Flight to the Lonesome Place (18 page)

“I can make a good guess,” Ronnie told him. Hurriedly he counted out most of the money in his billfold and thrust it across the table. “Here's nine thousand for a start. It won't go far if you have trouble and have to send investigators to Santo Domingo. But by the time it's gone, I'll have more.”

Pardo Green looked at him in blank astonishment. “I don't get this. You're a surprising person. And what in heaven's name is a kid your age doing with such a wad in his pocket?”

“I earned it. My—my manager gave it to me just before he was killed. He saw what was coming …”

Pardo Green continued to stare at him. Suddenly he exclaimed softly, “
¡Clavos de Cristo!
Would you be wearing a wig, and have blue hair under it?”

“Yes, sir.” Ronnie glanced at the others. “They know about me. So does Captain Anders.”

“Good Lord! I should have guessed sooner. Are you in danger now?”

“I'm afraid so.”

“Do you realize how this complicates things?”

“Yes, sir. Everything's pretty complicated at the moment. But I believe I've figured out what to do.” He chewed on his lip while he thought swiftly ahead. Wally Gramm worried him, but the biggest problem was how the three of them could get safely away from here.

He looked at the lawyer and said, “While I repeat to the tape recorder what I've already told you about Bernardo, will you phone the FBI for me? I—I want you to set up a meeting with them here tonight, about an hour after dark.”

“Okay. But why so late, son?”

“To give Black Luis and Ana María Rosalita a chance to get started for the cave. We don't want the FBI to find them here and ask too many questions.”

“Lord, no!”

“And you'd better remind them to bring their own tape recorder. I'll have a lot to tell them.”

They had nearly finished their recording session with Pardo Green when a small sound drew Black Luis to the den. He returned swiftly.

“Those men who came earlier,” he whispered to Ronnie. “They're back—with tools!”

“What's all this?” Pardo Green asked.

Ronnie hurriedly explained what had happened. “I've been expecting them back. Josip—he's the steward—is sure I'm here, alone. Wally Gramm wants to break in—”

“For what? To kill you?”

“Maybe—if he's the one who killed my manager. He pretended he came to help me, but I think he really wants to—to set me up for someone else to do the dirty work.”

“There are others after you?”

“They flew out ahead of the boat and were waiting for me on the dock. Three of them. Two were the men who nearly got me in New Orleans. The third was my tutor, Peter Pushkin. He—”

“Hold it,” Pardo Green whispered. “I believe our callers are coming up the steps. Keep out of sight.”

The lawyer waited until it was evident, from the sounds, that someone was trying to force the grill door. Then he swiftly unlocked the kitchen door and sprang out upon the entry porch, fuming like an angry vacationer disturbed in his siesta. His furious promise to call the
policía
sent Wally Gramm and Josip into hasty retreat, muttering apologies.

But for the threat that hung over them, Ronnie would have found it very funny. The thought of his dream filled him with a growing dread. While the others went through a final questioning, he slipped into the study to worry over his plan for the evening.

Pardo Green had called the main office of the FBI and had been told that men would be on their way from San Juan as soon as the Treasury agent could be located. “Guido—he's Guido Gonzáles—” the lawyer had said, “wants to come out himself. You've got everybody there excited. Holy Moses, I didn't know this concerned that big foreign accounts case I've been reading about!”

“I didn't either, at first,” Ronnie admitted.

“Well, it looks like you're the key to the whole thing. They're even beginning to call it the Blue Boy Case.”

As he slumped down on the study sofa, there was a rustling in the leaves by the window. Marlowe whispered, “Hey, brother Blue, what's the big deal for tonight?”

“The FBI is coming,” Ron whispered back. “Before they get here—as soon as it's dark enough—Black Luis and Ana María Rosalita are going to leave for the cave. You—you've got to help them.”

“Sure I will! What's bugging you?”

“It'll be hours before I can leave. The plan is for Pardo Green to go with me as far as the sea grape tree.

“Well? What's wrong with that? I'll scout the way.”

