The Death Dealers (3 page)

“Any b.g. on the guy?”

“Very little. Until now he’s been more like a local chieftain. They have dozens more like him, but he’s got an adviser named Sarim Shey who was educated in London and knows all the ropes and this snake is playing for the highest stakes. What Central is afraid of is one thing ... Sarim Shey is political. When he was a student he tied in with the Commie groups and there’s a strong indication he went the Moscow Institute route too. If that’s the case, he’s strictly leaning toward the Red end.”

“What was Teddy’s assignment?”

“To see if there was an oil reserve that could be developed and act as a buffer if any of the Soviets moved in. Someplace along the line he was spotted. Central thinks he’s dead. They couldn’t afford to let him stay alive.”

“And now I move in,” I said.

Lennie shook his head. “No. You’re to stay here. Our intelligence thinks there will be an attempt to knock off Teish El Abin. He has no heirs as yet although he’s engaged to some young girl named Vey Locca. If he gets killed control will pass into the hands of Sarim Shey and the stuff will hit the fan. He’ll walk off with U.S. loot and practically pass it into the hands of the Soviets. If he makes a deal with our government to experiment with the oil processing, the Reds can simply sit back until it’s done, then walk in with a political coup and take it away. We think Teish will be more inclined to go along with our side. He’s seen some of the Commie infiltration and knows if they get in, his power goes out. He doesn’t like that angle a bit. Trouble is, the Commies can’t hit him without causing one hell of a disturbance over there because Teish is as much a religious leader as he is political. Whatever happens has to appear to be an overt move on the part of the U.S. so the Soviets can step into the protector role.”

“Same old bit.”

“And you’re elected watchdog.”

“What happens to Teddy?”

“Pete Moore has been recalled and is going in on the search.” Lennie reached in his pocket for a cigarette and lit it. “In case you’re wondering why you’re staying on this end ...”

“That’s just what I’m doing,” I interrupted.

“You’ve heard of Malcolm Turos?”

“Number one Commie agent in the Far East?”

“The same, but he’s gained in stature the past year. He heads the
Gaspar Project,
a subdivision of KBD that works only primary targets. He’s been assigned to this one personally. You may not know it, but you ran into him once in Brazil when he used the name Arturo Pensa.”

“Hell, I shot that bastard.”

“Right in the neck. You ruined his beautiful operatic voice.”

“Tough.”

“He used to sing with one of the Russian companies.”

“Now he can do bird calls,” I said. “I thought I killed him.”

Lennie grinned at me. “He wants you, buddy. Word is out he took this job to get over here. He knew about
Skyline
and figured you’d be in on it.”

“I’d enjoy that. This time he’ll stay here.”

“Martin Grady says for you to play this one tight. You’re working against their finest. We’re getting heat from all directions and can’t afford any mistakes. One move in the wrong direction and Washington will have an excuse for an all-out push against us. Some of the heavy stuff we’ve had over important heads has been nullified by removal of parties involved. Even our pressure groups are finding too much resistance. The eggheads don’t like our interference and are fighting to do it their way even if we lose the cold war.”

“I know the picture.”

“Then it’s up to you now. I’ll stand by for instructions, the usual channels are cleared and I have the cash ready if you have to lay it out for anything at all. There’s a reception for Teish El Abin at noon the day he arrives at the Stacy Ballroom, then the parade, key to the city crap, then the next day a trip to Washington. You can make your contacts at your own discretion.”

I nodded, pulled myself out of the chair and stood up. “Okay, Lennie. I’ll file my reports through you. If you have anything new from Central I’m at the Barnes House. I may shift around, but Newark Control will always know where I am.”

“Right.” He got that gleam back in his eyes and added, “If there’s any action ...”

“I know,” I said, “I’ll call you.”

“Thanks, Tiger.” He dropped his grin for a moment and looked at me seriously. “Tell me something, how did you get that name?”

“My old man gave it to me. He thought it was a big joke. I had to fight my way around it since I was three years old.”

