Passage by Night (v5) (5 page)

'Mother Diamond?'

'What do you want?' Her voice was strangely lifeless.

'I wonder if you could spare me a few moments?'

'You wish to consult the stars?'

'That's right. I was told you could help me.'

She nodded at once. 'Come in.'

The hall was gloomy and filled with a smell of incense that caught at the back of the throat in a curiously unpleasant manner. She pulled back a heavy velvet drape and opened the door.

The room was sparsely furnished, the only light a single lamp on a small table. He took a chair and she sat opposite, several books at her elbow and a pad of blank paper in front of her.

'Give me the date of your birth, the place and time. The time is most important.'

He told her and looked over her shoulder at the shadows crawling out of the corners, pushing against the light thrown out by the lamp. He wondered what his next move should be, but decided to wait till she gave him an opening.

She consulted several books, making notes on the pad, and finally nodded. 'Do you believe in the powers of the supernatural?'

'Would I be here if I didn't?'

'You are ambidextrous?'

For the moment, he was completely thrown off balance. 'How the hell did you know that?'

'Many born under the sign of Scorpio are.' She looked at the notes again. 'Life for you is often a battleground.'

'You can say that again.'

She nodded calmly. 'Mars, Sun and Neptune in conjunction on the mid-heaven will result in a certain sharpness of tongue and temper. You are often your own worst enemy.'

In spite of himself, Manning laughed harshly. 'I think that's bloody marvellous.'

The old woman looked across, eyes glinting in the lamplight. 'You find something humorous in what I say?'

'Something like that.'

She carefully piled her books on top of each other. 'Who did you say recommended you to come here?'

'I didn't,' Manning said, 'But since you ask, it was Juan Garcia.'

Her eyes regarded him unwinkingly. 'I know no one of that name.'

'Well, how about taking a look into your crystal ball? You might see him skulking around in some dark corner.'

'I think you'd better leave,' she said calmly.

'You're making a big mistake.'

A slight breeze touched the back of his neck and the door creaked. A voice said, 'It is you who has made the mistake, Mr Manning.'

The man who had advanced into the lamplight was wearing a white linen suit and his face was shaded by a Panama hat. The eyes were cold and hard and as full of menace as the .38 automatic in his right hand.

'Surprise, surprise,' Manning said softly. 'Juan Garcia, I presume?'

The other shook his head and for a brief moment, his teeth gleamed whitely. 'I'm afraid not, senor. My name is Pelota. At this very moment, poor Juan is on the high seas bound for Cuba and what he fondly believes to be his just reward for his little exploit on Spanish Cay.' He sighed heavily. 'You have a saying in English. One get's one's reward in heaven.'

'Is that where Garcia's going to get his?' Manning said.

Pelota shook his head. 'He will not need to go that far, my friend. We have a little paradise here on earth called the Isle of Tears.'

Mother Diamond cut in sharply. 'Enough of this nonsense. This man is dangerous. I won't have him in my house. It was not in our agreement.'

Pelota's eyes flickered towards her angrily and Manning seized the lamp from the table, pulled it from its socket and plunged the room into darkness. As he jumped for the shelter of a horsehair sofa, Pelota fired twice, orange flame momentarily lighting the room.

Manning scrambled to one knee and Pelota cried, 'Better come out, Manning. You haven't a chance.'

At that moment, the door was kicked open, a great shaft of light flooding in from the corridor, picking Pelota out of the dark. He turned in alarm. As he started to raise his automatic, a bullet caught him in the centre of the forehead, lifting him back against the old woman.

As Manning got to his feet, the main light was switched on. Morrison was standing in the doorway, a revolver in one hand, Viner and Joe Howard at his shoulder.

6
The Man from CIA

When Manning came out of the commissioner's office, he found Seth and Viner sitting on a bench in the waiting room. The black man had a dressing taped to one side of his head and looked strained and ill.

He forced a smile. 'Everything okay, Harry?'

Manning nodded. 'How do you feel?'

'Not too good. Never saw what hit me. Do you think they'll get anything out of him?'

'Pelota?' Manning shook his head. 'The hospital rang through a few minutes ago. He's dead. The Commissioner and Morrison are discussing it now.'

'I still haven't been able to work out where Morrison fits into all this,' Viner said. 'Who is he, anyway?'

'Central Intelligence Agency,' Manning said. 'Apparently they've been expecting trouble in these parts for some time. They sent him down here to see what he could turn up.'

'I thought there was something special about him when I found him at police headquarters with Joe Howard.' Viner grinned wryly. 'Forgive me, Harry, but it seemed the sensible thing to do with you apparently running headlong into trouble. I hired a launch and followed you over.'

'Good thing you did,' Manning said. 'That explains my meeting with Morrison on the wharf. Presumably you followed us.'

Viner nodded. 'All the way. We were in the garden at Mother Diamond's when the shooting started. That's when we broke in.'

'Now she's a weird old bird if you like,' Manning said. 'Put a curse on me as they took her downstairs.'

'Did they get anything out of her?'

'Not a thing. They only used her place as a clearinghouse. She was in it for the money, that's all.'

At that moment, the door to the Commissioner's office opened and Morrison came out. He grinned. 'I don't know about you guys, but I could use a drink.'

'Good idea,' Manning said.

They went out into the cool night and walked towards the waterfront. When they reached the corner of Bay Street, Seth caught hold of Manning's sleeve.

'If it's okay with you, I'll go back to the boat, Harry. I don't feel so good.'

'You do that,' Manning said. 'Get some sleep. I'll be along later.'

They watched him negotiate the busy street successfully, then walked along the pavement and entered the first bar they came to. It was still early by Nassavian standards and the place was almost deserted. Morrison ordered gin slings and they sat in a secluded booth in the corner.

