Бретт Холлидей - Count Backwards to Zero

“No,” Diamond said tightly. “Does he have it?”

“He did have it, but Anne Blagden took it away, all by herself. A neat little guerrilla operation.”

“If you’re crapping me, Shayne — Where is she?”

“On the way to the airport by now. She’s in a rented black Ford. She has to pick up two of her people at the Queen Elizabeth, and then she has a few traffic lights before she hits the expressway. If you hurry, maybe you can get there first.”

“Which airport, Opa-Locka?”

“I think so. The arrangements have all been made there. Would you like me to describe the plane for you and tell you where to find it?”

“Yes!”

“And if you take it away from her, you won’t forget you owe me another thirty-six thousand?”

“Of course not. We’ll be leaving from Miami International. Hubble Oil Company, executive jet. Meet me there.”

“That sounds believable, and I think I’ll believe it.”

He repeated the directions he had already given Gentry, and wished Diamond luck.

A moment later the operator was back on the line.

“He flew out of here so fast, Mike! He’s been pacing up and down behind me for fifteen minutes. My hands are so slippery I can hardly hold the phone.”

“Baby, you’re always a great help,” Shayne said. “Everybody’s offering me money today, and I’ll steer some of it your way.”

“Oh, well. He did have a wild look, but I knew he wouldn’t shoot me. It was the idea of it more than anything. I’m glad you’re all right.”

“We aren’t home yet. Get me Will Gentry. No, wait a minute. I forgot I’m not in the car. I can dial it myself.”

Across the kitchen, his involuntary hostess was setting out cups. “Do you want some coffee?”

He looked at her in surprise. Without the curlers, her hair fell softly to her shoulders. Her face shone with some kind of oil. She had laid her glasses aside, and all at once she was an amazingly handsome woman.

“I’m not going anyplace right away,” Shayne said. “My car’s got two flat wheels and a blown engine. What’s your name?”

“Sarah. Cream and sugar?”

“Just black, Sarah.”

He watched her, still astonished by the sudden transformation. Shaking his head, he dialed Gentry’s number.

“While we’re rounding up people,” Shayne said, “we might as well include everybody. I wouldn’t want Jerry Diamond to feel left out. He and two others are going to try to take over the Jet-Star. Now be careful, Will. Don’t move till they start shooting. Depending on what happened to a guy named Sam Geller, that may be the only charge against Diamond we can make stick.”

“Sam Geller?”

“Yeah, did you find him?”

“We pulled him out of a smashed-up car. He’s got a broken neck, but he’s expected to live.”

“Hold on a minute.” Shayne covered the phone and spoke to the woman at the stove. “How’s it happen you’re the one who comes downstairs with the shotgun? No man in the house?”

“No man in the house,” she said without looking toward him, “unfortunately.”

When he lifted the phone again, it was apparent at once that something new was happening in Gentry’s office. He heard an excited babble. His own name came through clearly. Other phones were ringing.

An authoritative voice, close to the open phone, told Gentry, “Enough is enough, Chief. Start talking or you’re under arrest.”

“In my own headquarters,” Gentry said mildly. “I’d never live it down.”

The other voice snapped, “Where’s Mike Shayne?”

“Somewhere around town. He keeps calling in. Now if you don’t mind, this call’s confidential!”

“Confidential!” the other man roared.

Gentry spoke into the phone. “Give me your number. I’ll call back as soon as some of the dust settles here.” Shayne read the number from the dial and hung up.

The woman held out the coffee. “Airplanes. FBI men. Shooting. What’s going on, is the public permitted to know?”

Shayne took the cup and kicked a stool over within reach of the phone.

“I don’t know how much will get in the papers. There’s going to be quite a bit of pressure to keep it quiet. How long have you lived around here?”

“Three months. I work at the university. Now don’t be alarmed, please, men sometimes are, but I’m a professor of romance languages. Recently divorced. It’s healing nicely.”

“Very nicely,” Shayne agreed.

She laughed. “I made a vow once. Nobody would ever see me in curlers except my husband. What can I do if somebody kicks down the front door?”

The phone stirred. Shayne caught it in midring.

Gentry said quietly, “Mike, there’s a little more trouble. We’ve got a bomb threat on the Queen Elizabeth, and you know what kind of a bomb. I’m telling people it’s a fake. Right? In the light of this Opa-Locka business—”

“Tell me about it,” Shayne snapped.

“Somebody phoned the mayor. Male voice, British accent. Atom bomb on the Queen. Said if the mayor didn’t believe in atom bombs, to check with Mike Shayne. He wants two hundred thousand in cash.”

“Delivered where?” Shayne said grimly.

“On the front steps of the Municipal Auditorium. And after that he wants an hour. He’ll call from wherever he is then and let us know how to find the bomb and how to disconnect. Mike, you aren’t taking this seriously, by any chance?”

“Damn right I’m taking it seriously. It’s another switch; I hope the last one. Get that money ready, and hurry.”

Shayne thanked his hostess for the sip of coffee, and borrowed her car.

Less than ten minutes later, after a fast ride, he stalked into Police Headquarters on Northwest 11th Street. The downstairs rooms, the stairs, the hall outside Gentry’s office, and the office itself were crowded with people, most of them strangers to Shayne. Pat Crowley, the heavy, cold-faced Director of the FBI’s Southern District, was perched on the corner of Gentry’s desk. The police chief leaned back comfortably in his swivel chair, hands behind his head, an unlighted cigar in his mouth.

Crowley exploded off the desk at the sight of Shayne. “By God, Shayne! If I have anything to say about it, and I think I do, you’ll never be in a position to pull anything as raw as this again.”

Shayne said evenly, “Don’t distract me, Crowley. I’ve always wanted to see how you’d look with a broken jaw, but it has to wait. What happened at the airport, Will?”

“According to your scenario,” Gentry replied cheerfully. “Three shots fired, nobody hit. Then the floodlights came on and both sides were asked to drop their guns. Crowley’s lads managed to hold their fire. Six prisoners.”

“Did you find an automobile gas tank on the plane?”

“Heavy as lead — is that the one you’ve been looking for?”

“It ought to be heavy as lead. That’s what it’s lined with. Have somebody open it up — but carefully, Will. Let’s see what’s inside it. How about the other end of town?”

“Only three. A tall man with a bad gunshot wound, in the middle of the road, unconscious. The word is that he may not make it.”

“Anne Blagden better hope he does, because if he dies it’s second-degree murder. Only two others?”

“Tied up, a girl and a city sanitation driver. The girl’s in the next room if you want to talk to her.”

“Have you got the blackmail money?”

“Two hundred thousand even. They opened up a bank for us. The ship’s been evacuated. Crowley brought in an Atomic Energy Commission man — where is he?” He peered around the crowded room. “Manship?”

A rumpled gray-haired civilian came forward. “I’m Dr. Manship,” he said. “Can you tell us anything about the size of this purported bomb, Mr. Shayne?”