Operation Breakthrough (16 page)

“I’ve been meaning to ask you ever since the first night I was here,” I said. “When you and Candy were on the wrestling mat, I recognized the judo, but what is this
gung fu?”

“It’s not meant for an exhibition or a contest,” Chen Yi said. “It’s intended to cripple or kill. It’s difficult to practice for that reason. I learned it from my brothers whom my father had instructed as children.” She walked to the door at the head of the stairs, and I followed. “I should be back in an hour,” she said.

I threw the bar over on the door, then went into the bedroom, and woke Hazel. That Amazon sat up and sleepily knuckled her eyes. “Where’s Chen Yi?” she asked.

“Out marketing. And I’m going over to the hotel to get our bags transferred. Come on out here with me. I want to show you how this door works.”

Hazel padded after me to the head of the stairs, her full-fleshed nudity almost distracting me from my purpose. I demonstrated the swing-over movement of the bar which lodged its business end in a steel-lined slot deep in the wall, then pointed out the one-way glass which permitted a view of whoever was standing on the other side of the door. “Don’t open it for anyone but Chen Yi or me,” I warned Hazel. “I won’t be long.”

I opened the door and started down the stairs before she could ask questions. I stood near the top until I heard the snick of the locking bar, then waved to the one-way glass, and finished the descent.

There was no problem at the hotel. “My wife and I are under doctor’s orders to receive deep massage for our arthritic problems,” I said casually to the desk clerk while he was making out the bill. It was probably wasted effort, since he didn’t appear to be listening. I accepted my change, tipped the bell captain who was going to handle the transfer, and walked from Paradise Island back across the bridge to downtown Nassau.

I was tempted to walk past the detention cells on Cartwright Street to look for possible problems there, but I decided to wait until Chen Yi had made her report. If Erikson had been moved elsewhere for any reason, I’d have to start from scratch again.

I took a zigzag route back to Eurydice Street, checking out construction jobs in the area. To free Karl Erikson, I needed tools and explosives, and the easiest place — perhaps the only place on this small island — to come by the proper kinds of both at the same spot would be at a construction site.

I had seen three construction jobs on Paradise Island, at least one of which was a hotel, but none had had a red-flagged explosives shack near their locked tool sheds. And something closer to Candy’s apartment would be much better since I’d have to tote the stuff myself.

There was plenty of construction going on in the Rawson Square area but again no explosives shacks. Evidently the island’s substance below ground level didn’t require much blasting. I was going to have to cast my nets a little wider to come up with something suitable.

Chen Yi and Hazel both answered the door at the apartment when I rang. They were in identical Chinese costume again, and Chen Yi had been attempting to put Hazel’s hair up in the same graceful, fanlike style I had always seen Chen Yi wearing, except during her wrestling mat practice with Candy. At that time her long hair had streamed down her back.

“My hair is too short,” Hazel lamented. “I’m going to have to grow it longer to wear it like Chen Yi does. Don’t you think it would be sensational?”

“I think it’s pretty damn sensational the way it is, baby.”

“A master of the soft answer,” Chen Yi smiled. She led the way into the Incense Room, and we all sat down on the low divans circling it. Hazel and I were together on one divan, Chen Yi across from us. She crossed her arms and rested each palm flat on the opposite thigh, looking like a statue in a Chinese pagoda. “I’m afraid what I learned isn’t going to be of too much help,” she said, coming directly to the point.

“What’s the trouble?”

“There are two Americans being held at Cartwright Street. They are in cells three and four, they are not tourists or seamen, and they have not been officially charged yet, so there is no other information.”

“It’s funny my partner hasn’t been charged yet,” I commented. “Although some jurisdictions like to check out the identity first.” And they’d have a fine time trying to check out Karl Erikson’s. “But I see what you mean. With no charge on the books you weren’t able to find out if either of the men being held is my partner.”

“That is correct,” Chen Yi agreed. “And my informant had seen neither.”