“Ever lose?”

“Once. A girl four years old kicked the crap out of me.”

“Oh?”

“When I was twenty-five I met her again.” I grinned at him. “I really got even,” I said.

I went out, closed the door and stood there in the corridor a moment. There was nothing to be funny about, nothing at all. Five thousand miles away one of my own could be dying a slow and painful death. Or be already dead. And I had to play the cool end.

The early A.M. editions of the papers had a few squibs in them about the arrival of the foreign dignitaries. None of the news services had enough information on Teish El Abin to do more than give a sketchy account of the colorful background of the country, Teish’s position in his kingdom’s affairs and its proximity to the major Arabian governments. Each story mentioned his engagement to the younger Vey Locca and his attachment to his chief adviser, Sarim Shey. Only one of the Washington columns hinted at the reason for his visit and even then the supposition was closely guarded in ambiguity.

I put the paper down, showered and got dressed. Down below the hotel the symphony of the city had started with the dawn, garbage cans and sirens announcing a new day. When I reached the street a few drunks were arguing on the comer until a beat cop crossed over and they took off mumbling to themselves. Taxis on the early shift slowed down hopefully at each comer, checking for possibles. Two hours later you’d get a go-by with a growl for trying to flag an occupied, but right now they were on their best behavior. I walked down a way to the Carnegie Deli, got a Danish and the best coffee in New York, then took a dime from my change and got into a pay phone.

Jack Brant was one of the few rugged individualists left. After the war he took a fleet of Cats into Israel, moved on into other areas screaming for development, fought flies, heat, dirt and natives with his team of bulldozers, helped irrigate half the deserts in the world and wound up in Saudi Arabia with an oil company until he got disgusted with the political system, plowed under a couple of gooks who tried to kill him and got out before they could stick his head on a pole in the middle of the street.

I hadn’t seen him for five years and he hadn’t changed a bit. When he answered he said, “What the hell do you want! You know what time it is?”

“Sure.”

One word was enough. He stopped short, said something under his breath, then: “Damn! Tiger! You old son of a sheik! Where the blazes are you?”

“Across the river from you. I didn’t think you’d still be in Brooklyn.”

“Man, they don’t shoot at you over here. Look, what’s going?”

“Need help, buddy.”

“Oh boy.” He laughed then and added, “I’m afraid to ask. The last time you gave me the pitch we mounted fifty-calibers on a Cat and took off after an army. I’m too old for that stuff any more.”

“So I won’t ask.”

“Nuts to you. Where do we meet?”

“How about the Automat on Sixth and Forty-fifth?”

“Give me about an hour and a half.”

“Shake it.”

How do you say hello to an old friend who played guns with you against a common enemy? How do you say hello to a guy ready to go without being asked even if he wasn’t ready any more? You grin, hold out your hand and take it up like there was no time in between the last time and even if the years have left their mark it doesn’t show because you know how the other guy is inside and that’s one thing that never changes.

I had the coffees ready, but like all the heavy equipment men, he wasn’t satisfied until he loaded a tray army style and had it down in front of him. Jack was one guy I could talk to and knew it stopped there. He had seen our operation in action, been part of it twice and knew how we felt. I gave him the details as fast as I could and watched him soak it up, judging each sentence and trying to correlate it with what he knew.

When I finished he sat back, nodded and said, “Where do I fit in?”

“The last time you came back from Saudi you took some of your men with you who begged to get out of there. You smuggled them in, got them new identities and they’re still here. Right?”

Jack nodded, frowning.

“They know the dialect of Selachin?” I asked him.

“Hell yes. They’re all from that area. They cut out of there and went west into Saudi when we moved in to pick up some scratch. The peanuts they earned was like a fortune to them and when they learned about the good old U.S. it was like they were hearing about Mecca. That’s all they ever had on their minds. They broke their backs just to stay with us and when the chips were down they stayed on our side all the way.”

“Good. Think they’d buy into this game?”