Ronnie swallowed. “But—but I had a dream about tonight—”

“That real,
real
dream you wouldn't tell little sister?”

“Yes. Something's going to happen, because in the dream Pardo Green's not with me. I—I'm running, and men are trying to catch me. I'm carrying a small can of oil to fill the lanterns—”

“You'll find it at the foot of the stairs where the captain left it. But the men—do they catch you?”

“I—I don't know. But that's not the worst of it. Just as I reach that rocky place up the beach, I stumble and fall. And there in front of me is Ana María Rosalita's smaller bag. If something hadn't happened, it wouldn't have been dropped there. Which means something
is
going to happen there tonight.”

“Ulp! I do not like that. But if there is trouble, we will squeak out of it somehow. Is there more to the dream?”

“A—a little. As I get to my feet, a man is closing in behind me. I hear you yelling, and I see another man—this one's Wally Gramm—coming around the edge of the rocks.”

“Then what?”

“I don't know. That was when Black Luis shook me awake.”

“
¡Madre!
That is bad. But every problem has a solution. I was with you in the dream, so I will be with you tonight. And never forget that I am a
very
clever little fellow.”

The first shock of the evening came at sundown, just as they were finishing a cold supper out of cans from the pantry. It was a visit from the island police.

There were two. They went swiftly around the house, testing the grillwork, and climbed the steps to the entrance.

“
¡Policía!
” one called. “Open up!” He put his finger to the buzzer while his companion unhooked a huge ring of keys from his belt.

Ronnie was already feverishly helping Ana María Rosalita hide the evidence that more than two people had been eating here. Black Luis opened the door to the inner stairway, found the key to the patio, and ran for the tiny girl's bags.

Pardo Green whispered, “Ron, let them out below and lock up behind them. I'll stall the police.”

Ronnie crept down the stairway and unlatched the bottom door. With Black Luis' key he tiptoed to the big grill door facing the beach, unlocked it, and carefully eased it open. He looked quickly around, then motioned to the others. The black boy and the tiny girl sped silently across the flagstones and slipped outside.

As she passed him, Ana María Rosalita whispered breathlessly, “We'll be waiting for you, Boy Blue!”

Sick at heart, he locked the door and watched a few seconds while they raced through the palm grove and started up the beach. It was still bright daylight. Why couldn't the police have come later?

As he turned back to the stairway, he saw the small can of oil where Marlowe had said it would be. He swallowed, wondering if he really would find them waiting at the cave.

The sound of angry voices drew him swiftly back to the living room. As he locked the upper door he heard Pardo Green in the kitchen, shouting through the window, “This is ridiculous! Search the house? For what?”

“I tell you a girl has been abducted!” a policeman shouted back. “We have orders to search—”

“A girl has been abducted? Who is she?”

“She is no less than the small sister of Bernardo Montoya!”

“
¡Madre de Dios!
Why didn't you say so in the first place?” Pardo Green jerked open the kitchen door, rushed out, and unlocked the grill door. “Come in, gentlemen, come in! Tell me, who was foolish enough to commit such an outrage?”

“All we know is that two ruffians forcibly took her away during the night. Don Bernardo tried to stop them, but he was attacked and beaten unmercifully.”

“Poor fellow,” said Pardo Green. “I suppose he's confined to his bed, and no visitors are allowed.”

“So we have been informed. We regret this intrusion, but every building must be searched. This is a terrible thing.”

The men went briskly through the cottage, examining everything. After asking a few questions, they left. Pardo Green looked quizzically at Ronnie. “How hard did you hit that rascal?”

“As hard as I could, but I didn't hurt him much. And Black Luis didn't touch him. He was carrying her bags.”

“Then it has to be warts. Oh, brother! Our little Ana María Rosalita must have done a job on him!”

Ronnie turned away, his small hands knotted in his pockets. By now Ana María Rosalita and Black Luis had reached the rocky area, and the thing that was going to happen had happened. There was nothing in the world he could do to help them.