“Have you ever seen the inside of the detention setup at Cartwright Street, Chen Yi?”

She nodded. “Once I bailed Candy out after a gambling inquiry — ” she smiled briefly “ — what you call a raid.”

“Do you remember the arrangement of the cells?”

“Surely. They are in a long line against the back wall of the building.”

“That’s the best news I’ve had today.” If I could just find out which cell held Erikson and its position in relation to the back of the building, I doubted that I’d have too much trouble getting him out of it when the time came. “What about the boat to get him away from here?”

“A man is coming to see me here tonight. You can decide if he’s suitable.”

“We’re rolling,” I said and stood up and stretched. “I’m going to flake out for a bit.” I didn’t say so, but I knew I had a busy evening coming up. “Wake me at four, will you?” I said to Hazel.

“Do you want lunch now?” she asked.

“When I get up,” I decided. I went into the bedroom, leaving the two women together. I took off my shoes and my jacket and stretched out on the bed. I didn’t really expect to fall asleep, but I did.

I woke with a start to find Hazel shaking me. I had a knot on my arm where I’d slept on my shoulder holster. “It’s four o’clock,” she said. “Chen Yi is back from the hospital.”

“How’s Candy coming along?” I asked before I remembered that Hazel wasn’t supposed to know anything about Candy.

“Improving,” Hazel said. She sat down on the edge of the bed. “You didn’t tell me the syndicate had put Candy in the hospital, Earl. No, don’t blame Chen Yi. All she told me at first was that she had to go out for awhile, but the moment I saw the pains she was taking in dressing herself, I knew. I’d thought from the beginning that it was curious that Candy wasn’t here, so I wormed the truth out of her.”

I really didn’t blame Chen Yi; I’d had personal experience with that suction pump of Hazel’s once she had it working. And Chen Yi’s openness with Hazel was just another indication of their quick recognition of each other as basically the same sort of people. “I’m glad to hear he’s coming along,” I said.

“This is really dangerous, isn’t it, Earl?” Hazel continued. She spoke quietly, but she placed her hand on mine. “I’m just beginning to appreciate the danger.”

“I’d call it more complicated than dangerous,” I objected. “Diddling both the syndicate boys and the local police could get a bit involved, but I hope to make it a hit-and-run job that will have us all out of here before anyone realizes what’s going on. There’s nothing — ”

There was a tap on the bedroom door. “Come in, Chen Yi,” Hazel said.

The Chinese girl came into the room. “I asked Candy how he sized up your partner’s position,” she said gravely to me. “He felt that it was only a question of time before the syndicate reached him. He believed that the only reason they hadn’t already was because they hesitated to create an overt incident which would turn the heat on them locally.” She paused. “I thought you’d want to know.”

“Thanks,” I said, sitting up on the bed and feeling for my shoes with my toes. I pulled them on and laced them. “This job will be a piece of cake compared to some,” I continued as much for effect upon Hazel as Chen Yi. “I’m going out for half an hour, so how about postponing that lunch till I get back?”

“I’ll have it ready,” Hazel said. Her big arms wrapped around me as I reached for my jacket. “Please be careful. Please?”

“You know it, Sugarfoot.”

I left the apartment.

What I had in mind was a quick trip to Cartwright Street to look over the jail building in daylight. I’d already decided after hearing Chen Yi’s transmission of Candy’s estimate of the situation that if I ran into no unusual problems on this scouting expedition and on the project I planned for later tonight, I’d tell Chen Yi to have her boatman stand by for tomorrow night. In view of what Candy had said, it could be dangerous to string it out.

Cartwright Street dozed gently in the Bahamian sunlight. By US standards the jail building was almost indistinguishable from its neighbors, but I recognized it from Candy’s description. From the front it could have been anything: doctor’s office, lawyer’s, architect’s. Whatever the original color of its bricked-over exterior, it had been roasted to a dull dun color by that constant Bahamian sun.

