The Delta Factor

12

Once a pattern is set it is easy to accept it. The guards stationed at each vantage point had seen me go by once before with Juan Fucilla and what had been a question in their eyes before at the irregularity in the procedure now was simply complacency. Who were they to question the motives of their superiors, especially an officer of great authority? Only one of the older ones, whose lean, scarred face showed that he had been through the trouble times, contained any doubt, but it was shrouded in the cynicism that meant the grapevine had passed the word on higher echelon activities which he personally scorned, but was forced to tolerate. He looked at the lieutenant with openly hostile eyes and admitted us through the steel gate only after a careful study of the pass he had written under the captain’s signature.

I didn’t have to coax the lieutenant at all. He was seeing bigger things and was fitting himself into the role perfectly, staying a step behind me and a little to my left so I could see him plainly, purposely carrying on a pleasant running conversation that made us seem like old-time friends. Back in the office were two dead men that nothing could be done about anyway, except to take advantage of them. My mission didn’t concern him personally in the least and there was no value in his death at all, so playing my game was the best way out with the greatest reward, and he seemed almost anxious to be cooperative.

The guard at the last post was the only one who showed any curiosity at all. Down this far in the bowels of the Rose Castle, anything that broke the monotony of the night was something to be enjoyed. He watched us go past, half turned in his seat to see what we were doing, his ears alert to catch every word.

A barked command from the lieutenant brought him to his feet and a sharp order to bring a glass of water sent him scurrying out of sight while I fingered the picklocks out of my pocket and went to work on the door of Victor Sable’s cell.

Both my hands were busy and if he had wanted to jump me it would have been the time and he knew it, but he simply smiled, moved away a few feet and watched while I started manipulating the tumblers.

From inside a querulous voice said, “Yes… who is there?”

I stopped for a moment, opened the peephole and spoke through it. “Quiet down. We’re breaking you out of here.”

There was a startled intake of breath, then: “Who… are… you?”

If he even indicated a refusal I was going to kill him. I said, “I represent the United States Government.”

His little cry of elation was enough. I went back to work on the locks again. I had the first one open in two minutes, was interrupted by the guard bringing the water while I faked looking through the peephole for his benefit before the lieutenant sent him off on another errand.

The other two locks took a little longer. One of the picks broke in my fingers and I had to fish the remnant of the metal out of the lock before I could continue. When that one opened, the guard had returned and taken his place at his desk.

Softly, the lieutenant asked, “How long, señor?”

“A few minutes if I’m lucky.” There was an expectant look on his face.

“Something must be done about that guard, Señor. He is armed and stupid enough to interfere. He knows I have no keys to this cell.”

I knew what he meant. I left the pick in the lock with most of the tumblers already fallen and made like I was ready to walk back out with him. The guard saw us coming, a note of regret in his fatuous smile because now he would be alone again.

But it didn’t last long. Just as we reached him I twisted, grabbed the lieutenant’s arm and threw him against the desk, spilling the guard to his knees, the gun in my hand where he could see it. Instinct made the guard grab for the pistol at his belt, but the lieutenant was still in the game and his struggle to get to his feet knocked the guy’s hand away intentionally so I could bring the barrel of the.45 down against his skull and stretch him out on the floor with only the story of the lieutenant’s heroic struggle to subdue me still in his memory.

When I stepped back he said, “An excellent performance, señor,” then smiled because I was still careful enough to watch him, knowing he was thinking the same thing I was. He could be an even greater hero if he stopped the action and nailed me too. There was just that one wall in between and he could see it. Even in his uniform with all the medals, he was still a rank amateur and I was a hard-assed pro with two kills he already knew about and just as ready to kill again. He smiled indulgently, took his place in front of me this time and let me finish opening the final lock on Victor Sable’s cell.

I looked at the man standing there, wondering just what he could contribute to national security that made his safety so important. There was nothing exceptional about his appearance at all. Time had left its mark on him, but hadn’t erased the dignity from his posture or the intelligence from his eyes.

He was sniffling, his body reacting to an order from his mind to control a sneeze, and when he saw me frown, said, “They have addicted me to narcotics, sir.”

“I know. How badly?”

“Not as badly as they think.”

“You need a fix now? We have a lot to do.”

“I prefer immediate withdrawal.”

“You might louse us up. I know where some stuff is.” I was thinking of the decoy packet I delivered to Fucilla that the captain would have kept someplace in his office.

“No.” His tone was adamant.

“Okay, it’s your sweat, buddy.”

The lieutenant said nervously, “We’ve been too long, señor. It would be wise to hurry.”

I nodded and looked at Victor Sable. “Let’s go. Stay in front of like you’re being marched to an interrogation. If there’s any trouble, hit the floor.”

He smiled gently. “Tell me one thing, please.”

