Beirut Incident (7 page)

Simultaneously, I bent my right knee and lashed straight back with my left leg. Behind me, Harold screamed as his kneecap crumbled under the hard rubber heel of my shoe, driven home with every ounce of power I could deliver.

I spun to my left, twisting into a sitting position. As Harold bent sharply forward, grasping for his shattered knee, I hooked two fingers of my right hand deep into the declivity under his chin, hooking them into the jawbone; I rolled back onto my shoulders, flipping him neatly.

It was like yanking a fish out of the water, throwing him forward and over me, so that he described a short arc in the air. Just before I lost my leverage, I jerked sharply downward and his face smashed into the floor with the full weight of his body behind it. You could almost hear the bones of his nose shatter.

Then he lay still. He was either dead from a broken neck or just unconscious from shock and the force of hitting the deck so hard.

I retrieved Wilhelmina and restored her to the shoulder holster where she belonged.

Only then did I smooth my hair back with one hand and look around.

Neither Louie nor the Chinese woman had moved, but the excitement had gotten to Su Lap Lin. I saw it in the slight flaring of her nostrils, the tautness of the vein running across the back of her hand, the flaring of intensity in her eyes. Some people are aroused to a high sexual fervor by physical violence. Su Lao Lin was breathing in short, quick gasps.

She motioned distastefully at what was left of Harold on the floor. "Remove him, please," she ordered Louie. She permitted herself a slight smile. "I think perhaps you're right, Louie. Your uncle could use a man like Mr. Cartano here, but I think you had better introduce him yourself. You had both better be ready to leave on the morning flight."

There was dismissal in her tone and Louie moved over to wrestle with Harold. Su Lao Lin turned to me. "Come into my office, please," she said coolly.

Her voice was controlled, but the overly modulated tone betrayed her. Excitement quivered on her lips. I wondered if Louie could sense it, too.

I followed her through the door into an efficiently equipped office — large modern desk with a businesslike swivel chair, a streamlined gray metal dictaphone, two straight metal chairs, a gray filing cabinet in one corner — a good place to work.

Su Lao Lin walked over to the desk, then turned and leaned back against the edge of it, facing me, her tiny fingers half-hooked over the edge of the desk top, her ankles crossed.

Lips parted over even teeth and a tiny tongue flicked out nervously, tempting.

I hooked the door with my foot and slammed it shut behind me.

Two long strides took me to her and a small groan escaped her lips as I crushed her to me, one hand under her chin, tilting it upward as my hungry mouth groped for hers. Her arms wound upward, curling around my neck as she thrust her body into mine.

I pinned her mouth with my tongue, probing, smashing. There was no subtlety. Su Lao Lin was incredibly small, but she was a wild woman, writhing, moaning, long nails ripping at my back, legs hooking around mine.

My fingers found the clasp on the high collar and unhooked it. The invisible zipper seemed to slide down of its own accord. I put both hands around her miniature waist and held her away from me, in midair. She broke reluctantly, fighting to keep her mouth clamped on mine.

I put her down on top of the desk. It was like handling delicate porcelain, but this porcelain could squirm.

I stepped back, pulling the gray silk dress away from her as I did. She sat still then, leaning back on her arms, her breasts heaving, the nipples outthrust, tiny feet flat on the desktop, her knees widespread. A rivulet of sweat ran down her belly.

She had been wearing nothing beneath the gray silk sheath. I stared, momentarily transfixed, savoring the alabaster beauty perched like a live
objet d'art
on the bare metal desktop. Slowly, unbidden, my fingers groped at my shirt buttons, fumbled at my shoes and socks, unhitched my belt.

I picked her up gently by the buttocks, balancing her like a cup on a saucer for a moment, and pulled her to me as I stood spraddle-legged before the desk. At the first penetration she gasped aloud, then scissored my waist with her legs so that she was riding on ray hips.

Pushing against the desk for support, I leaned back with Su Lao Lin on top of me. The world exploded in a maelstrom of spinning sensation. Twisting, gyrating, we writhed around the sparsely furnished office in a feverishly hysterical dance, the two-backed beast upright, staggering into the furniture and against the wall. Finally, with a great shuddering spasm we crashed to the floor, driving, pounding, thrusting with every straining muscle until suddenly she screamed twice, two short, shrill yells, her back arched despite my weight pressing against her.

