The Intimidators (20 page)

I reached for some garments I’d mislaid. I said, “Nobody’s going to think that until you at least put your shirt on, doll.”

“Oh, stop it!” she said irritably. “You’re not all that virile. At the moment, I’m sure you don’t give a damn whether I’m nude or wearing overalls. Why pretend?”

“Okay, I’ll stop,” I said, “when you stop pretending you’re totally unaware that you’re standing there raw and there’s a man watching you who’s just made love to you.”

After a moment, she laughed, and turned at last to look at me. “All right, darling, that’s a point for you. Toss me that stuff on the floor, will you, and then go make us another drink while I put myself back together....”

When I came from the kitchenette with two reloaded glasses, she was sitting on the edge of the sofa, fully dressed once more, combing her hair. She put the comb away in her purse, took the glass I offered her, and patted the space beside her.

“Games!” she said bitterly as I sat down. “That man’s playing games, and you’re playing games, and maybe I’m playing games, too, but I’m tired of it. Can we stop it? Who’s first? Who grits the teeth and makes with the truth for a change?” When I didn’t speak at once, she said, “All right, I’ll start. It’s a deep, dark plot and you’re the plot-tee. Well, you and a man named Minsk, but you took care of him, so now there’s just you.”

“Who are the plotters?” I asked. “Besides you, I mean.”

“You know who they are. They’re some folks who’ve got word from a long ways off that people there, important people, are tired of keeping a dossier on a skinny gent named Helm. He’s taking up too much space in the files. They want to be able to pull the folder and stamp it TERMINATED. Well, there was another termination to be attended to simultaneously, as I just said, and that worked fine, but you managed to slip out from under; and you know how bureaucracies are. Even if the job isn’t very important—and I don’t suppose all Moscow is trembling with fear of one Matthew Helm—they can’t afford to admit failure, once they’ve started. So Plan Number Two was put into effect, with me as the bait instead of Minsk. Actually, it’s just a variation of Plan Number One, the only difference being that originally that little bitch, Renee Schneider, was supposed to gain your confidence and, if required, share your bed here in the Keys, while I was to act the dark villainess you were both trying to bring to justice—until she saw a good chance to lower the boom on you. Now, with Renee out of the picture, I take over the glamor spot, persuading you that I’m just a poor misunderstood lady—really a very lovable type—until I can set you up for a quick, clean kill. There! How’s that for letting the hair down, literally as well as figuratively?”

It was fun to watch her work. The theory, of course, was that if she told me how she was planning to kill me, I’d think she was going to stop trying, although that wasn’t what she’d said at all.

I said, “Yes, that’s about the way we had it figured.”

She looked slightly disconcerted. “You did?”

“Why else would you hang around here after the Nassau fiasco, when either of your boats could have had you safe in Cuba in a few hours? Obviously, you were waiting for me. And I’ll admit my instinct was to just let you wait and to hell with you; but the powers that be said otherwise. And of course that’s why you made a point of letting me know—early on, as Pendleton would have said—that poor little Lacey Rockwell, the real Lacey, was being held alive somewhere. If I started getting too tough you could trot her out as a hostage. But I kind of confused you by not getting tough at all, didn’t I? And by springing on you a lot of irrelevant kidnapings you’d had nothing to do with and knew nothing about? But now that you’ve had time to think, and consult with your secret friends, you’ve all realized that I’m playing right into your hands, haven’t you? All you have to do is tell me where these people are that I’m looking for, and be sure there’s a good strong trap awaiting me when I get there. And in the meantime, of course, my suspicions are to be lulled with equal parts of sex and frankness....”

I heard her draw a quick, sharp breath beside me; then she laughed softly. “Oh, dear! When somebody says stop playing games, you really stop, don’t you? Well, all right, it’s your turn. Say we’re going to trap you if we can. What are you going to do about it? Tell the truth now, darling. I did.”

“Do?” I said. “I’m going to do what I came here for, of course. Why else would I visit a dame—even sleep with her—who’s already tried to kill me twice? I’m going to let myself be trapped.”

There was a brief silence. She spoke without looking at me: “You’re still being clever. I’m disappointed in you, Matt. I was honest with you.”

I said, “Hope to die, Hattie, that’s the truth. I’ve got to find these lousy
ricos
who’ve gone and got themselves snatched by a bunch of crackpot revolutionaries fighting among themselves. If I have to stick my neck out to do it, well, so be it.”