“What?”

“Are you instructed to kill me if this is unsuccessful?”

I nodded.

“Good. Please don’t hesitate. My death is more preferable than falling into the hands of the Reds.”

“You’re that big, then?”

“Exactly. I’m that big. Alive, and they somehow force me to talk, I can be responsible for the death of millions. Dead… well, at least it gives the world a chance to come to its senses.”

“First we’ll try to get you out alive,” I told him.

“You’re a brave man,” he said.

I shook my head. “You’re looking at the stupidest guy alive,” I said. “Come on.”

No one questioned us as we passed through the corridors. The lieutenant represented the chain of command whose word was law and the gates opened and closed behind us. In the dim light from the emergency bulbs strung along the walls, none of them could see the bulge of the gun under my coat or the note of urgency that must have been in our expressions. They simply did as they had done before, allowed the prisoner out under escort for interrogation. Later, to protect themselves and their new captain they would remember how I pressed against him as if I had a gun in his side and how he had tried to warn them silently that something was wrong, but how they, as simple guards, weren’t equipped to handle such subtleties.

Only the one with the hostile eyes who had seen the world come and go, who had a hatred for all authority whose positions he coveted so badly, put up any opposition at all. In his ferretlike mind a few things fell into place and he saw the lieutenant in a gross error that could reduce him to nothingness while he elevated himself, and he whipped the pistol from the topless holster and pointed it through the bars of the gate.

His mistake was thinking the lieutenant was in charge. I shot him through his smile, watched him rebound off the desk and collapse in a heap in front of us. Without a word the lieutenant snaked his hand through the bars, recovered his keys and opened the door. Victor Sable gave me an odd look, then went through in front of us.

The others had heard the shot. They came running around the opposite end of the corridor as we were walking up it, guns drawn, then saw us approaching and stopped. They looked at each other, waiting for somebody to make a move, then glanced back at the lieutenant.

I spoke in their own language to make sure they understood. “An accident. The lieutenant had told him not to cut the top from his holster. When he dropped his keys and bent down to retrieve them the gun fell and went off.”

Apparently the dead guard had stated his views on locked holstered guns too often. The explanation was enough. Their relieved grins broke the tension as they thought about the ribbing they were going to be able to give the smart old campaigner who always treated them like the idiots they were, secretly enjoying the chewing out they figured the lieutenant must have given him.

We were passed through the last gate and behind us everything became quiet and routine again, only our feet making hollow, echoing sounds on the flagstones as we walked toward the office.

But Lady Luck who had been so generous up to now decided to get a little waspish. The startled shout behind us echoed off the walls and was picked up by others. One of those guards who hadn’t been able to wait to stick the needle into the one who had dropped his gun had gone back and found him dead.

I grabbed the lieutenant by his arm. “How many up ahead?”

“About thirty at various stations, señor.”

“Can they be alerted?”

The lieutenant held up his hand for quiet. In back of us the excited shouts had quieted and we knew they were trying to work out a course of action. The only thing that was holding them back for the moment was that the lieutenant still represented authority and the responsibility was his. To them, he hadn’t been under a gun and what he had pleased to tell them was his own affair. It wouldn’t take long for them to put the pieces together and investigate even further back to the initial guard, and when they found him out cold all hell would break loose.

The lieutenant understood it as well as I did. He said, “If they hit the alarm it will bring the others inside to their stations. They will converge on us from all sides. There are standing orders as to what they should do then.” He gave me a hopeless shrug.

“Is the alarm system connected to the lights?”

He shook his head. “No. It is separate wiring.”

I knew where I was and knew what I had to do. I gave a quick jerk of my head for them to follow me and started off at a half trot to the corridor that bisected the one we were in. I was working against minutes and seconds now and each one that passed brought us closer to the deadline.

When I reached the turn I cut right, found the beams that framed the slab leading to the floor below and yanked out the bolts Fucilla had so nicely showed me, and pushed against the granite block. The lieutenant watched with amazement, wondering at my intimate knowledge of the secret mechanics of the fortification, a new respect in his face.

Unasked, he reached in his belt and handed me a small flashlight. I had no choice but to trust him. If he decided to play it against me it was lost and if I took the time to herd him and Sable through the maze below we’d run out of time and that would end it too.

I took the flashlight and handed him my.45. “Wait here,” I said.

The few bulbs that were strung at odd intervals were enough to show me the way. I wasn’t on any grand tour this time and could bypass all the grisly exhibits that furnished the row of rooms. I skirted around the gory reminders of the Rose Castle’s past and probable present, the thump-thump of the gasoline engine like a pathfinder signal up ahead.

