Assignment — Angelina (16 page)

Somehow she got out from under him and fell off the bed. Her clothes were in tatters. She got to her hands and knees and looked at her nakedness and saw the bloody pattern on her body and could not believe what she saw. He had used the knife on her. She felt her stomach convulse and then the floor gave way and she slid into darkness that was not darkness, because the red was still there, dark and pulsing, and the sound of his voice moved like fire in it, and then the sound of the door came and another voice moved in with his...

Laughter.

Angelina wished she could die. She had expected to deal with men. She knew she had met a monster.

Durell stood in the darkness of the Corbin bedroom and listened to the outer door thud softly shut. There was no other way out except a service entrance through the kitchen, and he couldn't reach it without being seen from the foyer. A slab of yellow suddenly showed under the bedroom door as a light in the wall was snapped on. A woman's heels clicked on the tesselated floor, moving toward the front of the apartment, and he opened the bedroom door a crack and looked. He could see Jessie Corbin's straight, slim back for a moment before she moved beyond his range of vision. She had gone straight to the heavy table where he had found the blueprints. Durell looked grimly at the rolls of paper on the bed where he had put them. She had noticed their absence immediately.

His orders were to watch and wait, not to capture. He did not want to be found here, to alarm and alert them and possibly postpone what was being planned. He went to the tall windows in the back of the dark, perfumed bedroom and looked out. A fire escape angled down into the rear courtyard, but the windows were closed, and he doubted if he could raise them without noise.

Then the telephone rang. It rang almost under his hand in the bedroom, and also in the living room. Jessie picked it up on the other extension, and he listened to the quick murmur of the woman's voice. He could see her again from the angle of the bedroom door. It was the best look he'd had of her so far. Her blonde hair was sleek; her face was cold, beautiful, angry, and then thoughtful as she listened to the voice in the receiver. Cola fury swept like a gust of wind over her features. Durell turned to the extension beside the bed and lifted it very carefully and listened, too.

"...have you done with her?" he heard Jessie ask.

Mark Fleming's voice replied. "Slago is keeping her."

"What for?"

"You know Slago. He thinks he can suck in Durell with her."

Angelina?
Durell thought.

Jessie said: "We can't take her with us."

"We've got to."

"Then we should leave at once."

"That's what I was thinking," Mark said.

"No, wait. Just a moment, darling."

Durell held the extension phone and waited. Jessie was silent. She was silent for a long time. He thought. They've got Angelina; She couldn't leave it alone. A coldness spread in him like the creeping of ice through his belly. He had warned her, but she hadn't listened; now he either had to abandon her or go after her, and possibly wreck everything Wittington wanted to achieve.

The silence in the telephone lasted too long. When he looked up, Jessie Corbin stood in the bedroom doorway. She had heard him lift the extension phone. She pointed a gun at him as he stood by the bed with the phone in his hand.

"So you're here," she said. "It didn't take you long."

He started to put down the phone.

"Don't," she said. "Be very careful, Mr. Durell."

"I will be."

"Put the phone on the bed. Don't hang up. Step back a bit."

He did as he was told. She handled the gun with a casual grip that told him she was accustomed to guns, and he didn't like that. A gun in a woman's hand was still an unpredictable thing. He stepped back and watched her turn on the light. Her eyes were bright with triumph as she picked up the instrument.

"Mark? Mark, he's right here! I've got him."

Durell could hear the excited clatter of Fleming's voice. He drew a slow, deep breath. Everything had come apart. They knew him. They knew his name. He did not know how much more they knew, but it was too much. For a brief moment, hearing about Angelina, he had lost his caution. He saw the tight smile on the blonde's lips. She was looking at him, and he looked at the black muzzle of the gun pointed at his stomach.

She spoke into the phone. "We'll leave right now. Slago was right. We've got them both. Well take them with us for a short way... Stay on the phone, Mark. Is Erich with you?"

"No. And listen, I'm worried about him. Slago says..."

"Never mind. He's sure to be along soon. Just hang on. When Erich comes, we'll drive over and pick you up with the girl."

"Be careful," Mark said.

"He won't make a move." Jessie looked at Durell. "Not if he wants the girl to live... Do you understand?" she asked Durell.

He said nothing, and she took his silence for agreement. There were a few more precise instructions, and then she put down the telephone. She gestured toward a chair. "Sit over there. And tell me why you think we ought to cut you and your girl into the deal Because you've got a letter she wrote to the police?" Jessie shook her head. "You won't mail it. You don't want Slago to kill her, do you?"

"No," Durell said.

"So you don't go to the police. So you don't cut in."

"If you say so.

Her eyes narrowed with suspicion. Durell knew he was dealing with a quick intelligence. There was an objectivity in the way she looked at him, and lines of frustration around her mouth when she relaxed a little. She didn't care what he thought of her looks. She might be lovely, but not with the gun in her hand. He wondered how much time he had. Corbin was expected at any moment.

He spoke quietly. "You've made a bad mistake, Jessie. You've overlooked something."

"I don't think so. You and the girl are interfering, so we'll get rid of you. It's as simple as that."

"And if I decide to sacrifice the girl now?"

She frowned slightly. "You won't. You're in love with her, aren't you? You wouldn't want Slago to have her."

"I may be in love with her, but I might let Slago have her anyway."

"I doubt that. As an American, you have confused ideas of loyalty, the sanctity of human life, and all those medieval concepts of chivalry that prohibit you from risking the girl to get your own way."