I turned the corner and walked along one side. In depth the building extended only partway back into the block. A narrow alley ran behind it with a weatherbeaten, six-foot-high board fence separating the building line from the alley. The back of the building was a good dozen feet away from the fence, I noted with satisfaction. It guaranteed sufficient working room.

I strolled through the alley. Through a knothole I could see barred windows, the bottom edges of which were at least six feet above the ground. My view was so fuzzy I couldn’t get a real sense of the building’s construction. There didn’t appear to be any glass in the windows. The even-tempered Bahamian climate probably precluded the necessity and provided for whatever ventilation was needed inside.

I straightened up from the knothole and looked around me. There was no one in the alley except me. There was no noise in the neighborhood. I took two running strides, grabbed the top of the fence in both hands, and swung myself over it.

I landed in soft sand and knee-deep bunch grass. There was still no sound. I scrambled erect and quickly approached the building, flattening myself against it so I couldn’t be seen from inside. The first close-up look at the hoked-up masonry construction convinced me that the only problem in blasting Erikson out of there would be to fashion a charge minimal enough that it wouldn’t flatten the building and everyone in it. Except for the bars it looked as though a little solid heel-and-toe work would have been sufficient.

I studied the barred windows. Which of them was Karl Erikson behind? Chen Yi had said the two Americans were in cells three and four. No matter whether the cells were numbered from left to right or from right to left, cells three and four were the two middle cells in the six-cell lineup. But which one was Erikson in? I wasn’t going to get two chances when it came time to lower the boom.

I backed away from the building into the shade of the fence. The accumulated building heat must have made the jail’s interior almost intolerable. When I put a hand on the fence, I noticed a loose board almost ready to come off. I moved a couple of feet away, pulled myself up to the top of it, balanced precariously, then slowly straightened up. I was almost at the same level as the barred windows.

“I say theah!” The sound of the indignant voice almost shocked me off the fence. “You’re not permitted up theah, you know!”

I focused on a black face in a uniform inside the fourth cell from the right. The jailer had a tray of food in his hands, and he was looking out through the bars at me. More important, though, over his shoulder I saw a shock of blond hair that could only belong to Karl Erikson.

I dropped down from the fence to the dusty alley, then walked rapidly up the alley and around the corner and around the next two corners before slowing down. My heartbeat gradually slowed down from its adrenalin-paced thumping. Despite the scare the mission had been successful.

If I had any decent sort of luck tonight in seeking the material I needed, and if Chen Yi’s boatman measured up at all, we were getting close to the critical moment.

I walked back to Candy’s apartment in a much better frame of mind.

H
AZEL
opened the door for me. “How did it go?” she asked.

“Fine. He’s still there.”

She led the way into the kitchen. Chen Yi was pouring fresh-brewed tea over a jam of ice in tall glasses. Hazel went to the stove and began dishing up something I couldn’t identify but which smelled delicious. “Guess what Chen Yi and I have been doing?” she said.

“What?”

“Exchanging tricks.”

“In bed?” I said, pretending to be shocked.

Hazel and Chen Yi both laughed. “Don’t be giving us ideas,” Hazel replied. “No, she was showing me a couple of her
gung fu
tactics.” Hazel shook her head. “Real cripplers.”

“And you were showing her?”

“My roll-of-nickels-in-the-handkerchief gimmick.”

I knew the gimmick. Hazel always carried a roll of nickels loosely wrapped in a handkerchief in a separate compartment of her handbag. She can get it out with the handkerchief draped to conceal the roll and to protect her knuckles as fast as I can draw my gun, and with the weight of her healthy hundred-fifty-pounds behind a smash to the jaw she generates about four less horsepower than it takes to drop a steer. “So what did you finally decide?” I asked.

“We each still like our own.” Hazel motioned to the table. “Sit down. We’ve eaten already.”