This time I didn’t have to bother picking a lock. The door stayed shut under an old-fashioned thumb latch and pulled open with squeaking reluctance when I yanked on the handle. I flashed the beam of the light on the antique two-cylinder marine engine pounding away slowly, throwing its power through a gear system that eventually spun the aged generator far below its maximum capacity, spotted the plugs that fired it and yanked them loose with a little shower of sparks and a relieved groan from the massive flywheel as it gradually came to a halt.

Behind me the dim light of the bulbs faded into total darkness and only the small shaft of the flashlight was left to pick my way out. But it was enough. The shadows were grimmer and deeper, the implements of human agony more grotesque than before, almost coming alive as the light wove through them, their shadows reaching out for me.

I found the stairs, went up them quickly, hit the activating lever and pulled the massive slab open.

The shot went off in front of my face as I dived and rolled across the corridor, cursing under my breath. The flash skittered across the floor, still on, and in its beam I could see the guard at the intersection of the corridor face down, squirming on his rifle, his low moan still smothered in the reverberating roar of the.45.

A hand yanked me to my feet and the lieutenant said,

“It was necessary, señor.” I grabbed the flashlight, scrambled to my feet and played the light over Victor Sable and the lieutenant. He was holding the gun out to me. “There will be others coming, señor. We must hurry.”

“They find the alarm?”

“You were in time,” he said.

They weren’t the smartest in the world, but they knew a few basic maneuvers. I deliberately let them see the light from the flash leading our way. When we reached the intersection I let it cover the avenues leading away, settled on one as if we were going to take it, then rolled the light across the floor, the beam pointing in the opposite direction.

All of them were lined up in a nice neat row, their rifles at their shoulders, waiting for us to be silhouetted against the light. Only now they were the targets and in the two seconds of confusion before they realized their position, the.45 went off under my fist and each time it bucked, one went down. The last triggered off a single shot and was reaching for the bolt on the rifle to reload when my slug caught him in the chest and he jerked and sagged under the impact, going down like a puppet whose strings were cut. When the echoes of the blast died way I picked up the light, made sure the corridor was cleared and glanced at the lieutenant.

“Could they have heard us?”

“No, senor. If they did, they will not investigate. This is not their affair. They will wait for further orders.”

“Then let’s go,” I said. “We have to get to the office.”

Nobody had touched the bodies. They lay where they fell, still outraged in their death positions, the surprise obliterated from their faces. Sable looked at them without any show of emotion, knowing that it was all part of what had to happen. They had dealt out death themselves and then suddenly it was their turn, and for that type there was no remorse.

The lieutenant reached up, clawed his jacket open, popping the buttons to the floor, then tore one lapel loose. He ran his fingers through his carefully combed hair so that it hung down over his eyes, then deliberately ripped two of his medals off, pulling part of the cloth with it and tossed them on the floor.

I knew what he was getting ready for and grinned, but before he could go into the rest of the act the phone rang. In the unnatural stillness it was a jarring note and the lieutenant reached for it automatically. His voice was crisp and official-sounding. He said “Sí” twice, listened carefully, then thanked the caller and hung up.

When he turned around he said, “That was my brother who works at the switchboard in Senor Ortega’s office. He and Director Sabin are on the way here with three cars of armed guards.”

“Did he say why?”

“Sí, Senor. Something about Carlos Ortega receiving a radio communication from his agent in Miami. They have suspected what is happening tonight.”

I pointed to the phone. “That a straight line?”

“Correct, señor.”

I walked around the desk, dialed the number of the hotel and asked for Angelo in Spanish. This time they would be monitoring all the calls for anyone speaking English and the probability would be they’d ignore the others.

When I got him I went into a jabber of small talk about women without letting him get a word in edgewise to get any other ears off the line, then said, “The boat that José could not keep and has already left… you remember that one?”

He recognized me immediately then. “Sí, it was too bad, señor.”

“What port will he hit?”

“Weather advisory says the storm will head for the Florida Keys after passing over us. Miami, naturally, will be his destination.”

“Direct route?”

“The only logical way, senor. He will barely have time to make it.”

“See if you can raise him by radio. Tell him to look for pennies from heaven.”

“Señor…?”

“He’ll know what I mean. I hope.” I paused and said,

“Thanks, kid,” before I hung up.

And now it was almost done.

With a grand gesture that nobody else could imitate, the lieutenant clicked his heels together, saluted me smartly and snapped his hand to his side.

“I am ready, senor.” He flashed me a quick smile. “If you don’t mind, perhaps a small scar? The ladies… well…”

“Just one thing more.”

“What is that, senor?”

“There may be a change in administrations in this country before long. If you are in any position of influence, use it wisely. One of us might come back again.”

“I am aware of that possibility, senor,” he replied. “Now, the scar… just a small one?”