It was exactly an hour after dark when Guido Gonzáles arrived from San Juan with two other agents, each carrying a tape recorder. Guido Gonzáles, a slender, soft-spoken man, introduced those with him as José Avilés, an assistant, and Thomas Church, from the Treasury Department.

Ronnie had rather expected the cold-eyed Treasury agent to look as he did, though sports clothes and glasses made an even greater change in the man's appearance. But neither by a second glance nor an uncertain word did Ronnie betray the fact that he was aware of the other's identity.

Smiling, Guido Gonzáles said, “Before Juan Pardo called, we never dreamed we'd be meeting the Blue Boy in person and have him straighten out one of the biggest tangles on record.”

“I don't promise to solve anything,” Ronnie replied quickly. “All I can do is tell you what I know and remember.”

“But that should clinch it,” said the agent, as the others set up their tape recorders. “First, before we get started, how long have you known that Gus Woolman and Wally Gramm were mixed up in this foreign accounts thing?”

“Only during the past five weeks.”

“But you were with them more than three years,” the Treasury man said. “Surely, in all that time—”

“They were not as important as you think,” Ronnie answered. “They were just temporary agents for a group of people who had money to hide, so they wouldn't be taxed. All Gus and Wally did was arrange to have it collected and delivered to foreign banks, where it went into secret accounts. I didn't know this at the time. It wasn't until I read about the secret accounts in the papers and recognized some names, that I began to figure it out.”

Guido Gonzáles said, “How long did Gus and Wally act as agents?”

“Only six months. The money was hidden by then, and they had a better thing going with me as the Blue Boy.”

The Treasury man, Thomas Church, asked, “How did you happen to recognize those names you mentioned?”

“Because I was the bookkeeper. That's why Gus took me out of that reformatory—so I could memorize the accounts. I didn't know what it was all about at the time. All that mattered to me was to keep out of that boys' jail, where I didn't even belong. I knew Gus was a sharpie of some kind, but he was good to me, and I did what he wanted and didn't ask questions.”

Ronnie paused and said, “The accounts worried me at times, but I didn't know they were dynamite till things got bad in New Orleans. There were no written records of what thirty people did with two hundred million dollars.
I
was the only record.”

The men stared at him. Guido Gonzáles whistled softly. “That's far more than we thought. But why was Woolman killed?”

“Because he tried to protect me. Can't you see? When a bunch like
those
people got scared and found out I could wreck them, something had to be done. So I'm sure they ordered Gus and Wally to do it, or else. Only, Gus refused.” Ronnie swallowed. “I can't prove Wally killed Gus, but of course you can.”

Thomas Church said a little doubtfully, “Are you sure you have enough facts of the kind we need? Ordinary records won't help us much. This case is involved. There are real names, false names, numbered accounts in different banks.…”

Ronnie glanced at him wearily. “I know it. I can match name for name, the number that goes with it, the code for each bank, the date and amount of each deposit, the totals for each name, and a lot more that will come when I start remembering. If you'll just let me get started …”

Names, dates, numbers, and more numbers. Names that stood for other names, and numbers and sums and mounting totals …

The tape that unwound in his mind rolled steadily until after midnight, when Pardo Green called a recess. Someone brewed a pot of coffee and served it with stale cookies from the pantry. Then the tape began to roll again.

The end of the tape came at three in the morning.

The men looked at him in awe. José Avilés said, “What he did is impossible. But I saw him and heard him …”

Thomas Church closed his tape recorder and said to Ronnie, “I'd like to stay the rest of the night, but we've a plane to catch in the morning, so we'd better get on to San Juan. Where's your bag?”

Pardo Green snapped, “You're not taking him back to the mainland!”

“I certainly am,” said the Treasury man.

“No!” said Ronnie, shocked. “I won't go with you! You've taped everything—you don't need me in person!”

“Of course you don't!” said Pardo Green. “Besides, he wants to stay. He's needed here on another matter—

“Sorry. This is a Treasury case. It comes first.”