Микки Спиллейн - The Delta Factor

“They find the alarm?”

“You were in time,” he said.

They weren’t the smartest in the world, but they knew a few basic maneuvers. I deliberately let them see the light from the flash leading our way. When we reached the intersection I let it cover the avenues leading away, settled on one as if we were going to take it, then rolled the light across the floor, the beam pointing in the opposite direction.

All of them were lined up in a nice neat row, their rifles at their shoulders, waiting for us to be silhouetted against the light. Only now they were the targets and in the two seconds of confusion before they realized their position, the.45 went off under my fist and each time it bucked, one went down. The last triggered off a single shot and was reaching for the bolt on the rifle to reload when my slug caught him in the chest and he jerked and sagged under the impact, going down like a puppet whose strings were cut. When the echoes of the blast died way I picked up the light, made sure the corridor was cleared and glanced at the lieutenant.

“Could they have heard us?”

“No, senor. If they did, they will not investigate. This is not their affair. They will wait for further orders.”

“Then let’s go,” I said. “We have to get to the office.”

Nobody had touched the bodies. They lay where they fell, still outraged in their death positions, the surprise obliterated from their faces. Sable looked at them without any show of emotion, knowing that it was all part of what had to happen. They had dealt out death themselves and then suddenly it was their turn, and for that type there was no remorse.

The lieutenant reached up, clawed his jacket open, popping the buttons to the floor, then tore one lapel loose. He ran his fingers through his carefully combed hair so that it hung down over his eyes, then deliberately ripped two of his medals off, pulling part of the cloth with it and tossed them on the floor.

I knew what he was getting ready for and grinned, but before he could go into the rest of the act the phone rang. In the unnatural stillness it was a jarring note and the lieutenant reached for it automatically. His voice was crisp and official-sounding. He said “Sí” twice, listened carefully, then thanked the caller and hung up.

When he turned around he said, “That was my brother who works at the switchboard in Senor Ortega’s office. He and Director Sabin are on the way here with three cars of armed guards.”

“Did he say why?”

“Sí, Senor. Something about Carlos Ortega receiving a radio communication from his agent in Miami. They have suspected what is happening tonight.”

I pointed to the phone. “That a straight line?”

“Correct, señor.”

I walked around the desk, dialed the number of the hotel and asked for Angelo in Spanish. This time they would be monitoring all the calls for anyone speaking English and the probability would be they’d ignore the others.

When I got him I went into a jabber of small talk about women without letting him get a word in edgewise to get any other ears off the line, then said, “The boat that José could not keep and has already left… you remember that one?”

He recognized me immediately then. “Sí, it was too bad, señor.”

“What port will he hit?”

“Weather advisory says the storm will head for the Florida Keys after passing over us. Miami, naturally, will be his destination.”

“Direct route?”

“The only logical way, senor. He will barely have time to make it.”

“See if you can raise him by radio. Tell him to look for pennies from heaven.”

“Señor…?”

“He’ll know what I mean. I hope.” I paused and said,

“Thanks, kid,” before I hung up.

And now it was almost done.

With a grand gesture that nobody else could imitate, the lieutenant clicked his heels together, saluted me smartly and snapped his hand to his side.

“I am ready, senor.” He flashed me a quick smile. “If you don’t mind, perhaps a small scar? The ladies… well…”

“Just one thing more.”

“What is that, senor?”

“There may be a change in administrations in this country before long. If you are in any position of influence, use it wisely. One of us might come back again.”

“I am aware of that possibility, senor,” he replied. “Now, the scar… just a small one?”

I hit him before he finished talking and he was going to have his small scar. The blood would be all over the place and there would be no denying what had happened. He’d have a sore face and one hell of a black eye for a couple of weeks and he’d be a hero. If he stayed smart he’d stay a live hero and the chances were that he would. He lay on the floor in a scarlet heap close to his former captain, luckier by far than he.

The dead commander still had the two-ounce packet of H on him and I dumped it in the inkwell on the desk. I broke the glass of the gun cabinet on the wall, yanked a bayonet from an antique rifle and pried open the lock on the sliding doors of the cabinet beneath it and found the rest of the arsenal nestling in neat compartments. I grabbed four grenades, hung them on my belt and nodded for Victor Sable to follow me out.

It was five minutes after four and in the east the sun was working its way up the other side of the earth.

Now I was glad Frances was hanging out there offshore in all her awesome power. I was glad the electricity from the city was cut off to make them rely on an inadequate generator. The pair guarding the main gate couldn’t make us out in the darkness and waited until I was right on top of them before the challenge came. The captain had told them to admit me, but that I wouldn’t be leaving; and my appearing out of the darkness was too much of a surprise. They hesitated long enough to want to call in for instructions and when the one turned his back I cold-cocked him with the.45 and as the other brought the rifle up I let him have one in the mouth that separated him from his gun and sent him spinning into the steel grillework. He had been moving when I hit him, so he was only dazed and had the instincts of a cat. He was on his feet as I moved in, his hand going for the short knife at his belt.

I didn’t have time to play the blade instead of the man and give him the chance to shout an alarm, so I took the first thrust in a quick sidestep and felt it go diagonally across my ribs like the touch of a brand. He never got the second chance. I had his arm pinioned, snapped it at the joint and crippled him with a knee in the testicles that sucked the air out of his lungs with a high whine. The butt end of the.45 wiped all the pain away instantly and left him twitching on the stone floor in unconscious reflex.

The power was out, so there wouldn’t be any use trying to activate the gate. The only thing I could hope for was a manual emergency device and I flicked the light around to find it. A packing crate the guards had been using for a table concealed it, but when I kicked it away I saw the hand-operated winch there and leaned my weight against the handle and started it turning. I had to break through the rust before it began to draw against the cables and haul the gate up. With the spiked ends only four feet off the ground something jammed and it wouldn’t go any farther. I waved Victor Sable under it and felt for the arm that would keep the winch from unwinding. What was there was a broken chunk of metal that wouldn’t reach the gears. For some stupid reason I laughed. It wasn’t the time or place, but I laughed. Lady Luck wasn’t giving me any chance at all anymore. All I could hope for was that the same rust that held back the action getting the gate up would slow it coming down… only this time the sheer weight of the gate itself would be working against me. One chance. That was all I had. I let go the lever, made a flying dive under the grillework and lay there sweating on the ground just before the lancelike tips slid into their slots.