'What happens now?' Manning said.

Morrison shrugged. 'Looks like we've hit a brick wall. Pelota dead and our only lead on the way to the Isle of Tears, God help him.'

'What is this place?' Manning asked.

'A small island off the Cuban coast about a hundred and thirty miles south of Andros. There's a port there called San Juan. Used to be a centre for deepsea fishermen. Since the revolution, they've been forbidden to come up to the islands any more. I hear the town is on the decline in a big way.'

'Pelota seemed to think there was still something pretty special about the place.'

'There is,' Morrison said. 'An old fortress they've turned into a prison for political offenders. It's the final resting place for anyone they really want to get rid of. So far nobody's survived long enough to be released.'

'So that's what Pelota meant when he said Garcia would receive his reward here on earth.'

Morrison nodded. 'I don't know what the poor devil's expecting. If he's lucky, it'll be a bullet.'

There was a short silence and then Viner said slowly, 'Forgive me, Mr Morrison, but it would appear that there is much more to this affair than appears on the surface. Am I right?'

Morrison took his time over a lighted cigarette. When he looked up, his face was grim. 'By agreement with Great Britain, the United States has certain bases in the Bahamas.'

'You mean in connection with the Canaveral project?'

Morrison nodded. 'There are stations containing electronic brains which track, guide and probe missile behaviour during flights, on Grand Bahama, San Salvador and several other islands.'

'Everyone knows that. It's common knowledge.'

'Three weeks ago, one of them was badly sabotaged.'

'You've kept damned quiet about it,' Manning said.

'We had to. You can imagine the king-sized international row there'd be if it got out.'

'And you think it was the same people who were responsible for this latest affair?' Viner said.

Morrison nodded. 'We think they're based here in the Bahamas.'

Manning whistled softly. 'Seven hundred islands and two thousand cays and rocks. That's quite an area to search.'

'And the whole thing's got to be done under cover. We just can't afford a stink at this stage. The eyes of the whole world are going to be turned this way when the President and your Prime Minister meet here in a couple of weeks.'

'The Russians as usual, I suppose?' Viner said.

'I don't think so. Since the Cuban crisis, they've been leaning over backwards to keep things from boiling over. More likely some undercover group of Cuban fanatics. They're the only ones who'd stand to gain from promoting another international row. They haven't been too pleased with Moscow lately. Maybe they're trying to force their hand.'

'And Garcia's the only lead you've got?' Viner said.

'And he'll be landing in San Juan about now.'

Manning went to the bar and got himself a large rum. When he got back, he was frowning. 'The word is, you've got agents all over Cuba. Why can't someone go to San Juan, see what he can dig up on Garcia. For all we know, he could be sitting in the best hotel in town living it up.'

'Somehow I don't think so.' Morrison shook his head.

'Surely it's worth checking on?'

'In any case, we've been having to take it pretty steady ourselves since the crisis. We don't want another storm at the moment any more than the Russians do. A Yank in Cuba just now would be like a red rag to a bull.'

'How about an Englishman?'

Morrison frowned. 'You must be crazy.'

'I don't see why not,' Manning said. 'Relations between Cuba and Britain aren't exactly marvellous, but they're better than yours are.'

'You'd be running your head straight into a noose.'

Manning shrugged. 'All I need is a good cover story.'

'We couldn't help you. We couldn't help you at all. You'd be strictly on your own.'

'Who said I needed any help? If I went, it would be for personal reasons. I've as much interest as you have in running this group down.'

Morrison shook his head. 'An attractive offer, Manning. I won't deny that, but it wouldn't work. In the first place, you just couldn't sail into San Juan. They'd clap you in jail the moment you landed.'

'I don't know about that,' Viner said. 'There are men from the islands, British citizens, who still make the occasional run to San Juan
and
out again.'

Morrison turned to him and frowned. 'Are you sure you know what you're talking about?'

Viner selected a cigarette and fitted it into his holder. 'My business activities are varied, Mr Morrison. They take me, on occasion, into strange places.' He lit his cigarette and blew out a cloud of smoke. 'On the southern tip of Andros Island there is a small fishing port called Harmon Springs. The people who live there are Greeks, mainly sponge fishermen from the Aegean who moved out here forty years ago. Deep-sea fishermen now. Some of them still make the run to San Juan with tuna and wahoo. The Cubans welcome them because supplies of big game fish are limited these days. The Greeks get a good price.'

Morrison turned to Manning. 'Did you know about this?'

Manning shook his head. 'I've never been to Harmon Springs. They don't exactly encourage visitors. Still talk Greek amongst themselves and stick to the old customs. I can believe what Viner says. They're pretty tough customers. I can't think of much on top of the sea or below it that would frighten a Greek. They're the best divers in the world.'

'How come you know so much about them?'

'I was in the Aegean for three years during the war with the Special Boat Service.'

Morrison's face was pinched with excitement as he turned to Viner. 'Got any contacts down there?'

Viner shook his head. 'I'm afraid not. Most of what I've told you is hearsay. I can guarantee the information to be accurate, but that's all.'

'It's good enough for me,' Manning said flatly.

Morrison stared down into his glass for a moment or two. When he looked up, he had regained his composure. 'I could let you have money. As much as you need, but that's all. If you go, you're strictly on your own. We know nothing about you.'

Manning got to his feet and crossed to the window. Rain splattered against the glass and a small wind moved in from the sea, calling to him as it moaned through the rigging of the fishing boats moored to the wharf. A sudden shiver of excitement moved inside him. He smiled to himself, turned and went back to the table.

'If I'm going to get anywhere at Harmon Springs I'll need a good cover story. Let's have another drink and see what we can cook up.'