“Don’t sweat it. I’ll explain later. Stay right like you are and you’ll get paid for the trouble.”

“Somebody’s gonna get his head in his hands for that one.”

“That’s not what you’re getting paid for. You ready?”

“Okay, okay, just not too loud. Damn, who busted me?”

“Just figure yourself lucky. You could’ve been killed.”

“So I’m lucky. Somebody else is going to be miserable. Wait.”

“Concentrate on a grand in your pocket. You’ll feel a lot better.”

He opened his eyes all the way and peered at me in the near dark. “I feel better already. Tell me more.”

“Later.” I looked up at Rondine. “Can you handle it?”

“Go ahead,” she said.

From the lobby phone I reached Wally Gibbons. He was still in his office at the paper and didn’t bother going through the futility of asking questions. He arranged for the private ambulance to get to the address and forwarded my call to Charlie Corbinet so the timing would be right and the cover set through I.A.T.S. They weren’t going to like it, but then, they didn’t have to. All they could do was go along and let it ride like that.

There wasn’t much time, but we worked it out. The ambulance got there first and before it was parked we had the doorman snaked out of his position. From outside all anybody could see was feet moving back through the door and that would have satisfied them. The doorman was back moving traffic along outside the apartment, keeping the curious away while they wheeled me out, face covered with a sheet on a stretcher, loaded me into the ambulance with a supposedly bereaved woman going along for the final ride at my side. We were making the turn at the corner when the first of the squad cars came screaming up the street and I sat up in the ambulance to look into the face of a completely cynical, white coated attendant who said, “What’s the gag, friend?”

All I did was reach in my pocket, lay two big bills in his hand and answer, “What difference does it make?”

He took the cash, held out a clipboard with a printed form on it that I could sign, and when I did said, “None at all, friend. The bill is paid. What’ll I do with the change?” he asked cautiously.

“Split it with the driver,” I told him.

“Call on us any time. Here’s our card. Now where to? We charge by the mile.”

I gave him the corner two blocks away from my new quarters and he relayed the information through the window to the driver. The guy at the wheel said nothing. He turned off the overhead light, fired up a cigarette and relaxed back against the seat to enjoy the ride. I had thought the cabbies in New York were blase, but they never came near these guys at all.

Rondine and I got out without attracting any attention at all, stopped at a deli to pick up some sandwiches long enough to make sure we weren’t being tailed, then walked down to the sign that said Shigley’s and went up to the apartment Martin Grady had so thoughtfully supplied.

In another couple of hours the evening papers would be carrying the story of the dead man shot in the classy residential district, identified by papers he carried as one T. Mann, an employee of the Martin Grady organization, the reason for his death unknown, but suspected of being caused by a prowler attempting to force an entrance into the building. I.A.T.S. had no choice but to go along, but the stuff was going to hit the fan when Hal Randolph and I got face to face.

The rain had started again. It slashed against the windows like fingers of an animal trying to get in, driving and clawing momentarily before taking a respite to make another attack, then under cover of the sudden glow of lightning and the rumbling of thunder from across the Hudson River it would charge in to beat and hammer in a furious onslaught of nature against man. There was a childish fury in the storm, an ineffectual pounding that was insistent and annoying, but lacking the cold skill of the adult beasts that were piling up in the Caribbean, massing themselves for a concerted attack in a month or so, disguised by innocuous female names they give to hurricanes in this age of suffrage.

A half hour ago the late news had mentioned the supposed killing at Rondine’s address and somewhere out there in the city Niger Hoppes was sitting back smugly thinking his primary mission was accomplished and counting his reward when the report was in. Somewhere he was satisfied that he had won and the rest of the mission was a fait accompli because the biggest obstacle was already disposed of.

Somewhere out there was a guy who was going to get the biggest surprise of his life.

The phone rang, a jarring note in the stillness. I picked it up and waited, then heard Martin Grady code his identification. When I gave mine he said, “Newark Control just gave me the information, Tiger. Anything to add to it?”

“Not yet. Did any of our people cut it at Rondine’s apartment?”

“We had two spotted there. Between the police and I.A.T.S., they did a good job, but some big explanations are going to be forthcoming. Your old Colonel put a tight squeeze on them. Incidentally, he passed on the information that the slug was a high-velocity .22, so the picture is coming together.”

“But no sign of Niger Hoppes though?” I asked him.

“Not yet. We’re trying some left-field tactics to get an ID on the guy. Somebody on his side will have to know him by sight and if we can run down just one we’ll get a description. You’ll get it the minute it comes through.”

“Good enough. Any repercussions in Washington yet?”

Grady let out a chuckle. “Talk of reorganization in certain departments. That means they’ll be promoting the eggheads up out of sight instead of dumping them. If the State Department would get on the ball they’d take an ax to some of their bunch. When this is over we’re going to concentrate on certain key personnel up there and get their activities out in the open.”

“It’s about time.”

“Okay then, Tiger, stay in touch. Don’t hesitate to ask for anything you need.”

“Roger, Martin. As far as anybody’s concerned, I’m dead, so get some light publicity in that department.”

“Already done.”

“Europe too?”

“The word was over there before it made the papers here. I don’t doubt but that there is rejoicing in Red Square.”

“Great,” I said sourly. “Let’s hope it gives us a little extra time.”

I hung up and sat in the sofa, propping my feet on the window sill so I could look out at the rain. Someplace out there was the answer, the cause and the effect. Someplace out there Louis Agrounsky was still trying to make up his mind.

I felt Rondine sit beside me, her fingers slide up my shoulder and massage my neck. “Can it wait?” she asked.

“No.”

Her lips brushed my cheek and she turned my head around gently. While I was watching the night she had changed into a cobwebby thing that was almost transparent. “But it’ll have to,” I said.