Бретт Холлидей - Count Backwards to Zero

Diamond slid in and snapped his seat belt. Shayne, one hand on the package of money in his lap, directed him to the North-South Expressway and asked for more speed.

“Do I get an explanation of this?” Diamond said after a time, “or am I just supposed to follow orders?”

Shayne didn’t answer for a moment. Then he said, “I’m trying to work out approximate times. Too much of it has to be guesswork. Assume it was Sam Geller who hijacked the Olds. He’s had a couple of days to get organized. He’d want to be miles away with the gas tank when you found out it was missing. What would he use, a car, a boat or a plane?”

“More than likely a plane.”

“I think so. After stealing the Olds they headed for the expressway. Tim Rourke, who was behind them, was on an exit ramp when they clamped down on him. He didn’t tell me which one, but none of those exits is more than ten minutes from Opa-Locka. They don’t handle the really big jets out there, but they’re more relaxed about everything than Miami International. And the location’s right. A couple of other possibilities have occurred to me, but if the Olds has been abandoned out there somewhere, we can rule them out. Now is there anything else you wanted to tell me about Geller and Anne Blagden?”

Diamond kept his eyes on the road. “I think I covered everything important.”

“I don’t agree with you, but if that’s the way you want to play it—” He turned to look at the Dodge hanging behind them. “Slow down to sixty and wave them alongside.”

Diamond gave him a suspicious look, but did as he was instructed. He signaled for a right-hand stop, and waved. The Dodge pulled into the left-hand lane and overtook them. For a moment the two cars ran side by side.

“I thought somebody was missing in that car,” Shayne said. “Dessau’s not there.”

The Mustang slowed abruptly. Diamond’s head swung.

“We leave at the next exit,” Shayne told him.

Diamond looked back at Shayne, his eyes small and deadly. “You’ve been dropping hints about Dessau for the last half hour. If there’s something I ought to know, say it in English.”

“All I know is what people have told me. Maybe I’m trying to split you into smaller groups so you’ll be easier to handle. We’re partners temporarily, but how long can it last? Use your brakes, Diamond, or you’ll overshoot.”

Diamond braked sharply. The Dodge dropped back and followed them into the ramp, which discharged them onto Opa-Locka Boulevard. They entered Opa-Locka a few moments later, and began working north toward the airfield.

A red light was flashing on a vehicle parked on the shoulder just short of the turnoff to the hangar area.

“Slow down,” Shayne said. “I think that’s my man.” There were two cars, one a black official sedan and the second a green Oldsmobile, with only one wheel on the highway. Diamond pulled past and stopped. As Shayne stepped out, Buzz Yale, a big man with a belly that overflowed his ornamental belt buckle, came out on the road to meet him.

“Since when have you been traveling in Mustangs, Mike? Is this the Olds you wanted? I really shouldn’t take any of your money, because it turned out I had a report on my desk when you called. All I had to do was check the tags.”

“Thanks, Buzz. This saves us some time.”

He snapped up the trunk hatch at the rear of the Olds. The rubber mat had been thrown out of the way. Through the opening in the floor he looked down at the gravel and tarred weeds along the shoulder.

Diamond, beside him, said, “For Christ’s sake, look at the way it’s rigged.”

An ordinary two-gallon can had been wired to three flat metal straps that were welded across the opening where the gas tank had been. The welds were sloppy and unprofessional; one had already worked open. The gas line was stuck into the can’s spigot, entering through a hole punched in the screw top. That joint had been wrapped with overlapping layers of white adhesive tape, but the whole crude installation was shiny with spilled gas.

“Never saw anything like it,” Yale said. “What kind of mechanic—”

“It’s a wonder they got this far,” Shayne said. “Buzz, I’m going to need something else. Sometime during the last hour a plane that was about to take off developed some kind of mechanical trouble. It was in a holding area, probably close to a service road. I’m guessing a private jet or a small cargo job. They were fueled up and ready. Ground clearance hadn’t been asked for yet. They were waiting for something or somebody. Then a message came in to shut down the engines. They may have pulled the plane back into a hangar, but I think it’s probably still out there, with a power car standing by. If you can find it for me, it’s worth another two hundred.”

“I’ll try, Mike,” Yale said doubtfully, “but it’ll take scratching. You know what we’re like out here — scattered.”

“Nose around. Don’t be conspicuous about it. I’ll call you.”

He returned to the Mustang, broke open the package on the front seat and gave Yale two hundred dollar bills. Summoning Diamond with a brusque head movement, he reentered the Mustang.

When Diamond was back behind the wheel: “I need a phone, Diamond. There’s one in the gas station half a mile down the road. And be thinking about whether it’s time to change your mind about telling me who we’re up against.”

Diamond picked out one phrase and repeated it. “Change my mind,” he said, wheeling around and accelerating. “You’re damn right this changes my mind. It’s a whole new ballgame. You had it figured, didn’t you?”

He waited till he was out of sight of the rotating beacon, and swung off the road, signaling.

“That’s right,” Shayne said. “We have lots of time.”

The Dodge slid to a stop and the two men ran up, one on each side of the car.

“He has a gun,” Diamond called. “Watch it.”

A cocked revolver appeared at the window beside Shayne. Diamond reached out warily, found Shayne’s .38 and pulled it into view. He rapped out a command and the armed man outside opened the door.

“Get out, Shayne,” Diamond ordered. “Stand against the side of the car. I’ve had enough of this crap.”

Shayne dropped his hand to the latch holding his seat belt. “Use your head.”

“Get him out of there,” Diamond said.

The man outside reached in and tapped Shayne lightly with the flat of his gun. Expecting the move, Shayne reached upward quickly. He grabbed the extended arm and yanked it forward with his full strength.

The man’s chin struck the top of the car and the point of his weapon came forward to jam itself into Diamond’s side. The man tried to wrestle himself loose, but Shayne had a good two-handed grip, one hand in the armpit, the other below the elbow.

Diamond pulled away, but he was held in place by the belt.

“Don’t jerk your hand, for God’s sake!”

The second man, on Diamond’s side of the car, was shuffling and weaving, trying to see in, blocked off from Shayne by Diamond on one side and by the man Shayne was holding on the other. Shayne kept the cocked revolver pressed against Diamond’s side.

“If you don’t stop wriggling the hammer’s coming down,” Shayne observed. “Don’t you care?”

Diamond shrank back. “Shayne—”

“Hold still. Things are moving. The reason the helicopters didn’t pick up any signal was that the Olds wasn’t carrying the tank. When the people in the Olds ran out of gas they were just as surprised as we are now. They’re less than a mile from the airfield. Don’t forget the guy who fired at me in the Queen Elizabeth’s hold. He didn’t belong to either you or Geller. It’s beginning to seem that this shipment wasn’t such a tight secret, after all.”