Delta Factor, The Read online

  “I am not!” she exploded.

  “Knock it off. You’ll do what I tell you to. This is supposed to be a honeymoon and newlyweds don’t go prancing off all the time. There are other things expected of them.”

  “But . . .”

  “I’m taking another exit out. Nobody will see me go out or come back. If anyone checks this room I want somebody here. If they ask for me, tell them I’m indisposed.”

  Her expression was a little too calculating. “Don’t try taking a powder, Morgan.”

  I slammed the suitcase shut and stood up. Before she could protest I had her in my arms and tilted her face up with my fingers and kissed the end of her nose. “With a bride like you waiting for me? Hell, I’m looking forward to my husbandly due.”

  A call to Angelo brought us two magnums of champagne and an oversize plate of canapés to precede the supper I ordered. If there was a watch on our activities the indications would be that we’d be spending the rest of the night in the room behaving as a honeymooning couple should.

  Without asking questions, Angelo described the way to get out the back entrance with the least risk of being seen. It involved a circuitous route used only by the hotel engineer and maintenance personnel, ending with an exit through the building that housed the central air-conditioning unit.

  A foxy little smile creased his face when he finished and he added matter-of-factly, “You are here for something good, senor. That is so.”

  “Don’t make me admit it.” I grinned at him. “I have a reputation to protect.”

  “Yes, I know of that. It is more that I can sense a person’s motives. Perhaps because I am of no consequence people pay no attention to a bellboy. I can study them at my leisure and understand their compulsions. I have reason to hate many people, señor. In Nuevo Cádiz I have opportunity to see and study the most extreme types.”

  I looked at him a little surprised. “Coming from a bellhop . . .”

  “A university-graduate bellhop, senor,” he said simply. “Student of political science. Someday, perhaps . . .” and he let it drop there.

  I nodded. He didn’t have to say any more. Angelo was one of the little ones held in readiness. Carlos Ortega was grossly underrating his opposition. He waved off the bill I offered him and left with a polite little bow.

  Kim’s voice had no trace of antagonism in it when she said. “You have the touch, Morgan. How do you reach those types?”

  “Why?”

  “Because they trust you.”

  “Don’t you?”

  She looked at me a moment, her face bland. “I have to, don’t I?”

  “Not necessarily. Why should you?”

  “That’s what annoys me,” she said. “There’s no patriotism behind your actions. There isn’t even the motivation of having your prison sentence reduced. It’s only a game to you. You’re enjoying yourself. You’re being Morgan the Raider again, spoiling everybody else’s pie. That’s it, isn’t it?”

  I swung around and picked up my jacket. “No.”

  “Then what is it?”

  “If I told you, you wouldn’t believe me.”

  “Try me.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’m the only one who hates you enough to understand it.”

  “Don’t push me, baby.”

  “I’ll push you as far as I want to.”

  “And one day that will be too far for you to reach me,” I said.

  Before she could answer I was out the door, heading for the service exit Angelo had described.

  He had chosen the route well. Only twice did I see anyone, a maid and one of the room-service boys, but neither spotted me and I got into the basement, followed the line of blue lights that barely illuminated the passageway to the outbuilding, felt my way past the humming machinery that threw a waterfall onto the roof overhead and found the door that led outside. It had a one-way latch, so I gimmicked the tongue of the lock with the cover from a matchbook so I could get back in and stepped out into the darkness outside.

  Somehow everything smelled different this night. It was like those other nights overseas a long time ago when the sense of smell had greater implications than the simple tasting of odors. You could smell an abstraction then, a danger that hovered in the air like a live thing. I could smell it now too. It was too nebulous to define, but it was there. It wasn’t as real as those other times, not as sharp or as imminently deadly, but it was waiting like a slow-acting poison and barely discernible.

  I stood in the shadows, watching the other shadows. For thirty minutes I was motionless before I was certain I was alone, then I picked my way into the stream of pedestrian traffic, got off the main street and walked until I spotted a cab disgorging its passengers and waved it down.

  Earlier I had checked the city directory and picked a spot two blocks from Rosa Lee’s house. I gave the driver directions in his own dialect and he made a U-turn and drove off with barely a nod. Ten minutes later he pulled to the curb, took my fare and let me out.

  Her house was a simple frame affair set back in a jumble of weeds that sprouted among the trees, the single lighted window hardly visible from the street. I picked my way up the path, waited until the headlights of an oncoming car had swept by, then climbed the rickety porch and knocked on the door.

  Inside, the light went out before I heard the latch click and the door open. I said, “Hello, Rosa.”

  “Come in, Senor Morgan.”

  She pulled the curtains closed before she turned the light back on and I had a chance to look around. Shoddy as the place was outside, the woman’s touch showed here. Rosa caught my casual glance and said, “We who live here are not permitted many luxuries, señor.”

  “The casino operations should eliminate taxes,” I told her.

  The shrug she gave me matched the cynicism in her voice. “Señor Ortega prefers to keep the people subject to his will. That way his occasional gratuities make him seem like a benevolent person.”

  “You should have done something before this.”