I pulled a chair up to the table and dumped two teaspoons of sugar into my tea and churned the ice around with a tall spoon until moisture dotted the sides of the glass. Hazel and Chen Yi sat down at the table, too. I glanced at Chen Yi who sat pensively with her beautiful face cupped in the joined palms of her hands. “If your boatman measures up, we’re in good shape,” I told her between bites of a spicy mixture of meat and vegetables.

“Why don’t I call him now so you can speak to him and reassure yourself on that point?” she asked.

“I’d rather meet him personally than speak to him on the phone,” I said. “Is it safe for him to come here, or should I meet him somewhere else?”

“There’s no reason why it shouldn’t be here,” she replied. “He visits Candy occasionally.” She rose to her feet. “I’ll call him now and ask him to come. He’s Australian, not young, but Candy says he’s reliable.” She started toward the telephone in the hallway. “His name is Hurricane Ronnie,” she called back over her shoulder.

Hazel was smiling when she looked at me. “With a name like Hurricane Ronnie what more do you need to know about him?”

“Chen Yi said he’s not young,” I pointed out. “I’d like to make sure he’s not covered with barnacles.”

She placed her hand on top of mine with a sigh. “All this seems so — so unreal. I still can’t picture Karl Erikson cooped up in a jail cell.”

“He’s there all right. At least I’m sure now that he hasn’t been shipped out to a penal camp on Dry Tortugas.” I thought about it for a minute. “What I don’t understand is why he’s still there at all, unless my original hunch is correct and nobody knows he’s in trouble. With the connections he has in Washington, if anyone knew he was there, I just have to think he’d have been out of there before now, either by the front or back door.”

“But didn’t you say that on every job you’ve done with him he made a point of telling you that you were strictly on your own and couldn’t look for help if anything went wrong?” Hazel said in a questioning tone.

“That’s part of the drill, Hazel. And behind the Iron Curtain it might hold good, although even then with limitations. But with a friendly power involved things can be arranged.”

“What kind of things?”

“Requests at high levels, a bit of financial pressure, an offer of tit for tat. That sort of thing. It’s more true of us than it is of the Europeans. They have a much longer history of professionalism than we do. But even that’s changing. Captured spies are swapped now. Look at England’s swap of Gordon Lonsdale for Greville Wynne. A very bad bargain on their part. Almost as bad as some of the exchanges we’ve made in handing over top flight professionals for comparatively valueless agents.”

I took a long swallow from my glass, letting the clear ice cubes slide down and press their cold wetness against my upper lip. “There’s usually not much publicity about it, but look at the way this country operates. The US of A, I mean. Agencies bend over backward to rescue an individual. Quietly of course, except in wartime. Then miles of ocean or of jungle are combed to find a downed flyer.”

“But Karl is still in jail here,” Hazel commented.

“Because they don’t know he’s here. Or because the wheels are turning beneath the surface. If it wasn’t for the syndicate involvement, he’d be having the equivalent of a rest cure.”

Chen Yi reentered the kitchen as I was cleaning up my plate. “He will be here in an hour,” she promised.

“Good. Where’s our cigarettes, Hazel?”

“In the bedroom.” She followed me there. “What happens after you get Karl out?” she asked me.

“Thanks for the positive statement. What happens with us, you mean? We’ll just take off like the nice little tourists we are. We’ll take the first plane out of here to a nice quiet spot and sit back for a couple of weeks and relax and enjoy ourselves. Erikson will have to go to Washington, and I wish him luck there. I’m going to do him this one favor for old time’s sake and because he once fished you out of the drink at a critical moment. But from now on I hope our only contact is via Christmas card every fifth year.”

Hazel removed from my hand the cigarette I’d taken from the pack on the dresser. Then she slowly unbuttoned the top three buttons on my shirt. “Chen Yi said he wouldn’t be here for an hour,” she murmured.

I removed my shoulder holster so she could take off my shirt. She unbelted my trousers and lowered them, then peeled down my shorts. I sat down on the bed and took off my shoes while Hazel stripped in swirling flashes of color in which pale, silky white came more and more to predominate. She joined me on the bed.

