“You’ve been talking to Paula, of course. I tore out one page and she used it to motivate your friend, Tim. He seemed to think it was salable. I mailed it to myself at the gallery, airmail special. It’s probably on my desk right now with the rest of the backed-up mail.”
“I’ll take that in lieu of a fee.”
She peered at him, trying to read his expression. “No money? Don’t tell me you’ve finally begun to realize I’m not sitting on a trunkful of gold.”
“If the diary is hot enough I can trade it for Rourke. I don’t think I can buy him out with money.”
“All right, you can have it,” she said decisively. “I had a lot to do with getting him put where he is.”
He heard the blare of a horn from below and reached the window in time to see a police cruiser pull to a stop before the building.
“Mike,” Lenore said beside him, “are they looking for us?”
“I doubt it. I think they’ve found Rubino and they’re going up to check his apartment. Give them a minute to get to the elevator.”
Two policemen got out of the cruiser, and the casual way they were moving confirmed Shayne’s guess that they were homicide men assigned to Rubino’s killing, here on a routine check. He and Lenore left the apartment carefully and took the elevator to the basement. After leaving by a side door, she stayed in the shadows while Shayne walked past the police car. On the outside it was a standard sedan, but it had been rebuilt to carry prisoners. There were no inside handles on the rear doors, and a grill of woven wire separated the front seats from the back.
He signaled, and the other police car pulled out of the lot and drew up beside him. Senora Alvares was still asleep in the back seat.
“We’re changing cars,” he told Paula. “We’ve got too many prisoners for two cops.”
Lenore greeted her niece with a cool nod. “I thought Mike would want to include you. Your parents are worrying about you, by the way.”
“Nothing bad has happened to me yet.”
Shayne started the other cruiser with his ignition loop and climbed into the back seat with the three women. The Senora had been jolted awake as she moved from one car to the other. She looked miserable and sick.
“I drank too much champagne.”
The door slammed shut from the outside and they moved off. The two-way radio was crackling, but the driver paid no attention. He asked a question which Paula translated: “Should he turn on the siren?”
“Certainly.”
They bulled their way through traffic to the airport highway and descended to the coast at high speed, stopping only once to allow Senora Alvares to be sick in the weeds at the side of the road.
After finishing she pulled out of Shayne’s hands and looked at the police car and the uniformed men in the front seat. “Why are we arrested?”
“You must be feeling better.”
“Not that much. Answer my question.”
Shayne put her back in the car and they continued, accompanied by the high wail of their siren. She covered her ears and moaned.
“Tell them,” she said to Lenore. “I had nothing to do with the explosion. I asked for the interview but permission was refused.”
She leaned forward to look through the grating. “We are going toward the sea!”
“I think they want us to identify somebody,” Shayne said. “Cops don’t like to explain things. Take it easy.”
She sat back suspiciously, but when they took the ramp to the airport she sat forward again and exclaimed, “I will not ride in an airplane. I have never done so. I’ll bite. I’ll kick.”
“In that case,” Shayne said, “you’d better do it here in the car where you won’t attract attention. We want this to run smoothly.”
He pulled out his shirt-tail and tore off a long strip. She tried to move away. He rolled the cloth into a tight cylinder and whipped it around her head deftly. When she started to yell, he pulled the cloth tight across her open mouth. She thrashed about, making desperate gabbling noises, while Shayne doubled her forward, pinning her with his elbows, and knotted the gag. Then he let her go and tore off another long strip with which he bound her wrists.
“Now if you’ll listen to me I’ll tell you what we think is going to happen.”
She crouched away from him, her eyes wide in terror.
“I tried talking politely, and you may remember that didn’t work. Every time I asked a question you hid in the champagne bottle. We have a few things to talk about, and I want you to start being responsive.”
She managed to emit a choked sound.
“How can you be responsive with a gag in your mouth? You’ve got a point there. But I don’t like to repeat myself, and I want to get a few other people in on it before I start listing the things I want to know. Take a good look at these guys in front.”
He nodded to Paula, who said something in Spanish. One of the youths looked around.
“Does he look like a Caracas cop?” Shayne said. “He’s an MIR man. This is Paula Obregon. She and her friends like people who cooperate. If you understand me so far, nod your head.”
She stared at him, but finally nodded.
“Good. They don’t want to be pulled in by the real cops because they know they’d probably be shot. If they have to kill us to prevent that, you know they won’t hesitate for a minute. I tied you up because you may not realize how serious this is. If you make any noise or trouble, we’ll all get it in the neck. It’s a little unfair because I have an idea how crummy you must be feeling, but you’ll have a couple of hours to sober up. That’ll give you time to think up a story.”
She tried desperately to express herself. Shayne shook his head.
“Not yet. Work it out and polish it. I’m giving you a break. I don’t know why. After I came to see you this morning you phoned somebody, and when I went through the gate a guy was waiting outside with a rifle. But so many worse things have happened that I don’t really hold it against you. I’ll buy any explanation that sounds halfway believable.”
Wrinkles appeared at the corners of her eyes. She had heard at least part of what Shayne had said and was thinking.
“Oh, what a bastard,” Lenore said. “But dear God, are you good at it.”
“You be thinking, too, baby.”
“That won’t be necessary-I’ve been thinking all day.”
The driver cut his siren. The sound died as they turned onto the access road along the perimeter of the airport. Half of a big Cyclone gate stood open and soldiers with rifles were lounging on either side of the opening. The driver slowed. The soldier on his side glanced in at the prisoners in the back seat and nodded them on.
Shayne saw the Miami News Learjet among the other planes on the waiting and taxiing strips. Its two engines were alight.
“That one’s ours.”
“Police,” Paula said quietly, nodding to one side.
“I see them,” Shayne said after a moment. “Tell him to keep going.”
A rescue truck was parked alongside the main arrival building. The men in the front seat had made no effort to disguise themselves as airport employees. They were wearing business suits with city hats.
“We could come up behind and take them by surprise,” Paula said. “Because of the uniforms we could do it without shooting.”
“Let’s see how it looks.”
They continued around the arrival building, past two truckloads of soldiers. At the end of the paved area they turned and came back.
“One pass is all they’re going to let us have,” Shayne said. “They’re watching the News plane, and even if we can get aboard they’ll shoot out the tires. See that 707 loading. It’s ready to roll.”
“Why would they let us get off in that?”
“They won’t want to harm innocent people. In the News plane there wouldn’t be any. Tell him.”