'You sound familiar," Durell said. "You sound like some people I once knew from Moscow."

"I am not a Communist," she said flatly.

"What are you, then? An opportunist?'

"Perhaps."

"Dealing with them?"

"That is nothing to you. You are a small-time operator, Mr. Durell. You saw something you didn't understand, you and your girl, and you tried to muscle in where you don't belong. This was your major error. This, and letting the girl try to work on Slago. She was rather surprised to learn what Slago is. At this moment, Slago is withholding his attentions, but it depends on you."

"Are you going to kill her?"

"Perhaps."

"Isn't there any chance we can join you?"

"Well talk about it," she said. She paused, eying him. "You said I made a mistake. What is it?"

Durell said: "Thinking I'll sit still for you because of Angelina. You can have her."

He had made up his mind.

He stood up. Her gun moved to follow him. But he knew she wouldn't dare fire in this building. She was too smart for that. He saw the panic of indecision in her eyes. Her gun was a .32 a war-issue Italian Beretta. Loud and noisy, and not very accurate except at extremely close range. He smiled at her.

"Sit down," she said again. Her voice shook a little. "What is the matter with you? Don't you know what Slago is like? Would you leave your girl to him?"

"I have a feeling it's too late for Angelina already."

"No, Slago didn't..." She paused as Durell moved toward her. She smiled. "You're mistaken, too. You think I won't shoot here. But I can. You're a thief, an intruder..."

He jumped for the gun. The blast was like a burst of thunder in the high, echoing room, and then he drove her hand aside with a sweep of his arm and brought his arm back up again to crash against her body and slam her backward. She fired again, and he saw she wanted to kill him. The first bullet had smashed into the wall. The second slammed into the ceiling. Dust drifted down on them. He heard someone shouting, muffled by the walls, and then he got the gun away from her and threw her to one side and kicked the weapon in the other direction. The blonde fell against the wall, grabbing at the telephone table for support, and knocked it over. She was breathing hard. Her eyes were furious, hating him.

"All I want is in," he said. "I intend to move in."

"Into your grave," she whispered. "Into a deep, dark hole."

"I want a part of it. The girl and I came all the way up here to join you. You could use me. You need me. Remember that I'll give you a little time to think it over."

"We'll kill her," Jessie breathed.

"No, you won't. Remember that, too. You won't kill her."

Somebody pounded on the door, and then a key rattled, and he knew Erich Corbin had returned. This wasn't the time to talk business. He was thinking of Angelina and how to get her away from them. He knew the blonde was smart. He could see she was smart by the way she considered him now. Her anger was gone; she was weighing him, thinking how he might be useful. He saw her face relax.

"I'm leaving," he said. "I don't want to waste time talking to your husband. You're the one who runs things, so think it over. You can use a man like me. And I can use you. A strictly business proposition. What about using me?"

"Just who are you?" she whispered.

"A guy who wants a cut of the pie."

"Will you be back? I want to think..."

"I'll be back."

He turned to the windows on the fire escape and got one open just as Erich Corbin called excitedly from the foyer. He heard Jessie answer him, running down the ornate hallway, her heels clicking. He had given her something to consider. Maybe it wouldn't work out too badly, after all...

He got out onto the fire escape. The courtyard below was dark, and it had stopped raining. Lights bloomed in the flat above, and a woman's voice rattled excitedly about hearing two shots. From inside the Corbin apartment he still heard Erich's voice, too. Durell turned and raced down the steel steps into the darkness of the courtyard. He ran toward the gate in the back fence and unlocked it and got out. He looked up before he closed the gate and saw Erich Corbin leaning from the window above, trying to get a look at him. Then he turned and started down the alley.

But he didn't get very far.

A shadow moved with a soft, sliding step behind him and a voice said, "All right, you. Stop trying to run, Lift 'em."

He reacted instinctively, turning with his weight on his right foot, swinging. He saw the blue uniform and the faint gleam of the badge a second too late. It was the cop on the beat. He had been alerted by Jessie's two wild shots. Durell couldn't check his swing. It was no good, anyway. The cop was young and enthusiastic. His gun crashed down at Durell and he stepped back in the alley out of reach of Durell's hands and then he hit Durell again, taking advantage of his surprise.

Durell wanted only to get away. He didn't want to fight the cop or hurt him. He tried to break free, but the cop was too good. He hit Durell once more and then there was the sound of a whistle at the open end of the alley and another cop came charging in and Durell finally began to fight him off in earnest. But it was too late by then.

He was aware only of ironic dismay as he sank back against the courtyard fence and let the young cop jab his gun savagely into his belly.

From an angle of his cell door in the precinct station, Durell could see an electric clock on the corridor wall. It was three minutes after ten. He had been booked and fingerprinted and thrown in here and nothing had happened since. He wondered if the cops would pull in the Corbins. He hoped not. It had gone worse than he had expected. He didn't want the police questioning the Corbins, or interfering with them. And he knew that time was precious, and every moment that passed put him farther behind in the race; but there was nothing he could do about it. The identification he had given to the police told them nothing about his real occupation. He couldn't tell tie police anything. Wittington had ordered him not to, and MacCreedy and the FBI had to be kept out of it for now.

He went back to the cot in his cell and sat down and lit a cigarette. He thought of Angelina and then he put the thought of her out of his mind, because he couldn't think straight when he considered what might be happening to her at this very moment. The cell smelled of the heat of the past day, of urine and sweat and human misery.