A friend told me once that the best piece he ever had in his life was ten minutes after he got out of a jam so bad he should never have walked away alive. He had a theory that the survival of danger or the anticipation of danger turned on a man’s adrenalin. He could have been right. The little scare I’d had at the jail building and/or the thought of acquiring the materials that night that I needed for the jailbreak seemed to have perked mine up. Hazel had no difficulty in turning it to her immediate advantage.

We rolled together on the bed and fitted ourselves into the intricate but natural groove. I had a bigger head of steam up than I thought, even; I pounded her until I thought my eyeballs would fall out. Beneath me Hazel vocalized in wordless rivulets of sound. Her big arms held me so tightly that we were riveted together chest to chest. We came down the stretch together stride for stride and tripped the photo-finish electric beam in a near dead heat.

I must have fallen asleep afterward, because the next thing I knew Hazel was shaking me. “Hurricane Ronnie is here,” she said. She was dressed again.

“How does he look?” I asked as I scrambled into my clothes.

“Wait till you see him,” she said, and that was all I could get out of her. She patted my arm when I finished dressing. “You’re not in such bad shape for a rather elderly sex maniac,” she said.

I pinched her where she wouldn’t show it in Sunday school. “You should have had it when it was good,” I told her. We both smiled. She knew she’d had it when it was at its best.

I picked up my holster automatically, then dropped it on the bed. Then I changed my mind, picked it up again, and slipped into it. This Australian boat captain was a critical piece in the puzzle. If he was going to back off at the sight of a .38 in a shoulder holster, it was a lot better to have him do it right now.

We went into the Incense Room. Chen Yi was sitting on a divan with the room’s only other occupant, and for a second I thought the two women were putting me on. The man with Chen Yi must have been on the far side of fifty, but it was hard to be sure because a great mop of thick gray hair came to his shoulders and a Moses-type beard concealed most of his face. A long, narrow nose peered forth from the aurora of hairy growth, and above the nose very light blue, mischievous eyes gave the first indication there might be more to the package than appearances indicated.

Appearance certainly didn’t indicate much. Hurricane Ronnie was attired in a short-sleeved, red-and-white, horizontally striped jersey and white duck trousers cut off raggedly just below the knees. The white ducks were supported precariously by a multicolored scarf that served as a belt. Thin, bare arms and legs were mahogany brown from constant exposure to the tropical sun. They were also corded with lean muscles that hinted at wiry strength. The leather sandals he wore were so nearly the color of his suntanned feet that at first I thought he was barefoot.

He rose from the divan with hand extended. I felt the rasp of dry callouses against my palm. “Cap’n Ronald Firbank at y’r service, myte,” he said in a scratchy voice with a pronounced Anglo-Australian accent. “Nymed for the bleedin’ novelist, no less, by a soft-in-the-'ead mother. I understand, guv’nor, you’ve a need for quick and quiet transport. I’ve a bloody fine crawft to place at your disposal if we caun reach a satisfact’ry agreement.”

He was still holding my hand, and his little birdlike eyes were fixed upon my shoulder holster. “I see you don’t wear that for show, myte,” he continued.

“You haven’t seen the gun,” I countered, “so how do you know it’s not for show?”

“I’ve no need to see the gun,” he declared, finally dropping my hand. “I can see the sweat stains an’ creases which tell an hinterested observer like meself that you wear the thing like your own bloody pelt.” The facial hair parted amidships to reveal stained yellow teeth in a surprisingly small-boyish smile. “So what’s the caper, guv’nor?”

There was no sense in holding back. “I’m going to take an inmate out of the back end of the jail here tonight, and you’re going to transfer him on your boat to a nearby island with an airstrip.”

The blue eyes were unwavering. “A hinterestin’ proposition, guv’nor. A damned hinterestin’ proposition. I don’t mind tellin’ you strictly man to man that I’ve spent a few short periods in that same jyle as a unwillin’ guest of the Hestablishment, an’ it’d give me aright fair amount o’ pleasure to put a fly in their dish o’ marmalade.”