“Tiger buddy, if I ask them to jump off the Woolworth Building they’d jump. Now get to the point.”

I nodded, straightened it out in my mind and said, “I want to meet a ship tomorrow. Teish El Abin and his entourage will be on it. We’ll dress those guys in their native costumes, give them the right things to say, and get a first-class introduction to the big chief. Me, I’m going along with them but stay in the background. I’ll be a listener. It’s funny, but go to another country only one day’s flight from your own, meet a country-man and you’d think you were having a reunion with a lifelong friend. Teish will be getting a formal reception and all that routine, but I’d like to be there first with a gimmick before the masks can go on. When can we get with your boys?”

“How about this afternoon?”

“Good deal. I’ll arrange for the outfits, get a pitch ready and they can rehearse all night. I just want it cool, friend. No pushing. That has to look good. They’ll be up against some experts.”

“I wouldn’t worry about these boys. They’ve been around a long while and know the angles. Two of them even finished night school. They’ll go along. Where do we get together?”

I gave him Ernie Bentley’s address in the loft in downtown Manhattan. Ernie was Martin Grady’s expert in special equipment, a graduate engineer and chemist, a hobbyist in explosives and more ingenious than Merlin the Magician. By now Central would have alerted him to the new assignments and he’d be thinking in advance. Twice now, he’d come up with gimmicks that saved my neck and made him purr like a kitten with satisfaction. He’d enjoy playing around with this one.

At eight I walked Jack to the corner, then ambled uptown toward the Taft. There was one funny angle called Lily Tornay that had to be checked out all the way. In the lobby I wrote a note, gave it to the desk clerk and saw what slot he stuffed it in. I waited five minutes, grabbed the elevator and took it up to her floor and tapped on her door.

Then I knew why I had the feeling a pro was back of me the night before. Lily was up and dressed, held the door open, but under the towel over her arm I knew she had the Beretta loaded and cocked even though she thought I was the maid, even though she was smiling, ready for anything, and to show her I was just a little bigger pro than she was, I took it away from her again, eased it closed, flipped out the slugs and shut the door behind me.

I said, “You need some lessons, girl.”

She never lost her smile. “I never thought so until now.” She stepped back, a silent invitation to come in. “What would you have done?”

“Pulled the trigger,” I said.

“And if it were a friend?”

“He should know better than to stand in the way.”

“Can I have the gun back?”

I threw it to her, letting the shells clatter on the floor. “Sure.”

Very deliberately, she picked them up, loaded the Beretta again and made it disappear into her waistband. “Everything I heard about you was true, wasn’t it?”

“You never heard everything, sugar.”

“What was left out?”

“The good parts.” I walked over to the window, yanked the blinds up and stared down at the street. Out of habit I checked the room out while she watched until I came to the dresser, then I knew I found something. The tape recorder was in the bottom drawer inside a simple stationery box, a lead to the mike going over the back of the drawer with the bug hidden behind a front leg. “Careless,” I said.

“Interpol expects all conversations to be recorded if possible when we are on a case.”

“Baloney. Try training your mind. One day you’ll get killed for showing your hand.” I snapped the wire from the bug and put it in her hand. “Maybe Interpol is scratching for help these days.”

She dropped the smile then. It went easy and she was the same Lily I had in the phone booth a few hours back: hard, nasty, proud of what she was doing and thinking she was doing it well.

“What are you trying to prove?”

“Nothing with you, girl. I just have to watch myself when I get involved with overly dedicated personnel. Sit down.”

“Why?”

“You want me to make you lie down? I can talk to you even better then.”

She sat down on the edge of the bed fast, her mouth back in that tight thin line, her eyes watching me closely. “You would, wouldn’t you?”

“Damn right, sugar. I learned how to deal with broads a long time ago. Either they have something to protect or something to give away to make their points. There’s no middle ground. I can play it both ways from the middle with no trouble.” I settled back in the chair and looked at her. “Tell me more about Interpol’s bit with Tedesco.”

“Why?”