Ник Картер - The Spanish Connection

When Kelly came out of the bathroom, he was wiping himself thoroughly and glancing at his wrist-watch.

“Wallet,” I said. I was going through the papers. “Barry Parson, it says.”

“Strictly cover,” Kelly murmured, coming over and standing beside me, watching. “Somebody did a good job.”

“The papers? You think it was MI-5?”

Kelly shook his head. “Told you we had contacted the British. They didn’t affirm his identity.”

“Yes, but—”

“When the British do not affirm, the British deny. You see?”

I continued through the credit cards and the passport. I glanced over the passport, but Kelly shook his head. “Forget that. That’s cover, too.”

“It looks like the real thing.”

“You can get a good set of papers made in Portugal if you have the money to pay for it. Including the finest passport counterfeit on the Continent. There are hundreds of fake identity sets roaming around Europe — all Made in Lisbon.”

I sifted through the papers thoughtfully. “Does it smell governmental?”

He shook his head. “I’d say he was a free-lancer. Mercenary for hire. That kind of thing. I told you Interpol had rung up a ‘no sale’ on him. But I’m going to put through his prints, anyway.”

I continued reading the papers, then started in on his luggage. There was nothing there to hint at anything but an affluent Britisher who spent most of his time touring the Continent.

Kelly got out a small kit and began to roll Parson’s prints. When he had finished all ten, he wiped off the ink carefully and put the prints in a glassine bag. Then he got out a small mini-camera, Japanese-made with the name filed off, and took several shots of Parson’s face. In repose Barry Parson looked quite harmless, lacking in the vitality that made him what he was in life.

There was absolutely nothing in his things to tie Parson to a syndicate of any kind. We figured that Parson had not been working for any group Tina was fronting but for her especially.

And that made Tina a number-one question mark. Who was she working for — if, indeed, she was working for anyone?

Kelly kept glancing at his watch.

“Worried about the time?” I asked.

“I’m wondering what we’re going to do with this body.”

I took a deep breath. “Not much we can do. We just go out and leave it here.”

“But Elena Morales?”

“She comes in and finds it. And she blows the whistle. Nothing to tie Parson to us — nothing concrete.”

“We were seen in the discothèque with him.”

“Can you put in a fix?”

Kelly considered. “It’s pretty late. That’s why I was checking the time. Eleven-thirty. I don’t think my contact is on duty now.”

“The tall man with the Fu Manchu mustache?”

Kelly grinned. “Yeah. You know him?”

I sat down and stared at the carpet. “We’ve got another problem to worry about now. Tina doesn’t know her hit man is dead. She thinks he’s going to be waiting for her to arrive at Sol y Nieve to finger Corelli. And that means she’s going to be coming up here. We’ve got to stop her.”

Kelly frowned. “How?”

I thought hard for a long moment. “Look. How about this? We call Tina at the hotel in Granada. We leave a message from The Man. It says he’s leaving Sol y Nieve and wants to know where to meet her. Then we just wait here till she calls the hotel. We find out who she wants to talk to. And that man is Rico Corelli.”

I stared out the window, waiting for Kelly’s response. “It sounds good. What do we have to lose?”

“Suppose she immediately calls Parson to tell him whom to shoot?”

Kelly shrugged. “She finds out Parson is dead, and then she contacts Corelli. Were ahead either way.”

“I’m going down to the lounge to intercept Elena Morales,” I said. “I don’t want her wandering up here and finding the body. She might alert the whole hotel.”

“I’ll join you as soon as I take care of the Bergson woman.”

We left the door unlocked and stepped into the hallway. No one saw us.

Both Juana Rivera and Elena Morales looked up at me as I entered the lounge a few minutes later. I had heard loud laughter and shouts of mirth all the way out in the lobby. Juana and Elena were in the middle of a raucous party with Herr Hauptli, his two Germans, his Dane, and a group of about twenty other skiing couples.

I strolled over and nodded to Juana and Elena. They made a place for me between them. Herr Hauptli saw me, greeted me, and introduced me to the group.

I grinned, waved my hand, and sank back in the couch between the girls, looking into the blazing fire. It was safe and secure in here, far from the sound of gunshots and the sight of blood.

Herr Hauptli was regaling the group with some of his more entertaining sporting exploits — he was a hunting buff, a fishing expert, a yachtsman of great accomplishment, and a great mountain climber — and I scribbled a few lines on a dinner check and passed it to Juana with a warning to keep it out of sight.

She didn’t even acknowledge it, but I knew she was reading it out of sight of everyone. A sharp elbow in my rib told me that she understood.

PARSON DEAD. TINA’S HIT MAN. TAIL ELENA.

I had put that last part in because I didn’t know quite what to do about Elena Morales. If she was seriously involved with Barry Parson, she might have known — or guessed — what he was up to. If not, there was no need to have her hauled in for investigation. For her sake, I didn’t want her to find out about Parson’s death just yet. If Juana couldn’t handle her, I felt that I could.

Mitch Kelly appeared at the doorway of the lounge, grinning broadly and waving at some of the couples he knew. Then he spotted me, and came over quickly, leaned down and said in a low voice, “Lobby. Quick.” No one else had heard. He squeezed my shoulder, kissed Juana on the cheek lavishly, and left the lounge after a nod of apology to Herr Hauptli.

I touched Juana’s thigh and got up to go. Kelly stood by the floor-to-ceiling glass window at the rear of the lobby that overlooked the bottom of the ski run. He was watching my reflection in the glass. The lobby was completely deserted.

He spoke in my ear without moving his lips — an old cop trick picked up from prison inmates.

“She’s left the hotel in Granada. Seems to be headed for Sol y Nieve.”

“When did she leave?”

“This evening. No telling when.”

“That’s bad news.”

Kelly nodded.

In the reflection of the plate-glass window I saw one of the desk clerks put down a telephone and walk across the lobby toward the lounge. After a minute he came out again. Behind him, walking quickly and gracefully, was Elena Morales.

I nudged Kelly. Elena was headed purposefully toward the stairway. That meant that she was going up to her room — the room she shared with Barry Parson!

Kelly and I exchanged startled glances. I could see Juana emerging from the lounge with a worried look. I punched Kelly.

“Hold Juana in the lounge. You join her. I’m going up after Elena.”

“Right.”

I waited till Elena was halfway up the stairs before I started after her. Something had happened. Someone had alerted her. I couldn’t understand who — or why. Yet it was obvious that she was going to her own room.

Third floor. Down the corridor, around the turn. She reached into her bag for her keys. But when she got them out and touched the knob, the door opened. She turned to look up and down the corridor. I had anticipated such a movement and had ducked back around the corner, out of sight.

She didn’t see me.

I heard the door close behind her.

Quickly I moved down the corridor and planted myself outside her door. At first I couldn’t hear anything through the thickness of the paneling. The carpet kept any sounds from drifting through the crack between the door and the frame.