Lone Wolf #5: Havana Hit (10 page)

Wulff awoke from a clotted doze on the floor to the shrieking of the telephone. Half suspended in a dream he thought for a moment that he was back in the precinct, doing desk duty, taking an emergency call. Your girl is dead, someone was saying to him, your girl is dead, and he awoke fully, bellowing, to find that he was in the room with Stevens and that it was Stevens reaching for the telephone, not he. The man’s face was coarse with sleep but his eyes were alert. He looked at Wulff and made a motion indicating that Wulff should settle back and, breathing in a shallow fashion, he did. It came back to you, all of it, sooner or later. He would be living with one emergency call forever.

“Yes,” Stevens was saying into the phone. “Yes, everything’s all right. I was going to call you in just a few minutes. Everything worked out. No, the helicopter is ditched.”

He paused, listened to something coming over the phone. It was a loose, syrupy babble with occasional peaks and Stevens withdrew the telephone from his ear, shaking his head at the sound, blinking and rubbing a hand over his free ear. “No,” he said, “he’s dead. I’m afraid that he was killed in an exchange of gunfire but we were able to get him anyway. They’re both dead. Yes, both of them. I was able to get the copter down somehow and walk away from it. It was in the dark; I can’t give you the exact location but it’s somewhere pretty near here.”

He paused again, looked at the wall, eyes dead. “Yes,” he said, “that would be a very good idea. I’ll get over there myself, don’t send anyone here. It’s best if you just let me get over by myself; I’ll be there shortly,” and then hung up the phone with a clatter, pushed it away from him and stood, backing his calves into the bed for balance. “He doesn’t believe a word of it,” he said to Wulff.

“That was Delgado?”

“Of course it was Delgado. He doesn’t believe that you’re dead; he doesn’t believe that the policeman is dead. I don’t even think he believes that he was talking to me. He wants me to come right over and see him.”

“Well,” Wulff said, “you can go over and see him.”

“He’s no fool. You’re all wrong if you take this man for a fool. Delgado knows what the hell is likely to happen.”

“Does he?” Wulff said, “then why isn’t he sending someone over to escort you?”

Stevens started to say something and then hesitated. He shook his head, his eyes became abstracted. “I guess he trusts me,” he said, “also he’s trying to attract as little attention, make as few waves as possible. This isn’t exactly a government-sanctioned project you know.”

“You mean he’s freelancing.”

“Probably. He’s probably doing that.”

“If he’s freelancing there’s only a minimum amount of troops he can throw into this. Also, he’s not likely to get much help, is he?”

“He’s no fool,” Stevens said again, “I’m telling you, he knows what he’s doing.”

“I’ve been dealing with people who know what they’re doing. It doesn’t help them.”

“All right,” Stevens said, “I don’t know why I’m arguing with you. That’s pretty stupid, isn’t it? You’re the one holding the gun. I don’t want to fight this out. What do you want to do?”

“I think we ought to go over and see him,” Wulff said.

“Just walk in there, the two of us? Do you really think that we’d get two steps into the building? They’d kill you.”

“I’ll take that chance.”

“I don’t understand you,” Stevens said. “We can’t walk unarmed into that building and expect to get into Delgado’s office.”

“I didn’t suggest being unarmed,” Wulff said.

Stevens’s glance swung over to the drawer in which the armaments had been and then back to Wulff. “That’s ridiculous,” he said. “That’s no real firepower.”

“There may be enough. You were the one who said that he’s freelancing this thing out, remember? He wants to draw as little attention as possible. Probably no one ringing that building, none of the security force knows what’s going on.”

“That’s crazy,” Stevens said, “that’s absolutely crazy. You can’t take this man.”

“Can’t I?” Wulff said. He looked at Stevens in level fashion. “Are you sure of that? I took you.”

Stevens held his gaze for a moment and then, convulsively, looked away. “All right,” he said. “It might work. But Delgado isn’t me.”

“Yes he is,” Wulff said.

“I doubt it.”

“Delgado works for the highest bidder too,” Wulff said, “and he’s freelancing. There’s no one behind him. I detect if I may say so a certain absense of conviction … he doesn’t understand drugs, you see. All that he understands is money.”

“What do you want?” Stevens said. “What exactly are you after?”

“I want my valise back,” Wulff said. “I went to a lot of trouble to get that valise and then they hijacked it away from me. I still consider it my property. I’m getting a little tired of losing valises full of smack. The last one that was stolen from me cost about ten people their lives. You’d think that they’d learn their lesson by now, wouldn’t you? But they’ve got to learn it over and over again. The turnover in the world is fantastic.”

“All right,” Stevens said, “all right then,” and began to pull himself together. He went to the small closet, took out a set of clothes, began to dress. “I’ve got no choice, do I? I’ve got to come along.”

“Of course you’ve got to come along,” Wulff said. “You’re the one who’s going to get us into the building.” He went to the small table where he had left the armaments for the night and carefully began to check them over, checking the stocks, the action of the triggers. Everything seemed to work. Stevens finished dressing and went to the door, stood there in a reluctant position, one hand on the knob.

“He wants to see me now,” he said. “I guess that we should be going.”