I hit him before he finished talking and he was going to have his small scar. The blood would be all over the place and there would be no denying what had happened. He’d have a sore face and one hell of a black eye for a couple of weeks and he’d be a hero. If he stayed smart he’d stay a live hero and the chances were that he would. He lay on the floor in a scarlet heap close to his former captain, luckier by far than he.

The dead commander still had the two-ounce packet of H on him and I dumped it in the inkwell on the desk. I broke the glass of the gun cabinet on the wall, yanked a bayonet from an antique rifle and pried open the lock on the sliding doors of the cabinet beneath it and found the rest of the arsenal nestling in neat compartments. I grabbed four grenades, hung them on my belt and nodded for Victor Sable to follow me out.

It was five minutes after four and in the east the sun was working its way up the other side of the earth.

Now I was glad Frances was hanging out there offshore in all her awesome power. I was glad the electricity from the city was cut off to make them rely on an inadequate generator. The pair guarding the main gate couldn’t make us out in the darkness and waited until I was right on top of them before the challenge came. The captain had told them to admit me, but that I wouldn’t be leaving; and my appearing out of the darkness was too much of a surprise. They hesitated long enough to want to call in for instructions and when the one turned his back I cold-cocked him with the.45 and as the other brought the rifle up I let him have one in the mouth that separated him from his gun and sent him spinning into the steel grillework. He had been moving when I hit him, so he was only dazed and had the instincts of a cat. He was on his feet as I moved in, his hand going for the short knife at his belt.

I didn’t have time to play the blade instead of the man and give him the chance to shout an alarm, so I took the first thrust in a quick sidestep and felt it go diagonally across my ribs like the touch of a brand. He never got the second chance. I had his arm pinioned, snapped it at the joint and crippled him with a knee in the testicles that sucked the air out of his lungs with a high whine. The butt end of the.45 wiped all the pain away instantly and left him twitching on the stone floor in unconscious reflex.

The power was out, so there wouldn’t be any use trying to activate the gate. The only thing I could hope for was a manual emergency device and I flicked the light around to find it. A packing crate the guards had been using for a table concealed it, but when I kicked it away I saw the hand-operated winch there and leaned my weight against the handle and started it turning. I had to break through the rust before it began to draw against the cables and haul the gate up. With the spiked ends only four feet off the ground something jammed and it wouldn’t go any farther. I waved Victor Sable under it and felt for the arm that would keep the winch from unwinding. What was there was a broken chunk of metal that wouldn’t reach the gears. For some stupid reason I laughed. It wasn’t the time or place, but I laughed. Lady Luck wasn’t giving me any chance at all anymore. All I could hope for was that the same rust that held back the action getting the gate up would slow it coming down… only this time the sheer weight of the gate itself would be working against me. One chance. That was all I had. I let go the lever, made a flying dive under the grillework and lay there sweating on the ground just before the lancelike tips slid into their slots.

Sable reached down and helped me to my feet. I felt for the grenades on my belt and checked the.45, then put it away, the metal a warm friend against my side. He looked at his hand and wiped it on his coat. “You’re hurt.”

“I’ve been hurt before.”

“You may need attention.”

“Later,” I said. “There isn’t time now.” I pulled him toward the Volvo, waited until he was in and turned the key in the ignition. All I could think of was, Damn, it may work yet!

Holding the speed down was almost painful, but to rush would be fatal. The headlights picked up the two guards on patrol who flanked the road, their rifles ready. I tapped the low-beam switch to get the light out of their eyes and leaned out of the window and called them over. I held up two of the bills I flicked from my pocket and said, “The captain told me to give you this and that he appreciated your services.”

The denomination was too much for them. One even rested his rifle up against a tree to inspect the bill in the glare of the lights and the hardest part was keeping them from shaking my hand in gratitude. Anybody else would have pocketed the money and to hell with them. The one on the barricade that led to the road was a little more suspicious until I chewed him out enough to take the money out of my hand; then he was all smiles and bewilderment, but shrewd enough to know what that single bill represented in his present economy.

When we were clear, Sable turned to me with a slight smile and said, “Does your country always prepare you so well for an emergency?”

“This was my own idea. Nothing motivates the impoverished more than the sight of riches.”

“You are difficult to understand, my friend. I wonder what motivates you.”

“Sometimes I wonder myself,” I said. “For the time being, call me a sucker.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“What do you think, then?”

“Most likely I could tell you, but most likely you wouldn’t accept it either.”

“And that I appreciate,” I said.

I saw their headlights bouncing off the treetops in the distance, the glow diffused by the low night clouds overhead. I touched the brake pedal and skidded to a stop before I reached the curve in the road, slammed the Volvo into reverse and sent it smashing into the bushes off the shoulder, angling it toward the oncoming cars so their lights wouldn’t pick up any reflection from the glass in ours. I told Sable to stay put until I got back, then climbed out my side and ran back the way we had come about fifty yards, picked my spot and waited.

