other building, and he would hear us.”
Ahead of me, Erikson quietly lowered the shortwave radio into a corner and went on without it. It confirmed my worst fears. Slater didn’t notice. “Listen!” the girl said. A dull pounding echoed from the bridge behind us. “We must go. They will not follow us out onto the street.”
“Go ahead, Melia,” Erikson ordered.
At the bottom of the stairs the girl paused with her hand on another door. “There is thirty feet of alley, then an open space to cross,” she whispered. “That is the danger. Beyond the open space we will be safe from those in the house.”
Erikson moved her to one side and opened the door an inch at a time. He stepped down onto a cobblestoned alley whose bricks were damp with moisture. We followed him as he crept along the side of the building until he came to the open space. “I’ll go first,” he breathed when we joined him. “Melia next, then Slater, then you, Drake.”
He crouched low and was gone into the shadows. No sunlight ever penetrated the dankness of the alley. Melia slipped out of her shoes, picked up her skirt, and flitted across the cobblestones like a long-legged ghost. Slater hesitated before he started. Halfway across he skidded on a wet spot and almost went down. His boots sounded noisily as he righted himself and finished the crossing at a dead run.
There was the sound of more running feet. A soldier dashed into the open space, between me and safety. His rifle was held out in front of him, poised to swing in any direction.
Before I could pull the trigger, there was a thunking sound. The soldier’s knees sagged, and he started to pitch forward. Karl Erikson’s big hand shot out and captured the falling rifle before it could clatter to the cobblestones. Erikson had come back from the safe area to take out the soldier. I knew damned well that Slater wouldn’t have done it.
We pulled the body out of the open area before abandoning it. We left the rifle farther up the alley. Slater and Melia were a hundred feet away when we emerged onto a sidewalk a block away from the whorehouse. “Please,” the girl was pleading as we caught up to them. “More slowly. A patrol jeep might investigate on suspicion anyone in too much of a hurry.”
Erikson grabbed the back of Slater’s belt, bringing him to a sudden halt. Slater snarled and spun around. Erikson froze him with an icy stare. “Do it right, Slater,” Erikson said in a coarse, sandpaper tone. “Or I’ll leave you here in the gutter.”
Slater’s eyes fell before the big man’s glare. He began to walk at a slower pace. “Only eight blocks,” Melia said. She was still carrying her shoes in her hand. She walked inside us, so that we shielded her somewhat from passing traffic. “But I have just remembered that my aunt’s apartment is locked and I have no key.”
“No problem,” I said.
“Drake will open it,” Erikson explained to her. He was staring across the street at an open space in the ranks of buildings fronting the sidewalks in each block. “What’s that place?”
“That is where they keep the Russian tanks,” Melia replied. “No one goes near it.”
“Wilson and I passed it on the way back from the museum,” I said.
“A tank park,” Erikson said thoughtfully.
“In two blocks we come to the old city prison,” Melia said. “Then we turn left and the apartment is in the next block.”
“Is that where Wilson is now?” Slater demanded.
“Probably.” The way she said it indicated she didn’t think he would be in any prison for very long. We made a left turn as the dark bulk of what looked like a fortress loomed up across the street from us. Before I expected it, the girl turned into a doorway.
The building had seen better days. The floor had been polished tile but was now cracked and chipped. The walls had been scribbled on by generations of toddlers. “Fifth floor,” Melia said. “There is no elevator.”
I pulled out my shirt as we climbed and removed a thin steel pick from my money belt. Slater was puffing when we reached the fifth-floor landing. Melia silently indicated a door with a red star pasted on it. I settled the pick into the lock and opened the door in ten seconds.
“Why the red star?” Erikson asked as we entered.
“To show it is proscribed,” Melia said soberly. “No one can live here now. We cannot risk lights, and we cannot stay long.”
“A day will do it,” Erikson said.
The musty odor in the place was overpowering as I lowered my haversack to the dusty floor.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“Get the flashlight from your pack,” Erikson said to me.
I took out the square-faced battery lantern and handed it to him. He set it on the floor, beamed away from the windows, and turned it on. Its pale light disclosed that the apartment had two rooms, a bedroom and a sitting room with a curtained alcove beneath which could be seen the enameled legs of a stove. Drawers stood open with household belongings tumbled out of cabinets and closets as they had remained since the aunt was taken away.
“I will go to a friend’s and bring back food,” Melia said.
“Is it safe?” Slater asked.
“When is it ever safe?” she returned. “But they will give me food. Shelter is another matter.”
I gave her money. Slater walked into the bedroom and flopped on his back in the bed. Even in the poor light I could see dust fly in all directions.
“We need a truck and a driver for tomorrow night,” Erikson said to Melia. I unzipped my money belt again, separated half the bills in it by guess, and gave them to Erikson. He handed them to the girl. “A house painter’s truck, if possible. One with a ladder. And a driver who speaks a little English.”
“I will try,” the girl said. “If I do not return in an hour, you had better not remain here.”
“I’m glad to see you’re not curling up after losing the radio, but how are we going to signal Hazel?” I asked Erikson after Melia had left and he had bolted the apartment door again.
“We’ll slip into that tank park we saw. There’s bound to be a command tank with a liaison radio I can set on the frequency that Hazel’s monitoring.”
He said it as though he were talking about a walk to the corner drugstore. “With guards all around? And if we had to pack a special radio with us, why will a tank radio reach Key West?”
“It will. If you have a better suggestion, I’m listening.”
I had no better suggestion. “What about the girl when we leave here?” I continued. “What happens to her?”
“She’s no angel-child. That job she did on Ramirez was worthy of a professional. Don’t get sentimental on me, Drake. We’re here to recover the money. That and nothing else.”
He had turned out the lantern when Melia left, so I couldn’t see his face. We sat in darkness and in silence until there was a quiet tap-tap at the door. I drew the.38 while Erikson opened the door. Melia entered carrying a small package. “I could get only a few tacos and beans,” she apologized. “Food is a problem. And the stove is not connected, so we will have to eat them cold.”
“What about a truck?” Erikson asked.
“My cousin took me to a window washer who has a truck with a ladder. He agreed to meet us tomorrow night at first dark. I showed him the money, but I did not leave it with him. That way he will be sure to meet us. I have bad news of Wilson.” In the next room I heard the creak of the bed as Slater sat up. “The People’s Republic Radio is announcing the capture of a Yankee spy. They promise a quick military trial.”
“If he talks—” Slater exclaimed from the bedroom.
“The only thing he can talk about that can hurt us is the museum,” I said. “And one swing around it tomorrow