“But you’ve got some kind of an ace up your sleeve you’re not telling me about.”

“Sure,” I said. “Don’t you? If you, and your friends, want to see my hold-out cards, and show me yours, tell me where to go. Not some deserted mangrove key off the Cuban coast, but the real hideout inhabited by the real kidnapers, or at least the real kidnapees. And to make sure you’ve gone to the trouble of finding the right place, through your Cuban contacts, and aren’t just exercising your imaginations at my expense, I’d like to see a little something in the kitty. Tell the boys they’re going to have to ante up to see my hand. Let’s say Loretta Phipps. One of the others would do, I suppose, but she’ll get me off the hook with Haseltine, so I’d rather have her.”

“They won’t go for it,” Harriet said. “It’s too simple and straightforward and stupid; they’ll be sure you’re playing an elaborate trick on them.”

I said, “Don’t be silly, of course I’m playing a trick on them. I’m tricking them into giving me what I want, the information I need, the information I can’t get out of Cuba but they can. And, of course, when it comes time to make the payment, my neck, I’m going to do my best to renege on the deal. I’m kind of fond of my neck and I have every intention of keeping it intact if I can. I mean, that’s elementary, doll; they’d know it even if I hadn’t told them. The only confusing element is that in this atmosphere of mutual honesty, I did tell them, through you. But okay, suppose I sweeten the kitty a bit, too. Suppose I throw in Morgan, to match Loretta Phipps. Will they go for it then?”

“You’ve got Morgan?”

“That’s what the man took me outside to tell me,” I said untruthfully, hoping it would become true before I was called on to produce. “That, and a few other things you weren’t supposed to hear.”

She hesitated. “Well, you were more or less right in what you said about Morgan,” she said slowly. “He went completely haywire when that dumb little girl was killed in Nassau. They were kind of worried about his behavior even before he pulled this crazy, pointless murder tonight They may be willing to make some kind of a deal for him, just to get him out of circulation before he makes trouble for everybody. I’ll try it on them, anyway.” She drew a long breath. “I... I hope you know what you’re doing, Matt.”

“Do you?”

She glanced at me sharply, and laughed. “No, I suppose I really don’t. What I really hope is that you’re just a cocky, conceited, secret-agent type who thinks he’s simply too good to be caught in anybody’s traps.”

I said, “Set your deadfall and see, sweetheart. The bait is Loretta Phipps. Show me the blonde and I’ll follow you anywhere.”

Harriet rose and brushed at her skirt and turned to look at me. After a moment, she said: “Matt?”

“Yes?”

“You couldn’t possibly be working on the assumption that I’m the ace up your sleeve, could you? That when the chips are down and your life is really in danger I’ll come through for you because of what we’ve been to each other tonight? You couldn’t be so fatuously stupid, could you?” She smiled thinly. “No, of course not. Stay here. If you get hungry, have your breakfast at the café up by the road and come right back here, so I’ll know where to find you.”

I watched the door close behind her, and grimaced at my reflection in the mirror across the room, because of course I could be just that fatuously stupid. It was, after all, one of the only two real cards I had to play: a woman who hated me, and an explosion that would occur at a certain hour at a certain place, if we could find the place.

It was a bright, sunny, Florida morning with hardly any wind; a good day to go fishing, I reflected. Leaving my cabin, I wondered how the weather was down along the Cuban coast. I wondered where Harriet had got to and what she was doing there, and with whom. I wondered where Morgan was and how soon somebody would spot him for me and how hard he’d be to take. I wondered if the roadside café associated with the resort—the fancier restaurant down by the water was only open evenings—served any food worth eating.

A moment after entering the joint, I spotted my millionaire Texas playmate perched on a stool at the counter just like an ordinary human being. By the time I saw him, it was too late. He’d already seen me. I couldn’t back out quietly and go find a place where I could breakfast undisturbed; besides, Harriet had told me to be here if I wasn’t at my cabin. Haseltine waved me to the stool beside him, with a royal flourish.