Leaders never lead anymore. They send their troops out ahead to pick up any itinerant fire and stay safe on the excuse that their services are too valuable to be exposed to enemy destruction. I pulled the pins from two of the grenades and held the handles down under my fingers, judging the speed of the oncoming column. A hundred feet separated each of the vehicles and I let the first two trucks loaded with soldiers roll past, released the handle of a grenade and heard it pop into life, then let it go with an overhand swing into the path of the command car in the rear.

I was off on my timing, but I wasn’t off on my aim. The grenade, momentarily lost in the darkness, slashed through the beams of the headlights and wiped out the windshield with its crashing impact as the vehicle swerved wildly when the driver reacted to his surprise. But he tried too hard and overcontrolled and the car whipped around, hit the soft shoulders of the road and toppled slowly and ponderously on its side.

The damn fuse had a longer delay than I anticipated and they almost had time to get out. The door opened upward, the interior light winking on so I could see both Carlos Ortega and Russo Sabin fighting madly for escape. Only the driver had guts enough to scream, “Grenade, grenade!” and scrabble for it someplace in the car.

Then it blew and Ortega and Sabin were lifted in disjointed pieces from the wreckage and scattered through the night with a lovely orange blossom of flame to send them off with a final salute.

Up ahead the other trucks had stopped and had started backing up. I let the other grenade go rolling down the road and ran like hell back toward the car. I barely reached the Volvo when it went off and I didn’t bother to check the damage it did. Those troops would be scrambling for cover, waiting for another attack, and weren’t going to be watching for me driving off in the dark.

I felt my way along the road, turned on the dims when I rounded the turn, having barely enough light to see the road. When I was far enough away I switched on the low beams, hit the gas pedal and headed toward the highway.

Only then did I have a chance to notice Victor Sable in the seat beside me. He looked like he was frozen there, his face pale and drawn. “Relax,” I said.

The sound of my voice seemed to startled him back to reality. “They are…?”

“Dead,” I told him. I glanced in the rear-view mirror. We were still alone on the road. I looked at my watch and grinned to myself. We just might make it at that.

Sable’s hands were folded into tight knots in his lap. “This killing,” he said. “All this terrible killing…”

“Save your sympathy,” I told him. “That’s how they got on top.”

The Volvo careened around a curve, straightened and slowed as the intersection I was looking for came up. Ortega might have given orders to have roadblocks set up on the highway and I didn’t want to take any chances of running into them. The back route I had taken to the Rose Castle was longer, but less likely to be patrolled. I swung onto the dirt road and tramped on the throttle again.

Ahead of us the revolving beacon of the airfield still probed the sky with its finger of light and I was sure of my direction. I was pushing for time and almost pushed myself into the wreckage of the trap that I had laid myself.

Sable saw it the same time I did, let out a hoarse yell and was reaching for the wheel when I batted his arm away. Right in the center of the road an old Chevvy that had been parked next to the Volvo in the hotel lot was upside down in the midst of the wreckage of the cart I had dragged into its path.

I stopped, pointed the lights of the car at the mess, got out with the.45 cocked in my hand and looked inside it. The steering wheel was bent in half and blood was flecked over the cushions and broken glass, but nobody was there. The door on the driver’s side gaped open and I didn’t like standing there in the light making a target of myself for anybody who still might be in the bushes, even though the chances were he had long since gone. I got back in the Volvo, skirted the wreck and stayed on the road until it bent around the perimeter of the airfield.

From there it was a straight run to the north end and I cut the lights, letting the occasional glow from the beacon spot my way as I lined up on the windows in the tower a mile away. The wind was at our backs now, whistling past the window in furious gusts that rocked the car. Hurricane Frances was getting her back up, ready to move in for the kill.

The beacon light swept by again and this time outlined a dark bulk in the road in time for me to slow down. A tractor had been abandoned in our path and there wasn’t room to cut around it. I opened the door, shoved Sable out and followed him.

In a way it was a lucky break. There might have been a guard posted at the gate up ahead and time was too short to have to fight my way through it. The hood of the tractor provided easy access over the fence and when I dropped down I turned and caught Sable as he jumped, made sure he was all right and got on the macadam taxi strip.

What planes hadn’t been hangared were all choked and tied down in the grass off the runway, sitting there like frightened giants, quivering gently in the wind. Four aged DC-3’s and a pair of converted B-25’s with military insignia were side by side, relics of another war but still active, a symbol of the power and authority that had held the country in submission.

I told Sable to wait, ran to one of the B-25’s and climbed in. I didn’t have to scrounge very hard to find what I wanted. I disregarded the back packs still in the pilots’ bucket seats and dug out one of the, emergency chest-pack chutes and harness, stuffed it into a canvas bag that was lying in the corner and got out of there.

