Another bullet had caught him in the temple and blown a large exit hole in the back of his head. The lower part of his face, the mouth and the muscles around it, still seemed incongruously cheerful, as though he had been able to find amusement even in something as serious as death.
FOURTEEN
Three or four miles now separated Shayne from the man with the rifle, but he was not inclined to linger. He heard an automobile motor and drew his gun. He started for the Olds, but before he reached it an old Ford came out of the bend. The driver’s sombrero was tipped far forward. A woman in the front seat beside him held two chickens and the back seat was jammed with children.
The man saw the gun in Shayne’s hand and the Ford jumped forward.
Shayne returned to the ditch. Stooping, he ripped open Rubino’s shirt to look at the chest wound. It had been made by a high-velocity bullet, which had stayed inside the body. The car, the body and the wrecked plane were on a line. Apparently Rubino had parked and gone in to look at the wreck and had been fired on as he returned. The second shot, in the head, had been fired at close range.
The horse was grazing in the weeds near the paved airstrip. There was a routine to be followed in this kind of death, and it was probably much the same in Venezuela as in the United States. But someone else would have to do it for Rubino. Shayne went through his pockets, taking his keys, his wallet, and a bundle of American and Venezuelan bills, undoubtedly the money he had picked up from Frost.
He started the Olds, found the main Valencia-Caracas road, and drove down into the city.
Stopped by a red light, he flicked through Rubino’s wallet and dropped it out of the window after removing the money. The freeway carried him rapidly downtown.
He knew where he was now, but after leaving the freeway he was caught in a one-way pattern that carried him past the turn to police headquarters on Avenida Universidad. He came back and made the turn and then moved in fits and starts as though jockeying for a parking place. He checked the time. An hour and a half had elapsed since he let Rubino overhear him telling Lenore Dante about his plan to smash the guerrilla movement as part of an overall deal with the police. If Rubino had sold this information to the guerrillas, which was likely, they would be waiting here.
Moving into an intersection as the light changed he jammed on his brakes to avoid hitting a young woman who appeared suddenly in front of his bumper. He snapped off the ignition. As he came to a stop a slender dark youth opened the front door and slipped in.
“Turn to the left,” the youth said.
He had a knife at Shayne’s waist. Shayne looked down at the long blade.
“Turn to the left. Anything you say. But I think the damn thing is flooded.”
He went on grinding the starter with the ignition off. Horns were blaring all around them. The policeman at the intersection gestured.
The young man said urgently, “Be careful.”
He slapped Shayne’s hand away from the key and turned it on. The young woman who had got in his way pulled open the door on Shayne’s side and slid in. She had a small. 25 automatic.
“She will drive,” the young man said.
“Hell,” Shayne said with disgust. “What a country. Right in front of the goddamn police station.”
The motor started at once.
“Are you Paula Obregon?” Shayne said.
“Be quiet,” the young man told him.
“This must be one of those MIR operations I’ve heard about. Very slick. I’ve got a gun inside my shirt. Better take it away from me so I won’t be tempted to use it.”
The youth gave him a narrow look. Reaching forward, he found the gun and removed it.
“We are to kill you if you give us trouble.”
“In that case I won’t give you any trouble,” Shayne said, “because I don’t want you to kill me. Nice of you to tell me in advance. Do I talk with you or somebody else?”
“Not with us. There is interest in what you are doing here, and we wish you to discuss it.”
“I’m not arguing.”
They drove for a few blocks in silence. The girl was small and intent, with olive skin, a nicely cut profile, a very good figure in a simple white dress. She had been wearing high heels, but she had kicked them off and was driving barefoot.
The young man said stiffly, “You have just come to Venezuela, I think. I would like to ask you. What do they believe of our movement back in your country-that we are simple puppets of the USSR?”
“You don’t want me to answer that.”
“Yes, I am interested.”
“Nobody’s heard of you.”
The young man drew back slightly. “If you choose to be offensive-”
The girl spoke quickly in Spanish and adjusted the rearview mirror. The young man craned about to look out the back window.
“Cops?” Shayne asked.
“It would seem so. Don’t count on being rescued. They will have to win the argument with us first.”
He brought a long-barreled Luger out of a shoulder holster. The girl veered to the right, accelerating, and put a truck between them and the following car.
“What is it, a Chevvy?” Shayne said. “I had a couple of guys tailing me earlier. It looked like a stock sedan, but I was told it had a beefed-up engine. This Olds is in sorry shape.”
His abductors conferred quickly.
The young man said, “Mr. Shayne, we are going to fool with them a little. Just remain still, take no part. We are quite serious about that. It is life and death.”
“In that case use your head. Your tip came from a guy named Rubino. He called you and said I had some dope on the guerrilla movement and I was going to turn it in. He collected some money from you, probably. Then he saw a chance of collecting again from the cops and he told them to watch out for a kidnapping. But these guys aren’t interested in me, they’re interested in you. They want to find out where you take me.”
“We know that! Please stay quiet.”
“I’m trying to be helpful. If you hope to outrun them, you’d better change cars. You have time. They’re in no hurry to grab you.”
The girl frowned. She waited till she had a free space ahead and tested the acceleration.
“That’s not the problem,” Shayne pointed out. “The front end is out of line.”
“Never mind,” she said grimly, “I heard all about you from Tim Rourke.”
“I thought you must be that girl,” Shayne said approvingly. “I knew she’d have to be terrific, to get him to do anything that dumb.”
She gave her head a quick shake, to show her opinion of compliments. “And one of the things he said about you was that you only fight your way out of something after you’ve made sure you can’t talk your way out.”
“I’m thinking partly about myself,” Shayne said. “If you hit a pole we’ll all go through the windshield.”
“I have no intention of hitting a pole,” she said coldly.
He turned to the young man. “Didn’t you have anybody covering you in another car?”
“No. That would double the risk. Your conversation is disturbing Paula.”
They approached the long Gothic front of the university. Bedsheet banners flew from the windows. There was a heavy concentration of soldiers and police, doing little except lounging around displaying their weapons. The big iron gates into the university grounds were slightly ajar.
The girl tapped her horn and continued past.
“In and out,” Shayne said judiciously. “Yeah, it might work. But when you hit fifty-five watch out for the shimmy.”
She circled a stadium and came back toward the Avenida Las Acacias. Choosing her moment, she shot into