I pulled away and rolled over on my back on the floor, my chest heaving. With all the bedrooms in the world, I somehow had managed to end up on the floor of an office. I smiled and stretched. There are worse fates.

Then I became aware of a tiny hand on my hip. Delicate fingers traced a filigree pattern on the inside of my leg. Su Lao Lin, it was obvious, wasn't finished yet.

As a matter of fact, several hours passed before she was.

Then, once we had bathed, dressed and eaten the dinner I ordered sent up, she became all business.

"Let me see your passport."

I handed it over. She studied it thoughtfully for a moment "Well have to get you a new one," she said. "An entirely different name, I think."

I shrugged, and had to smile inwardly. It looked as if my life as Nick Cartano was going to be very short indeed — not even a week.

"I want you out of here in the morning," she said.

"Why so fast? I kind of like it around here." That was true. It was also true that I wanted to find out as much as possible about the Beirut end of the operation before I left for the States.

She looked at me expressionlessly and I was forcefully reminded that this was Su Lao Lin, the Red Chinese agent who had sent so many American G.I.'s through hell along Heroin Highway, and no longer the delicate little wildcat on the office floor.

"Well? It has been an interesting evening, you'll admit."

"This is a business," she said coldly. "While you're around, I might forget that I can't afford to…"

"So you want me out of here on the morning flight," I finished for her. "Okay. But can you fix up papers for me that fast?"

Charlie Harkins could, I knew. But I doubted if there were any more Charlies hanging around Beirut.

Su Lao Lin again permitted herself that ghost of a smile. "Would I suggest it if I couldn't?" Her logic was hard to fault. "I want you to go now," she said.

I looked at my watch. "It's already ten o'clock."

"I know, but it's going to take some time… you must return here before you leave. Understand?" That ghost of a smile again. Su Lao Lin placed one tiny hand on my forearm and led me to the door.

I smiled at her. "You're the boss," I conceded. "Where do I go?"

"One-seven-three Almendares Street. It's over on the fringe of the Quarter. See a man named Charles Harkins. He'll take care of you. Just tell him I sent you. He's on the third floor." She patted my arm gently. It was probably the closest she would ever come to making an affectionate gesture.

I was cursing myself for a fool as I strode down the corridor and rang for the elevator. I should have known her penman was Charlie Harkins, which meant I had a problem. There was no way Charlie was going to fix me up with an entire new set of papers and not inform the Dragon Lady that she was playing around with AXE's No. 1 field agent.

There was one way, of course. I felt the reassuring weight of Wilhelmina against my chest as I stepped into the elevator. Poor old Charlie was going to get leaned on again, and this time it was going to have to be a pretty bard lean.

Number 173 Almendares Street. The odors, noises and activities in the building were external. Charlie answered the doorbell almost before I took my finger off the buzzer. Whoever he had been expecting, however, it wasn't me.

"Nick…! What are you doing here?"

It was a legitimate question. "Hi, Charlie," I said cheerfully as I pushed past him into the room. I sat down on one of the sofas in front of the coffee table, pulled a Galoise out of the half-crushed pack in my pocket and lit it with an ornate table lighter that looked as if it might have come from Hong Kong.

Charlie looked nervous as he closed the door, and after a moment of indecision, took a chair opposite me. "What's up, Nick?"

I grinned at him. "I've got another job for you, Charlie, and I want to talk to you a bit, too."

He assayed a small smile. It didn't come off too well. "I… uh… I can't talk much about things, Nick," he pleaded. "You know that."

He was right, of course. Half of Charlie's not inconsiderable value to the international underworld lay in his remarkable talents with a pen, a camera, a printing press, an airbrush, and an embossing kit. The other half lay in his absolute silence. If he ever talked about anything, he would be dead. Too many people in the Mideast would be too afraid that the next ones he talked about would be them. So silence was part of his stock in trade, and in my occasional brushes with Charlie I had never asked him to break it.