Sable was waiting nervously, his back to the wind, and was relieved to see me appear out of the darkness. I wanted to leave my hands free, so I handed him the bag. “Keep this,” I said. “And don’t lose it.”

He hefted the bag curiously, wondering what it was. “Important?”

“You’ll never know,” I said.

In the east the cloud layers had taken on the dull glow of a false dawn, black entrails of turbulence like mean streaks rolling in its midst. I said, “Let’s go,” and we broke into a trot to cover the last quarter mile.

The buildings around the control tower and administration complex were all but deserted. Even the skeleton crew was taking off for the shelter of safer places. A gasoline truck moved out, its headlights picking up the gate, and I saw it stop to be inspected by uniformed guards carrying rifles and tommy guns who scanned the occupants before letting them pass on.

Whenever the beacons flashed by overhead we flattened to the ground, then got up to cover more ground between its sweeps, hoping that nobody saw us outlined against the lights of the buildings. Each time I hit the grass I tried to pick out the shape of the Queenaire against the formless jumble of shapes in the semidarkness.

And then I saw it parked at a forty-five-degree angle into the wind, at the end of the runway, and grabbed Victor Sable’s arm and ran toward it. We were too close to the end of it all and I didn’t smell the danger until I got that warm feeling in the small of my back again and saw Sable trip and go down. I grabbed him under the shoulder and went to haul him to his feet and almost fell over the same obstacle.

Joey Jolley was lying there, a vicious slash across his forehead, a low moan choking out of lips drawn back in pain. His eyes opened, recognized me, and his lips moved in warning, but it was too late.

A voice said, “I’ve been waiting for you, Morgan.”

They were there in the partial shadow under the wing of an old Stinson, and Marty Steele had Kim’s arm wrenched up behind her back and was holding a gun against her head.

The beacon swept by again and in its light I could see his face, cut and bloody from the wreckage of when he had smashed into the cart on the road. But the lacerations had done something else, too. They had released the tension on artifically tightened skin, put his features back into recognizable contours and I knew who he was.

I said, “Hello, Dekker. It’s been a long time.”

His tone was almost friendly. “It won’t be much longer, Morg.”

“Why’d you wait all this time for?”

I saw his grin. “I had to be sure, old buddy. I’m surprised you didn’t figure it out. You’re losing the old edge. You used to be the bright boy in the group.”

“It finally began to figure out.”

Once again the beacon light hit him and his face had a wild look of controlled insanity, the expression Bernice Case had described, filled with hatred and kill lust.

I said, “When you picked Whitey Tass off I knew it had to be you. He didn’t even know you were here, but had he seen you and he could have identified you.”

“You play it safe when the stakes are big enough, Morgan.”

“Are they, Dekker?”

He chuckled flatly, the sound humorless and cold. “You’re damn right. Forty million bucks’ worth of high stakes and its’s all mine. When you got nailed for the job I nearly laughed my head off. I used the same technique you taught me and you get rapped for it.”

“Why, kid?”

He wasn’t laughing now. “Something you idiotic patriots wouldn’t understand. You didn’t get blown apart by a lousy mine. You didn’t get shafted by the government and stuck in a hospital to rot with a frigging little pension and some medals for thanks. You know what happened when a broad looked at my face? I saw one of them vomit once. Well, piss on that. I couldn’t even stand the country. I got the hell out and saved my money until I got a new face and a new name and came back to make the good old U.S.A. pay me what I earned.”

“Whose body did they bury under your name, Dekker?”

I got that chuckle again. “I’ve killed too many to worry about him. He was just a stupid Australian sheepherder named Marty Steele if it matters to you.”

“Too bad you didn’t get to spend all that dough, Sal.”

“Oh, I will, old buddy. I will. I got it hidden right where your namesake, Captain Henry Morgan himself, kept his little pile and I’m the only one who can get to it.” He paused a few seconds, then said, “You should have moved in quicker, Morg.”

He had said all he was going to say and I saw his hand tighten around the gun he held at Kim’s head. He was going to take her out first, then me, and I had to stop him. I said, “I wasn’t on your back, Dekker.”

Curiosity stopped his trigger finger. “Get off it, buddy.”

“You knew I was on the run,” I told him. “You knew Old Gussie ran a hideout spot and you should have figured my checking in there after you cut out was only accidental. It’s a crazy coincidence, but it happened.”

“Nothing’s coincidental in this world. Don’t feed me that crap.”

“So a hunk of coal dust from Pennsylvania gets in your eye in New York and it’s all part of a plan, is that it?”

“You showed up here,” he accused.

“I was on another deal, Sal. It was nothing to do with you at all. I knew Ortega and Russo had their men on me, but they wouldn’t have taken a shot at me with a.38. You know, that was the first time I ever knew you to miss one that close. I moved just in time. If you had tried for the body instead of a head shot you would have gotten me.”