  “Have you noticed the military?” she asked derisively. “They were field hands, the uneducated, criminals. Now they are in positions of authority and carry out Señor Ortega’s orders to the letter. There was a parallel in Germany when Hitler first took over.”

  I nodded. “Yeah.”

  She watched me closely. “Perhaps their time is at hand.”

  “Perhaps,” I said. “Did you contact Art Keefer?”

  “Yes. He will be monitoring the frequency right now. I gave him your message.” She looked at her watch. “I suggest you call him immediately.” She turned on her heel and glanced back over her shoulder. “This way, please.”

  The transmitter was a cleverly contrived affair some master craftsman had built into the hand-hewn beams that supported the old carriage house she referred to as the garage. It was so carefully concealed it would have taken a team of pros a week of working a specific area search pattern to locate it, and even then they’d have to have luck on their side. The manually extended antenna rose through a core in the beam and power was supplied to the unit through the house current. Rosa indicated the four supposedly beatup storage batteries haphazardly scattered around and told me they were on full charge for emergency use in the event of a power failure. Old car parts and a few discarded wheels gave the place an authentic appearance of an unused garage in case of a cursory search.

  I switched the set on, dialed the frequency and turned up the receiver. “No longer than five minutes, señor,” Rosa advised. “The government keeps a full crew monitoring the channels. We can’t afford to have this position triangulated.”

  My hand waved the okay and I fiddled with the dial to break through the static, then picked up Art on the old Kissler code. Rosa listened, a frown on her face, not understanding what I was saying, nor would anybody else, but Art got it, all right.

  “Morgan,” I said.

  “Go ahead, kid.”

  “You reach Jolley in New York?”<
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  “Affirmative,” Art said. “You started something up there. The guy’s shaking in his shoes, but he came through.”

  “What’s the pitch?”

  “All he did was nose around trying to pick up something on Bernice Case and Whitey Tass. Someplace along the line he made inquiries about Gorman Yard and the squeeze started. Joey Jolley recognized it as coming from Whitey Tass and right now he’s ready to cut out. He has something more, but he’s holding out for protection. I had to play it by ear, so I clued him in on how to get to me. If he makes it I’ll hold him here until you can speak to him.”

  “Did he say what he knew?”

  “He hinted at it,” Art told me. “Seems like he knows why Gorman Yard was bumped off.”

  “Damn!” I exploded.

  “He’ll be lucky if he can dodge Whitey Tass. I reached a couple of my own contacts who told me something has Tass excited enough to call in all his troops on this movement. Now, where do I go from here?”

  “Get Jolley and hang onto him,” I said.

  “Will do. Things okay there?”

  I caught Rosa’s signal of tapping her watch impatiently and said, “Shaping up. I’ll call back.”

  “Roger and out,” Art told me and switched off. I cut the power, flipped the dial off the frequency and put everything back the way it was.

  Outside, the smell was just the same. The thing was there. I closed the door and turned around. “Juan Fucilla,” I said.

  “In a few minutes,” she said. “It was difficult, but he will be here.”

  “Sure?”

  “Positive. He smells money.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  Rosa looked at me with a knowing little smile and said, “Money, of course. The love of which is the root of all evil.”

  “Who am I supposed to be?”

  “One of the many persons interested in supplying forbidden items to the inmates of the Rose Castle. It is a flourishing business here, señor.”

  “Anything specific?”

  “The usuaL Tobacco, alcohol, narcotics. The smuggling of messages. It is a, profitable arrangement for the guards.”

  “If they’re caught?”

  “Nobody bothers to investigate. It is the accepted way of things. Corruption breeds corruption. Since everyone is involved it is unlikely that they are interested in upsetting the system.” She glanced impatiently at her watch again. “He is due here momentarily.”

  As if on cue, a heavy hand banged on the door. Once again, Rosa doused the lights, admitted her visitor and turned the lights back on again.

  Juan Fucilla was a short, swarthy man in his late forties, with a shifty, predatory expression creased into the folds of flesh around his eyes. There was a touch of official impertinence in the way he acknowledged the introduction and slid into a chair. He pulled a silver case from his pocket, studiously ignored me and poked a vicious-looking black cigar between his thin lips and lit the end of it.

  “Now, señor,” he said, “Rosa tells me you have business to discuss.”

  I let a good ten seconds pass before I answered him so he’d get the message. At the end of it he licked his lips nervously and fidgeted with the cigar. I said, “If I have to go over your head, forget it.”

  His smile of assurance was as quick as it was phony. “You have to look no further, senor. I can make all arrangements....”

  “What’s the bite?”

  He started an eloquent shrug but I cut him off. “Don’t give me any crap, buddy. I’m not here to dicker. Just lay it on the line. If I like it, maybe I’ll go for it. If not ... there are other ways.”

  My tone wiped the indignation out of his voice. He shrugged again, this time with resignation. “Usually it is fifty-fifty, señor. . . .”

  “But this time it will be sixty-forty with me on the big end.”

  “But señor . . .”

  “When I take the risks I get the big chunk. Once the deal is made and anybody tries to pat me down I guarantee they get hurt. This isn’t amateur night. Now, do we take it from there?”