“I’ve got the boat you wanted,” he said as I sat down. “She’s over by Key Largo, a thirty-six-foot express cruiser with diesels you wouldn’t believe. The man says she’ll do forty with a light tail wind. She cruises all day at thirty-five, but of course she’s pretty thirsty at that speed. If you slow her down about ten knots, however, she’ll cover four hundred and fifty miles between drinks—just a goddamn floating fuel tank. I have a hunch the designer had a little illegal import-export business in mind when he drew her up. Okay?”

“That’s great, Bill,” I said. “Can you handle her yourself?”

“Handle, sure. In clear weather, in daylight, I might even be able to find Cuba. But when it comes to all that complicated stuff on board—loran, radar, RDF—I’m lost. A compass and depthfinder are about the extent of my instrument education,
amigo.
Sorry.”

“You and me both,” I said. “Well, we’ll have to scrounge up some kind of a navigator.” I hesitated. “Oh, there was a question I wanted to ask you, about Leo Gonzales. Did you ever happen to hear where he was born?”

“Leo?” The big man’s brown eyes had suddenly become less friendly, but his voice remained hearty and cheerful: “Gosh, Matt, I don’t think I ever did hear where that
hombre
came from. Is it important? I can have it checked.... Somebody wants you.”

I looked the way he was looking, and saw the pretty girl from the resort office beckoning me to the door. I told Haseltine I’d be right back, and went over.

“I saw you come in here, Mr. Helm,” she said. “There’s a call for you on the pay phone in the office.”

I walked across the way with her, and went into the booth and closed the door behind me. I picked up the instrument with the kind of tenseness you feel when things are getting ready to break and you can’t help wondering what the hell’s gone wrong, or right.

“Helm, here,” I said.

“Ready for your morning exercise, friend?” It was the Miami contact I’d chatted with before but never met. He went on: “Your longhaired acquaintance with the big, strong, strangling hands has just stolen himself a boat. He’s heading due south into the Atlantic at flank speed, as we say in the Navy. Point of departure, Duck Key, just east of you. He should be passing Sombrero Light off shore just about now, judging by our last helicopter report. The boys are willing to descend and nail him for you, but they insist on the right to shoot back if shot at. This bring-’em-back-alive stuff is not in their line.”

“Choosy chaps, aren’t they?” I said. “Describe the boat.”

“Eighteen feet. Inboard-outboard. White with red trim. One of those snubnosed, tri-hull jobs I wouldn’t want to mess with in a heavy sea—any boat that blunt up front isn’t an open-water craft in my book—but of course he’s got no heavy seas to worry about today. Checking the manufacturer’s specs, we read a top speed in the high thirties with the single outdrive he’s got.”

“Radio?”

“No radio.”

I frowned at the wall of the booth. “What’s ahead of him on his present course?”

“The Gulf Stream. Cay Sal Bank. Cuba, if his fuel holds out, but he’s burning a lot of gas wide open. Chances are he hasn’t got juice enough to get much past Cay Sal, even if he set out with a full tank. He’ll have to start rowing after that, assuming he hasn’t arranged to meet somebody with better transportation. But that’s an assumption I wouldn’t want to bet my life on. He most likely wouldn’t be taking a little open boat straight out to sea if he hadn’t arranged a rendezvous out there, somewhere.”

“It looks as if a fast intercept is called for,” I said. “I’ll see what can be done. Tell your cautious whirlybird friends to keep an eye on him. From a safe distance, of course.”

“Don’t sneer. There’s observation personnel and action personnel. This is a killer we’re dealing with, don’t forget. The boys didn’t sign on to commit suicide.”

“Who did?” I said, and hung up.

Haseltine looked up as I came back into the cafe. “Trouble?” he asked.

I reflected that it was about time for me to turn in my poker face on a new model. Everybody seemed to see through this one.

“Is that boat you’ve chartered ready to go?” I asked. “And how far is it from here?”

“About sixty miles; and they promised to have her fueled and ready this morning, but I’d better call if you want her right away.”

I said, “Never mind, we haven’t got time to drive sixty miles, not to mention getting the boat back here.” I hesitated, thinking hard. If Harriet wanted me, she’d just have to wait. I said, “That’s your car outside, isn’t it? Come on, let’s get down to the marina. Right by the lighthouse....”

Driving down there, I worried about the possibility that Harriet might have taken the big outboard; but both her boats were still there. Well, she probably had a car, although I’d never seen it, at least to know it. I was happy to see that the dockmaster was way out on one of the piers, attending to the wants of a visiting cruiser.