“You think…”

I cut him off, playing for seconds. “It was you outside my door that night in the hotel, you watching me all the time, you who followed me into the restaurant and saw me contact Rosa Lee. You were the only one who could have figured out the possible exits from the hotel nobody else would ever use and cover it until I came out. You’re the only one who could have tailed me without being seen, Sal.”

His chuckle had satisfaction in it this time.

“Why’d you bump Rosa Lee, Sal?”

Dekker’s voice still tasted the pleasure of the kill. “I bought my way into this country, Morgan. Ortega and Sabin were making me pay plenty for the privilege. Any one of the natives could have been onto the pitch and ready to set me up for a hit. Don’t tell me she wasn’t putting you onto me.”

“She wasn’t.”

“Save that crap for the enlisted men, Morgan,” he snarled. “Bringing Tass in to pick me out wrapped it up. Hell, you never knew me. The plastic surgeons did too good a job for that, but Tass saw me after I was fixed up and could have fingered me.”

“He came in to kill the guy you cold-cocked here, the one who could have fingered him.”

“Too bad, Morgan.”

“You still got to get out of here, Dekker,” I reminded him. “Ortega and Russo are dead. Your cover is gone now. The ones who take over now are going to get into their records and come up with your name in the package and put the pieces together.”

“That won’t make any difference, old buddy. I was ready to cut out for greener fields anyway. There are three guys in that plane that came to pick you up. They’re sitting there waiting and what they’re going to get is me and this doll here. She was very nice about talking it out with your jumpy friend to keep him from getting the screaming meemies while they waited.

“After you dumped them out I knew what you were scheming up. I made my mistake in trying to get you and you suckered me into your roadblock. But hell, Morgan, it was a lucky mistake at that. I got back here and found my ticket out all ready and waiting.”

“You bump the pilot of that plane and you’re stranded, Sal.”

That laugh of his was flatter than ever. “Out in the bushes of Australia the only way you get places is by air. I can fly that crate, old buddy. It’s one of my newer accomplishments.”

He was ready now and there was nothing more left to talk about. I said, “It was a sheer waste, Sal. All you should have done was wait me out and you would have had it all to yourself with clear running in front of you. Now you’ll never make it.”

The light was enough to show his face in a frenzied grin. “What makes you think so, Morgan?”

“Because you didn’t come out of the war like the rest of us. What happened tipped you off balance until you hated your own country so much you were going to make it pay through the nose for what you thought it did to you. Others survived the same things, but you never considered that. All you cared about was repayment. That’s why you went after government money instead of any other source.”

I gave him just enough time to let it sink in and added, “Dekker… you’re crazy!”

And with a scream of madness choking in his throat he made the mistake I was waiting for and yanked the gun from Kim’s head, throwing the first shot at me.

I knew what was coming and was moving to the right, the.45 jumping into my hand like it had a life of its own, and when I triggered it the slug blasted his head in half, spattering Kim with a spray of gore.

Before she had time to reflect on it I had her by the arm, got Joey to his feet and Sable running ahead of us toward the plane. Behind us muffled shouts were carried on the wind and somebody sent a wild shot richocheting across the field.

They saw us coming and the twin props coughed into motion. I got them aboard, picked the last two grenades from my belt, pulled the pins and threw them as hard as I could at the cluster of figures running toward us, triggered off the last of the rounds in the.45 in their direction and ran for the door of the plane. The hand that yanked me inside jerked the gun from my fingers, tossed it outside and slammed the door as the Queenaire swung out on the runway under full throttle and lifted off almost at once in the strong breath of Hurricane Frances.

Ten minutes out the sudden morning sun cut through the scud like a knife and we lifted to three thousand feet. The pilot hadn’t had time to top his tanks before takeoff, and bucking the headwind to reach Nuevo Cádiz had depleted his gas supply to a point critical enough to give him barely a margin of safety. He picked up a direct course for Miami, grateful now for the wind at his back.

I sat next to Kim because she wanted it that way. Across the aisle Joey was holding a wet towel to his head, slumped in the window seat with Victor Sable beside him. Behind me was the third guy who came in, sitting there with a gun in his lap because Kim refused to let him shackle me the way he had wanted to.

Below us the sun was sparkling off the water. It was a nice day and in less than an hour we’d be in Miami. Kim sat there watching the day begin, her hands folded in her lap. Her fingers still held the slip of paper the guy behind me handed her, the receipt for my person. Her responsibility had ended and now I belonged to the man with the gun who had one of those bland faces of the professional who would kill if it was necessary and whom you couldn’t fake out with words.

