The Spanish Connection (4 page)

I shook hands slowly. "Thank you — both — for your charming hospitality."

We were on deck now, and I climbed down into the powerboat. She waved at me from the deck as the inboard started to swing around and head for the marina.

We had proceeded only fifty yards when there was a sudden scream from the yacht. The startling sound traveled speedily and uninterruptedly along the surface of the water.

I turned quickly. "Stop, Bertillo!"

I saw Tina come out of the salon where she had just gone. She was stumbling.

A series of orange flashes blazed inside the salon, then the rattle of automatic riflefire chopped across the water.

I heard a shout.

There was another scorching burst of gunfire, and I saw Tina Bergson fall to the deck, her voice cut off in mid-scream.

A figure in a dark wetsuit moved quickly across the deck in strides like a panther s, and jumped off over the rail on the far side into the water. I had drawn my gun, but could not get a clear shot of him.

"Circle the yacht!" I snapped to Bertillo.

Astonished, frightened, but able, he gunned the powerboat, and we swept around from the right hand side, past the bow of the yacht.

Only bubbles showed where the man in the wetsuit had gone. He had left scuba gear hanging there, that much was obvious. He was gone for good.

We circled about for a full minute, but he did not emerge.

I climbed the ladder to the deck where four crewmen surrounded Tina, who was breathing, but moaning softly. The shoulder of her sweater was drenched in rapidly drying blood.

I ran into the salon.

The big man was lying on the floor. His head had been almost entirely crushed by the force of the bullets. He had died before he hit the decking.

Outside I stared toward the shore, but the man in the wetsuit did not appear.

I grabbed up the ship-to-shore and called Mitch Kelly. He was shocked, but he was a pro. He went right to work and got the Malaga Guardia Civil.

Tina opened her eyes.

"It hurts!" she moaned.

Then she saw the blood and fainted.

Mitch Kelly pulled open the bottom drawer of the file cabinet. He could see I was boiling mad. I watched him unbutton the leather case in which the radio-telephone transmitter was kept.

It was a beautiful little set: Japanese-made, with solid state transistors throughout. You could almost beam to the moon and back with it.

It hummed a moment or two after he switched it on until it warmed up. He did not look at me at all, but went to work and raised AXE after a few preliminary calls, and chatted briefly with the operator at AXE Monitor, using the usual R/T gibberish. Finally he turned to me.

"I've got Hawk."

I took the handset "Sir?" I could barely contain my anger.

"Nick, this is not an authorized call! I'll have you know…"

"Are we in clear?"

"Yes."

"Scramble."

"Right." Hawk's voice turned cautious. "What is it, Nick? I always get butterflies when you observe proper security precautions."

"Who set up this mission? Treasury?"

"You know I'm not authorized to say."

"It has a funny smell."

"Say again?"

"It stinks! Corelli is dead."

"Dead?" Pause. "Oh, dear me."

"Who set this up?" I asked again.

"I'm not at liberty…"

"It was a set-up. And whoever set it up used me to finger Corelli."

"No! Oh, I see what you mean."

"Check it out, sir, please! If the Mafia is clear, then something went wrong at our end. If it was Corelli playing some kind of game, then Treasury was conned."

"You're sure he's dead?" Hawk asked crisply. His tone of voice meant he had recovered from his original shock.

"Half a head gone? Oh, yes. He's dead, sir"

"And his companion?"

"She's alive, but hurt."

"I think it was straight," said Hawk. "Rome Control checked out Corelli."

"Rome Control may be on the payroll of the Mafia!"

"Nicholas…" he chided me.

"Consider the mission scrubbed at this end, sir."

"Calm down, Nick. I'll get back to you as soon as I make a few calls."

"Miss Rivera and I will not be available for further instructions."

"You stay there! I want to get this cleared up."

"It's already cleared up, Hawk. Or
mapped up
is perhaps a more accurate term. Goodbye."

"Nick!"

I signed off.

Kelly was stunned at the conversation between Hawk and me. He did not go in for deliberate disobedience. That was the reason he had been talking about inconsequentialities. He walked behind his desk and sat down. He was studying me carefully, and waiting for the roof to fall in on me.

"You think AXE was used?" he finally asked.

"I think so, but I don't know."

"A leak?"

I looked down at my hands. "Maybe."

"What about the girl?"

"Juana? I don't know about her, really. If she was in on it, she'll be long gone."

"Where are you headed?"

I turned at the door. "Back to the hotel. I wonder if she'll be there."

She was. I could hear her rummaging around in her room as soon as I let myself in my half of the suite. At least it sounded like her. Just to be sure I got my Luger out and moved to the connecting door.

"Juana?" I said in a low voice.

"Oh. Nick?"

"
Mr.
Peabody."

"How did it go?"

It was Juana, all right. I could tell by the voice. I bolstered the Luger, deciding that if she had been in with the hit man, she would have left Malaga by now since her part in the charade would have been finished.

I opened the door and walked in. She was dressed in a very austere but cool-looking costume that hinted at taste and expense without really being costly. She was smiling, which meant that she did not know anything at all about Corelli.

"You look tired, Nick."

"I am. Fresh out of energy."

"Why?"

I sat on the edge of the bed and looked up at her. I wanted the full benefit of the light when I read her face. She turned toward me, the strong Malaga sunlight streaming in, illuminating every detail of her features.

"Rico Corelli is dead."

Her face went pale. If she was acting, she had excellent control over her arterial system. Any physiologist will tell you that the arterial system is an involuntary one.

"Killed? On the yacht?"

I nodded. "By a character in a wet suit."

"What about the woman who was with him?"

"Tina Bergson was hit, but she is still alive. It looked like a set-up, Juana."

"What do we do now?"

"We wait," I said. "For word from Hawk. I've already reported in."

