Aaaaa! Aaaaa! Aaaaa!
Lying in a buttery n-fidday sun, Damian felt a wonderful calm begin to drift over him. He and Carrie were approaching a definite benchmark now. The last of the island's terrors.
Ah-there was nothing like being in the sun for reviving one's prospects.
He could feel the salt water drying on his face and legs. The hot sun broiled him in a way that made it seem rather fun. For perhaps the five hundredth time, Damian reviewed the final details in his mind. The massacres.
Carrie's, then his own, escape.
There would be no Nickie Handy-style double crosses this time out. No meeting up-with Brooks Campbell or Harold Hill in dark, deserted alley S. All that was left for him now was to set out a last tasty morsel of bait for Great Western Air Transport. Something for King Rat Brooks Campbell to nibble on.
Then a check on the plot's final playing piecea tricky strong-arm killer named Clive Lawson.
Then it was home again, home again, jiggity jog
Mandeville, San Dominica
At 1:00 P.m. a man in a summer sports coat and white hat took a deep breath, then approached an old woman wearing a Red Cross hat who sat at the first-floor reception desk inside the Mandeville Hospital.
'My name is Max Westerhuis,' the man announced in an impatient, self-importa ' nt tone. 'I'm told I have to come to this desk to get a pass to see Miss Cooke.'
The elderly nurse reached into her desk drawer. She took out a plain brown clipboard. She checked a list of visitors cleared to see hospital patients that was written on sheets of paper attached to the board. There was only one visitor cleared for Miss J. Cooke in room 206.
The nurse wrote out a slip for Maximilian Westerhuis, manager of the Plantation Inn.
As the policeman posted at room 206 opened the door for him, the man in the white hat put a finger to his lips. 'Miss Cooke,' he Said in the same official tone he'd used at the front desk.
'Peter,' Jane whispered as soon as he'd closed the door behind him.
She looked very pale and shaken to him. Large gauze bandages were wrapped around her neck and both arms; an intravenous bottle hung over the bed.
Peter went to her and they held each other tightly, saying things that should have been said long before then, expressing feelings they'd both been afraid Of.
- As they finally pulled apart, Jane began to tell him about the du-ee people who'd come to their cottage at the Plantation Inn. How they'd wanted to know where he was hiding. All the things they'd done to try to make her talk.... For his part, Peter told Jane about his surprise visit at Brooks CampbeH's; the Mafia connection; the big blowup that was apparently coming soon.
'Well, what do we do now?' 'The first diing-I want to get you out of this hospital. We must be dealing with a black version of the Keystone Kops here. Look at how easily I got in.'
'Peter, if they'd been after me-they had me last night. All they wanted to know was where you were.
'That doesn't make complete sense. If you did see him yesterday, they'd want you, too. Wouldn't they? Oh, hell, I don't know what's going on around here.
The young man sat down on the hospital bed. His shoulders began to sag. His neck muscles felt unbelievably tense and twisted.
'Peter, did you see anything that day besides the blond man?'
'I don't know. I don't think I did.... The best solution I can come up with,' Peter finally said, 'is that we both have to get off San Dominica. I want to try Washington. ' He looked at Jane. 'Will you meet me there? In a day-a few days. There's a hotel in Washington called the Hay-Adams. It's right across from the White House.'
For the first time that afternoon, Jane smiled. 'Good. Then we can take this thing right to the top. We can't do any worse than at the U. S. embassy, right?' She kissed him hard, then rested her head on his shoulder. 'Darling Max.'
Somebody's going to listen to us. It can't be this unbelievably fucked-up everywhere.'
Jane smiled again. 'Maximilian Westerhuis! God, Peter.'
they both started to laugh, hushing each other so the guard wouldn't come in. Then they hugged again, secured their pact to meet in Washington by 7 Wednesday. Peter left the hospital the very same way he'd originally come in.
Much, much too easily.
Coastown, San Dominica
Inside the Princess Hotel, meanwhile, Carrie sat with the gleaming white doors to her loggia flung open wide. Bright sunshine and a sympathetic breeze drifted in. Smells of fresh flowers came up from a pretty glen two stories below.
Carrie stared hard at the garish face looking back at her from the dressing room mirror. She was marginally, begrudgingly satisfied that her face looked about right for what it had to do. A subtle touch of.-Zle-dazzle. Real-hair half-lashes. Close attention to detail, right down to her silver slippers.
Carrie checked her wristwatch. if everything went well, she was about six hours away from Washington now. All she had to do was slip quietly past the police, the CIA, and half the army of San Domimca.
At 1:30 on the dot, Carrie Rose left for Robert Kennedy Airport with her fingers, legs, and eyes crossed. And when she walked into the airport terminal, she discovered that her dressing room preparation had really been quite thorough. She needn't have worried.
She looked like just about every other woman there.