She knew I was looking at her and turned her head and smiled, impulsively reaching over for my hand. She squeezed gently and said, “I heard what he said, Morgan. I’ll tell them everything, you know. They’ll have to release you.”

I shook my head. “You don’t know your own people, baby.”

Her puzzled frown was reflected in her eyes. “I… don’t understand.”

“You’re a woman, my lovely wife. You’re a luscious, sexy doll who’s been running with a wild-assed guy and living with him legally joined in matrimony while we played the game, and women have been known to turn emotional under those conditions and forget what they came for. Right now you even got the look to go with it. In a million years, you couldn’t make them believe we weren’t in the sack together, and when you have your clothes off in the dark on a soft bed a woman is only a woman and a better one if she’s a wife… and when she becomes a wife she’d do anything to save her husband. It’s as simple as that, Kim.”

Anger sparked her eyes open. “There’s Sable and Jolley…”

“Joey’s word would count for nothing. They’d know what he is. And nobody will be talking about Victor Sable. What happened back there never happened at all, officially. There will be rumors and speculation, but the hurricane and the new bunch taking over will confuse the whole issue and even the Reds won’t be able to make any propaganda out of it.

“No, baby, they won’t talk about it and won’t believe you and the only item that could turn the trick would be if Sal Dekker had told us where he planted all that beautiful money.”

For a moment she just stared at me, her eyes shiny with a wet film that welled into twin teardrops in their corners. “But he did, Morgan.”

This time I didn’t understand.

She said, “Where your namesake hid his riches.”

“They never found that, either.”

“Maybe they never tried hard enough.”

I felt all the little hairs on my arms raise up and a tiny prickling sensation eat at my skin. I leaned back against the seat and said, “You know, maybe it would have been pretty damn good at that.”

“What, Morgan?”

“Suppose I could have been cleared? Suppose we had that forty million to turn in and they had to listen to you and take Joey and Sable’s word for it.” I turned my head and looked at her. “What would you do about it now?”

Her smile was wry and she wiped the tears out of her eyes. “Nothing,” she said. “I wouldn’t have to. We’re already married.”

“You mean I wouldn’t have to rape you?”

The smile laughed at me gently and her face was a glorious thing, dirty but beautiful; hair mussed but lovely, those full breasts pouting against the restraint of her clothes and the hem of the dress hiked up comfortably over full round thighs that were too exciting to look at long. “You might call it that,” she said, “but I’d help you.”

My hand squeezed hers. “I love you, Kim.”

The gentle pressure of her fingers said the same as her words. “I love you, Morgan the Raider.”

“I’m thinking again,” I said.

“I know you are,” she told me.

“They don’t call me the Raider for nothing, you know.”

“Naturally not.”

I looked at my watch and leaned over to scan the water below.

“It might take a while, but you’ll have to wait for me.”

She didn’t even know what I was thinking, but whatever it was satisfied her completely. “Forever if I have to.”

“Nobody else?”

“They’d really have to rape me.”

“It’s going to be fun,” I said.

“The best.”

“See you,” I said, and saw the confidence behind the puzzle in her eyes.

I raked my nails across the cut I had gotten from the knife of the guard back at the Rose Castle and started the blood running down my side again. I pulled my shirt away so they could see it wasn’t a phony and winced loudly enough so Sable turned and looked at me. I caught his eyes, hoped my expression conveyed what I wanted when I let them focus on the canvas bag he had at his feet, the one I made him carry, then stood up with my shirt back so the guy behind me could see what had happened.

“This thing’s bugging me, feller. Mind if I go back there and clean it up?”

He had the gun pointed at my head, but one look at the raw, open wound wiped any suspicion out of his face. I was his responsibility now and he wanted me delivered whole and healthy. He started to get up to go to the lavatory with me, and Victor Sable got into the act.

He picked up the bag, held up his hand and said, “Please, I am a doctor, among other things. Perhaps I can be of assistance.”

The guy frowned, nodded and sat back, but turned in his seat to watch us all the way.

Time and distance overlapped, that of the plane coinciding with that of the boat that was a small dot on the face of the sea below. We came out of the tiny lavatory with Sable leading the way so that he blocked the view of me in the chest pack, and when the guy did finally see it Victor Sable stumbled deliberately into him, smothering his gun hand with his clumsiness as I reached for the handle on the door of the plane and forced it open.

I had a wad of loot in my pocket to do what I had to do and if the guy in the boat was able to reach me he’d know what pennies from heaven really mean.

There was a happy glow in Kim’s eyes and a laugh on her mouth and words that said, “Go, husband!” as she made a V with two fingers, crossed it with her other forefinger to make the sign of the delta factor, then pointed to herself so I’d remember that she was the only delta left for me.

I couldn’t hold back the wild laugh and it must have been just like Old Henry himself let out when he mocked the whole world.

Then I jumped.