She watched me. "Could you see the man who killed Corelli?"

"Only a silhouette of him."

"Did he resemble the one who sniped at us in Ensenada?"

I shrugged. "I never really saw him either."

"He may have been the man in the car in Washington."

"This time he was in a wet suit. He could be the one. Also, he could be Senator Barry Goldwater."

Juana ignored that. "He picked us up in Ensenada, and followed us to Malaga by way of Washington." She was positive now, and was facing me squarely.

"Perhaps."

"It's got to be!"

"If you say so."

She moved toward me until she stood six inches from me. "They said you are one of the best. How did you let this happen?"

I watched her carefully, letting no expression at all show on my face. But there was so much anger churning in me that the waves of emotion must have reached out to touch her, for she shrank back, almost as if she expected me to hit her.

"I'll forget you ever said that."

She drew herself together and shook her head grimly.
"I
won't"

The phone rang.

"Kelly here," the voice said. "I'm in contact with Tina Bergson."

"Oh?"

"She was taken by the Guardia Civil to a private clinic not far from us down from the Alcazaba. Her doctor is in our pay."

"How convenient."

"She's conscious. She wants to see you."

I thought rapidly. "All right. Give me the address."

"I've got to take you there."

"Right. I'll check with you in fifteen minutes. Kelly, how did the Guardia Civil know where to take her?"

Kelly chuckled. "We own a couple of them, too."

Grinning, I hung up.

"What was that all about?" Juana asked me. She was still visibly shaken by the news of Corelli's death. I decided at that moment that she was innocent of involvement.

"Tina Bergson. She's recuperating. I'm going over to talk to her."

"And me?"

I wanted Juana in sight at all times for a bit. "You're coming along."

She relaxed. "Oh. Good." A smile. "I wondered what you planned to do with me."

"As always, I take you with me. You're a very pretty girl, and I like pretty girls." I grinned.

She actually blushed. "Damn you." I guess she was worried about her mind again.

Mitch Kelly spent most of the ride to the office and the clinic showing off for Juana Rivera. He was playing the role of the very cool, sophisticated special agent. Actually, he could be charming with women, even when he was not playing a role. Juana seemed in the mood to accept his act, obviously using her interest in Kelly to goad me.

But I wasn't paying much attention, I was too busy thinking.

First, I was furious with myself for not having anticipated the set-up. With that sniper operating in Ensenada and the weird crew watching us in Washington, I should have been primed for trouble in Malaga. Yet I had thought before that the hit men were after Juana and me — not after Corelli. How stupid!

That was as far as I got in my mental convolutions. The honking horns outside the car finally roused me from my torpor, and I began to watch the narrow streets of Malaga go by me.

The car pulled over to the curb, and we climbed out. The clinic was located on a narrow street shaded from the direct sun by the buildings around it. The buildings were clean and well kept up. It was definitely not part of the Malaga slums.

Kelly led the way in through the main entrance. We trooped up the curving marble stairway after a woman in a white uniform with a rather formidable backside who had chatted briefly with Mitch Kelly when we entered. As we walked down the corridor of the second floor, a thin man in a business suit and a black tie greeted Kelly with a broad smile.

He was Doctor Hernández, the physician in charge of Tina Bergson, Kelly said. I could tell by the brilliance of Hernández's smile that AXE money paid his bills and fanned his élan into a total ebullience as he greeted the slaves of his employers.

"How is she?" Kelly asked.

Hernández clasped his hands in front of him, took a deep breath, and worried a long moment.

"It is a bullet wound, you understand. Such a wound does sometimes cause sepsis in the blood stream. Sepsis is poison," he said to me, as if I appeared to be the chief moron of the group. "I do think she will come out of it all right. With the help of God — she will!"

"How soon?" I asked.

"Several days," said Hernández after thinking for a minute.

"Ah," I said. "Then it is not too serious at all."

His black eyes flashed a moment. Then he was smiling a worried, concerned smile. "Serious enough, Señor Peabody," he intoned. That meant that he would not release her right away. I had to accept that fact that his reluctance might be medically sound. A bullet wound can be a nasty trifle. "But it was a good thing she was brought here immediately," Hernández went on. "She was almost in shock. Shock is the thing one must worry about where bullet wounds are concerned."

I nodded. "Can we get in to see her?"

"Of course, of course!" beamed Hernández, turning to Kelly and waving him toward a door down the corridor. "Please to enter."

Kelly opened the door and walked into a large spacious room with a hospital bed in the middle of it. The blinds had been drawn, and a lamp burned beside the bed on a night stand.

Tina Bergson was beautiful even bandaged up in a very elaborate swathe of white linen and covered up to her chest in hospital blankets. Her hair was fluffed out over the pillow — a halo of spun gold.

She had her eyes closed when we came in, but she opened them as we stared down at her.

Her glance sought me out. "Mr. Peabody," she said.

I nodded. "I'm glad to see you looking so well."

She tried to smile. "It was… it was…" And tears came to her eyes.

I moved over toward her. "Tina, it was a terrifying thing. Did you want to tell me something?"

Her voice was a whisper. "I am so ashamed. I…" She looked around at us pleadingly.

I turned. "All right. Clear the room. She wants to talk to me alone."

Juana straightened.
"And
me."

Our glances locked. "You stay, Juana. The rest of you — out!"

Hernández and Kelly obediently left the room with the white-uniformed woman.

I took Tina s hand. "What is it, Tina? What are you ashamed of?"

She turned her face away from mine. "The trickery," she said. "The game we played."

"Game?" I heard Juana's voice harsh and flat.

"Yes," said Tina nervously.

"Tell us about the game," I ordered her.

"It was Rico's idea. I mean, he was frightened and he knew that someone might be trying to kill him"

"How did he know?"

"It has been tried before."