But life can be tough, I thought to myself. I had a moment's regret for what I was about to do, but I reminded myself that this was a presidential mission. The Charlie Harkinses of this world couldn't count for much.

"You should have told me you were working for the Dragon Lady, Charlie," I said conversationally.

He frowned as if he didn't know what the hell I was talking about "What do you mean… uh, Dragon Lady?"

"Come on, Charlie. Su Lao Lin."

"Su Lao Lin? Uh… who's she?" Fright played with his eyeballs.

"How long have you been working for her?"

"Me? Work for who?"

I sighed. I didn't have all night to play games. "Charlie," I said with exasperation. "She sent me over here. I need a whole new set of papers. I'm leaving for the States in the morning."

He stared at me, comprehension finally dawning on him. I watched his eyes as he worked it out in his mind. He knew I was an AXE agent. If Su Lao Lin had sent me over to get new papers, it meant that I had worked myself into the pipeline somehow. And if I had worked myself into the pipeline, it meant that that pipeline wouldn't be operating much longer. He looked around the room as if seeing the freshly painted walls, the green rug and the nice furniture all disappearing before his eyes.

He had figured things out correctly.

"You're sure?" he asked.

"I'm sure, Charlie."

He sighed deeply. The fates were contriving against Charlie Harkins and he knew it. He had to let Su Lao Lin know that an AXE agent had broken through her security. But the AXE agent was right there in the room with him.

I didn't envy him.

Finally he made up his mind and sighed again. He reached for the telephone on the coffee table.

I leaned across the coffee table and slammed the palm of my hand hard across the bridge of his nose.

Tears welled in his eyes as he jerked backward. A trickle of blood ran from his left nostril. "I… have to call," he gasped. "I have to confirm that she sent you. If I didn't, she would know something was wrong. It's standard procedure."

He was undoubtedly right. There had to be some confirmation system, and the phone was as good a way as any. Now I had my own dilemma to contend with. If Charlie didn't call Su Lao Lin, she would know there was trouble somewhere. On the other hand, the last thing I wanted at that moment was Charlie on the phone with Su Lao Lin. I took Wilhelmina out of her holster with one hand and handed Charlie the telephone receiver with the other. "Here. Call her up, just as you would if I were one of your average Siciliano customers. Right?"

He nodded, frightened. "Sure, Nick."

I waved Wilhelmina under his nose. "I want you to hold the phone so I can hear her, too. And I don't want you to say anything I wouldn't approve of. Understand?"

Harkins nodded bleakly. He dialed a number, then held the receiver halfway across the table and we both leaned forward so that our heads were almost touching.

The Dragon Lady's soft, aristocratic lisp came through the receiver. "Yes?"

Harkins cleared his throat. "Uh… Miss Lao?"

"Yes."

"Uh… This is Charlie Harkins. I got a guy up here who says you sent him."

"Describe him, please."

Inches away from me, Charlie rolled his eyes. "Well, he's about six feet four inches tall and has black hair combed straight back, kind of a square jaw and… uh… well, real broad shoulders."

I smiled at Charlie and waggled the tip of Wilhelmina at him.

"His name is Nick Cartano," he went on.

"Yes, I sent him over." I could hear her loud and clear. "We'll need everything — identity papers, passport, travel permit. He's leaving in the morning."

"Yes ma'am," Charlie replied dutifully.

"Charlie…" There was a pause on the other end of the line. "Charlie, have you ever heard of this Cartano? I wasn't able to get much of a line on him."

I nodded fiercely and tucked the muzzle of Wilhelmina under Charlie's chin to emphasize my point.

"Uh… sure, Miss Lao," he said. "I guess I've heard of him around town a little. He's been into a little bit of everything, I guess."

"Good." She sounded delighted.

Charlie stared uselessly at the telephone. He looked at me, dying to blurt out some kind of a warning.

I made a slight move with Wilhelmina.

"Goodbye, Miss Lao," he said. He hung up with a shaking hand, and I reholstered Wilhelmina.

He might have passed along some coded warning, or left out a confirmatory code, but I doubted it. The situation he was now in was too bizarre for his part of the operation to have ever been anticipated with such elaborate security.