Behind the Australian Chen Yi and Hazel were nodding their heads in identical fashion. Evidently Hurricane Ronnie had earned the feminine seal of approval. And I had long ago learned to trust Hazel’s intuition more than my own. “What kind of boat do you have available?”

“Eight ton o’ solid oak, guv’nor. No yacht, y’ unnerstand. She was a two-sticker once, but I lost one in a storm when I was playin’ mailboat after the guv’ment boat refused to try it. She’s a jury-rigged jib an’ mains’l job now but with a reliable auxiliary. She’ll still do twelve knots anywhere in the Islands from West End on Grand Bahama to Matthew Town on Great Inagua.”

“Where would you suggest taking him?”

“Eleuthera,” he said confidently. “There’s an airport has commercial flights at its north end, an’ if the gold’s available, I shouldn’t wonder he could charter if necessary.”

“And the price?” He looked at me. “Your price?”

“Well, now we’re gettin’ down t’ the meat of’t.” The blue eyes closed while Hurricane Ronnie cogitated. “Considerin’ the circumstances, guv’nor, I’d say five hundred for the ship rental an’ five hundred for the passenger.”

“Does that include your help behind the jail if I should happen to need it?”

“That’s the package.” Hurricane Ronnie winked. “Tell you the truth, if I was sure of gettin’ in a tug or two there where the hair was a bit short, I’d be tempted to cut m’ price a little.”

Hazel handed me her handbag while the stringy little boatman looked at her with approval. I counted out two stacks of money on the low coffee table. “Here’s five hundred for the boat. The other five hundred you collect from Chen Yi after delivering the passenger.”

“Fair enough, guv’nor. Couldn’t be fairer.” He picked up one stack of bills and stuffed them into a pocket of the ragged white ducks.

“Now what about a plan? Where will you be moored?”

“Let’s tyke first things first, guv’nor,” Hurricane Ronnie replied. The feel of the money in his pocket seemed to have put him in an expansive mood. “First dog out o’ the box, there’s but one proper time to jerk your man out. Not before 2:00
A.M
. an’ not later than 2:30.”

“That’s a tight schedule,” I objected.

He nodded, bushy whiskers bristling. “But a reasonable one, myte. That’s the hour the night shift bobbies tyke their tea. Things ‘re a bit higgledy-piggledy around the jyle durin’ that interval. Oh, the bobbies’ll react, all right, but shall we say not with bags of enthusiasm?”

“And then?”

“Whuff-whuff t’ the good ship
Matilda.”

“At the marina?”

“Not at the marina, guv’nor. For the short tyme we’ll need to be there I’ll tie up at the out end o’ pier nine, right next t’ the wharf where the Commonwealth Fuel an’ Petroleum Warehouse stands. There’s no tankers or freighters due in for three dyes, an’ the only crawft along that section of pier ‘ll be the tug an’ barge that hauls petrol an’ lubricants to the Out Islands. There’ll be plenty o’ room for me to slip the
Matilda
in, an’ it’ll be the last place the jolly old police ‘d think of lookin’ for a fishin’ smack.”

“How far from the jail to pier nine?”

“Seven or eight minutes by car. Ten at the most.” Hurricane Ronnie looked at me quizzically. “You do ‘ave a car, myte? You’ve bloody well got to ‘ave one to swing the deal. No hother way we could move fast enough.”

I looked at the silent Chen Yi. “How did he get here?”

“He has a truck,” she said. “Not of much worth.”

I returned my attention to the little boat captain. “So it seems I have transportation.”

“For a slight hadditional consideration,” he agreed amiably.

I counted out another thousand dollars and again split it into two piles. A calloused hand picked up one pile and stuffed it away with the first bundle. “Leave the truck here when you go,” I told him. I’d have need of it soon. The truck was a real windfall. “Off the street somewhere. Where can he park it, Chen Yi?”