  Fucilla grunted through his cigar smoke and nodded. “You drive a hard bargain, but perhaps it can be a profitable one after all.” He looked at me through narrow eyes. “You can supply what is necessary?”

  “Anything,” I told him. “What’s in demand?”

  “At the moment there is a shortage in certain ... narcotics. Other markets bring higher prices, so naturally there is a shortage here. If you can arrange ...”

  “Where does the money come from?”

  His fake smile held a lot of meaning. “Most of those in the Rose Castle are political prisoners, señor. Naturally, they come from families of wealth who have since left for other areas. However, they do pay for ... shall we say, requirements of those who were left behind?”

  “The picture’s clear. One more thing. How were they addicted?”

  He didn’t try to shake it off. He gave another of those shrugs and said, “As usual. They believed medicine was being administered. It is necessary to keep them so from becoming politically active again.”

  “Okay,” I said. “Now give me a rundown on the clientele and the distribution.”

  He didn’t bother to analyze my question. Instead, he simply rattled off names that didn’t mean anything to me until he included Victor Sable, told me that distribution was taken care of by the guards, the payoff going to the ranking officers, with the biggest cut reserved for Russo Sabin. Payment would be made on delivery of the shipment, with collections going through Russo’s office well screened by a lot of paperwork. No questions would be asked and for agenting the deal Fucilla got 5 percent of my end.

  I took my time before I said, “The cut’s steep enough. It’s easy to see why you have a shortage of the stuff here. Not many other guys would want to buy in on the deal.”

  His little eyes glinted at me. “Not unless they have a rather unusual source of supply.” His fingers stroked the cigar and spun it around between his lips again. “Perhaps you do.”

  “I wouldn’t be a bit surprised.”

  “Ah, then we can do business,” he said pleasantly.

  “Maybe.”

  “There is something else?”

  I nodded. “I don’t like setting myself up for a target. If there’s money behind those guys in the Castle and one. of them kicks off, there’s enough money to buy me a casket. Hot-tempered Latin types with close family ties hold a grudge a long time. They could buy my name and get me picked off and that I don’t like.”

  Fucilla frowned, watching me closely. “So?”

  “So I want to see those clients personally. Healthy addicts I can supply. If they’re ready to kick off, forget it.”

  “I can assure you ...” he bristled.

  “Balls,” I said. “I see it for myself or it’s no deal. I can make out someplace else. It happens that I’m here and I can clear a nice profit, but I want to live to spend it. Dodging some contract killer those families could hire isn’t up my alley.”

  Fucilla thought it over a moment, then bobbed his head. “In that case, we would demand assurances too.”

  “Like what?”

  “Your ability to deliver and the quality of your merchandise.”

  “Fine,” I told him. “You’ll get a sample to analyze with a full shipment available immediately after I see who’s getting it.” I paused, then: “Now, do I import openly or use my own methods?”

  His smile had a little humor in it. “I suggest, señor, that you adopt your own ways. Our present government must put on a front, so to speak; therefore they are against the traffic in narcotics and will not hesitate to confiscate what they find for the sake of publicity. However, I can mention that they are most lenient in their approach to prevention of such events.”

  “I take my chances, is that it?”

  His shrug was eloquent. “We all take our chances, señor.” Then he added brightly, “But we are all alive, no?”

  “For now,” I said. />
  “Very well. When shall we ... how do you say it? Get together?”

  “I’ll need two days.”

  “And the contact point?”

  “The bar at the Regis Hotel.”

  He nodded, then let his eyes drift toward Rosa Lee. “Promptly at six. I go on duty an hour later. And her?”

  “I’ll pay her a finder’s fee myself. She’s not on percentage. ”

  “Ah, very good,” He got up, his official arrogance back once again, bowed curtly to Rosa and shook my hand with a quick limp motion. “It has been a pleasure, señor.”

  Rosa darkened the house again, let Fucilla out and stood at the window watching him disappear into the night. Without turning around she said, “You are doing a dangerous thing, Señor Morgan. They will be expecting a delivery.”

  “They’ll get it.”

  She turned slowly and her face was a pale oval in the gloom. “Morgan . . .” This time her tone had changed and I knew why.

  I said, “Only the sample, Rosa. It’s my way into the Castle. Like you said ... the smell of money. They’ll do anything for it.”

  “And by this means, you will be able to extricate Victor Sable from the prison?”

  “I hope so.”

  “Can I be of further help?”

  “Yes. Contact Art Keefer and tell him his friend needs a pat on the back.”

  “But . . .”

  “He’ll understand. It means two ounces of pure heroin. We called it that when we used it for currency in some strange places in the old days.”

  I saw the outline of her smile. “You are a very odd person, Senor Morgan.” She walked up to me and I could smell the wild, flowery perfume that was like a part of her. Very gently she placed both hands on my chest. “Someday I would like to know you much better.”

  “Maybe ...” Then I stopped because her hands moved quickly and did something so unexpected it stopped the words in my throat. Her face blurred as it tilted up to me, the gentle movement of her fingers a jarring sensation. It wasn’t a kiss, just a momentary dart of her tongue before I could move, then she stepped back.