Brett Halliday - Six Seconds to Kill

“She’ll run a risk of being shot herself.”

“I’m going to be there. I know exactly where she’ll be, and what to watch for. I’ll be in front of Crowther, and I’ll tackle her the second she fires. There’s a risk either way. And then we can report digging a bullet out of the wall the night before. If Camilla planned it herself, she wouldn’t do any actual shooting. Do you see that point? To prove it was a fake, to be able to blame Crowther for setting it up, there would have to be holes in the wall even though no shots were fired.”

“You’ve lost me.”

“Well, we’ve got the rest of the night. My scenario ends with Crowther being kicked out of the cabinet, Camilla throwing away her sleeping pills. Happy ending. We all congratulate each other.”

“So you’re going to let it happen?”

“That’s right. I’m going to let it happen.”

Rourke gave him a direct look. “You’re not exactly impartial on the subject of Crowther, are you, Mike?”

“I have no interest whatever in saving his skin,” Shayne said. “Either his political skin or his actual skin.”

The news programs were filled with warnings of trouble. A cafe in the Latin district, owned by a right-wing politician, had been wrecked in the night. Two boys distributing leaflets had been set upon and beaten. Until long after midnight, 8th Street was alive with knots of people, arguing bitterly. Will Gentry kept a concentration of police cars moving back and forth between Miami Avenue and 27th.

In the morning several thousand people from the Latin community crossed the causeways to Miami Beach and assembled on Collins Avenue in front of the St. Albans Hotel. Dr. Galvez, already there with his band of black-clad pickets, was astonished and pleased. It was a peaceful crowd, including many children.

Galvez spotted no more than a dozen of Vega’s toughs. They circulated for a time, decided they would be clobbered if they started anything, and went home. Vega himself never appeared. It was reported that someone had presented him with an expensive sports car, as a price for agreeing to stay away; Vega himself had started this rumor.

The left organizations boycotted the Miami Beach demonstration. Their adherents drove to the International Airport to boo Crowther when he arrived. Michael Shayne, on the observation deck of the main terminal with Teddy Sparrow, watched the long line of cars coming out of the LeJeune interchange and up the ramp.

“God, will you look at that crowd?” Sparrow demanded. It was a cool morning, but he was already perspiring heavily. “What I wanted to do was close the lots, but the brass overruled me, on the grounds that public relations-wise it would be counterproductive. I can see that. And with five hundred combat infantrymen on the premises we should be able to handle anything. Don’t you agree with me, Mike?” he said anxiously.

Two companies of paratroops had been airlifted to the Bayshore Country Club in Miami Beach, to back up the police if the Collins Avenue demonstration got out of hand. The remainder of the battalion was being held at the airport in reserve. Directly below the tower, in the ramp area and along the front of the International Concourse, four big troop-carrying Sikorsky helicopters waited. The soldiers themselves were dispersed in the departure lounges.

Two Bell helicopters, much smaller than the Sikorskys, were parked on a grassy triangle near an intersection of a taxiway with the main northwest-southeast landing strip, several hundred yards from the terminal. These were to carry Crowther’s party into the city.

“If they’re bound and determined to demonstrate, damn it,” Sparrow went on, popping a digestive tablet into his mouth, “why don’t they demonstrate where they were given a permit? Not that I don’t think it was a mistake to issue that permit, but that’s Miami Beach business. An airport isn’t a street. It’s a mechanism. We’ve got to run a regular schedule of arrivals and departures here, VIP’s or no VIP’s. What if we get a landing emergency and people are yelling so loud we can’t hear the announcements? Lives could be lost.”

“I’m hitching a ride on one of the helicopters,” Shayne said. “Are you using soldiers to cover the transfer?”

“That’s General Turner’s responsibility. He worked it all out on the telephone with Abe Berger.” He touched Shayne’s sleeve. “Mike, this is kind of unorthodox, but it’s an unorthodox situation. While you’re looking around, if you see anything about my dispositions I ought to change, I hope you won’t hesitate to tell me. I don’t have a hell of a lot of flexibility. I’ve still got to think about the warehouses and the cargo area, I can’t forget those. I’ve pulled as many men off routine duty as I dare.”

“Nothing to worry about, Teddy,” Shayne said absently, scanning the crowd.

“I certainly hope you’re right. I’ve got a case of indigestion I wouldn’t want to wish on Eliot Crowther himself. People have been running to me with rumors all morning. It’s the army’s responsibility to load Crowther into a helicopter, and it’s my responsibility to protect the airport facilities. But in case of a political outburst, whose responsibility is it to break it up? That hasn’t been made clear to me.”

“We’re all going to be improvising,” Shayne said. Among the shifting mass of people on the deck, he saw a tall girl with long black hair, in a white sleeveless blouse. He nodded at Sparrow. Putting on a pair of sunglasses, he moved through the crowd.

The girl was Adele Galvez, still as good-looking as she had been the day before. She seemed to be alone, but as Shayne approached he saw a look pass between her and a dark youth twenty feet away, leaning against the coping overlooking the aircraft apron.

“Your uncle’s probably wondering why you’re not on the Beach,” Shayne remarked as he came up.

She whirled. A quick look of dismay fled across her face, and then she closed with him and kissed him hard. “I knew I’d see you again sooner or later.”

“It’s a small town.”

She turned him away from the youth across the deck. “Everybody’s so impressed with you, Mike! The way you squashed poor Lorenzo Vega. But as for me! My standing’s way down. One of my friends wanted to know why I didn’t seduce you. All I could say was, I tried!”

She hugged his arm.

“Would you like to try again?” he said. “I can get a room at the hotel here. We’ve got twenty minutes.”

She looked at him. “That might be nice, but you don’t really mean it, do you?”

“That’s right, Adele. I don’t really mean it.”

He moved to the right and cut back. Adele stayed with him. The boy she had signaled was being careful not to look toward them. Shayne bulldozed his way through the crowd and took his elbow in a firm grip. With a quick twist, he wrenched a shopping bag out of his hand. The youth grabbed for it, but Adele stopped him with a quick word in Spanish. Shayne set the shopping bag on the coping. There was nothing inside but a purple banner.

“What’s it say?”

“I’m afraid it’s slightly obscene,” Adele said.

A circle of unoccupied space had opened about them. Shayne told the youth to hold still and let himself be searched.

“Like hell. I don’t see a badge.”

“If you want to be busted instead,” Shayne said, “I can arrange it.”

After a moment the boy spread his arms. Shayne gave him a quick going-over but found nothing of interest except a toothbrush in a plastic container. He recorded the number of the boy’s driver’s license on the back of an envelope. He hesitated for another instant because of the toothbrush, but the boy had probably come expecting to be arrested.