“I guess we should,” Wulff said. He scooped up the pistols casually, began to fit them into various pockets. Thirty-two caliber, they hardly made a noticeable bulge anywhere yet at close range they would be as deadly and effective as machine gun fire. For the first time since he had boarded the plane in Las Vegas he was really armored again; there was a feeling of security in that. The gun, that was all they understood, there was no other argument which could draw pity or fear from them, and so if that was what it came down to, then it was that with which he would confront them. Stevens stood by the door, looking at him, his glance curiously lustreless. “I don’t like this,” he said.

“I don’t like it either,” Wulff said. “I just want my valise back.”

“He’s a deadly man. It’s a deadly business.”

“You don’t want to go there?” Wulff said. He looked at Stevens directly. “Then what use are you tome?”

“When you put it that way—”

“I haven’t decided what to do with you yet,” Wulff said. “I can’t decide if you’re to be trusted or not. Probably that doubt will always exist. So if you can’t be of any use to me, I can settle out the problem right now.”

“I’m sick of being threatened,” Stevens said, the lustrelessness passing down from eyes to voice. “I’ve been threatened for years, Wulff. I’m so tired of it. I can’t go on living this way anymore. There’s got to be some peace. I came to Havana for peace.”

“All of you people are crazy,” Wulff said. “Right down the line you don’t want to be involved in what you’re involved in but you’ll do it, won’t you? Of course you will. You love it; you wouldn’t know what to do if you didn’t have defeat, Stevens. You’d have to face up and accomplish something, admit feeling, have pain if you couldn’t hang onto defeat. Come on,” he said, “let’s get going.”

“I’m not afraid,” Stevens said, not moving. “Right now, this minute, I’m not afraid. A minute from now I might be but now I’m all right. You ought to kill me, Wulff; I’ll never die better.”

“I wouldn’t do it,” Wulff said, “I just wouldn’t do it,” and he made a motion toward Stevens; Stevens caught it, acknowledged it and then with the aspect of a man binding himself together opened the door and preceded Wulff down the stairs. From behind he was not nearly such a large man, shrunken in fact, his shoulder blades prominent, his walk awkward, the tilt of his head that of a man many years older who had suffered an injury of some sort.

Into the jaws of the enemy, Wulff thought.

There was just no other way.

He knew that Delgado would be waiting.

The capital was only a short distance from the hotel. Urban sociology, Wulff thought, was a constant: all cities in all parts of the world seemed to be fabricated in the same way. From the central city, the gleaming center of commerce with its relatively aseptic streets, the city spat back residents; the people living just outside the circle of the central city lived in the filthiest, most dangerous area of all because real-estate values back of the central city were such that housing could be accommodated only by cramming the largest number of people into the smallest possible space. That meant poverty and filth but it also meant residents, because no firm or governmental office wanted to be on the ring outside of the central city; it was either straight downtown or it was sprawled out ten miles from that ring. Havana was typical of such construction; the hotel in which Stevens lived was in that ring but as they walked through the streets the very air seemed to lighten; it came off them like a glassine sheet or cellophane, rather than like the gelatinous material which had clung to their faces further back. It even seemed to Wulff, as he stalked Stevens four or five paces to the rear, holding his hand lightly on a pistol within his pocket, that Stevens himself was gathering courage, looking better the further he moved from his dismal quarters toward the capital. The capital itself loomed up before them, a series of flat buildings which rose above the skyline of the city and approaching it from the rear this way they were able to close in utterly unobserved. From the rear the buildings looked unadorned, unpatrolled, all of the security forces so common in these countries were clustered toward the front because they could see matters only in terms of frontal protection. No wonder any group of guerillas numbering more than three with more than five dollars in backing could make a good run at the regime if they wanted. The only reason the government here had stood so long was probably that no one else would have it: it was simply too much trouble to inherit the difficulties for oneself.

They stopped by a low wall ringing the near building, Stevens halting, letting Wulff catch up to him. “This is the building,” Stevens said. “He’s on the third floor.”

“I know that. I was here, remember?”

“I don’t remember. I don’t remember anything. As far as I’m concerned your entire life is a blank up to the point I met you on the plane. All right?”

“Suits me,” said Wulff.

“So what do you want to do?”

“What do you think I want to do?” Wulff said, “I want to go in there and take him.”

“I tell you again, you’re crazy. We won’t get anywhere.”

“You don’t understand,” Wulff said, “you just don’t understand what’s really going on here. If we keep it low-key and matter-of-fact we have a reasonable chance.”

“Don’t say
we
. I’m just a hostage being brought here under duress.”

“Oh,” Wulff said, “in other words if this thing doesn’t work you’ll jump back to that side.”

“I’ll jump back to any side,” Stevens said, “I’ll be on any side which will have me. Survival is the name of the game, do you understand? I won’t betray you and I’ll work with you but if I can save my ass I’d like to. But I’ll walk in there fronting you and try to get us in.”

“You’re an honest man.”

“It’s the only goddamned virtue I have left,” Stevens said. “The rest of it went a long time ago, but yes I’m honest. I try to be according to my lights, anyway.” He pushed off from the wall again and Wulff fell into position. They traversed the wall of the building and came out then on a sudden, glowing street, sun bouncing off the hard cement, an explosion of traffic and uniforms. It was stunning, as if the street had been scooped up and hurled in their faces and for just a moment Wulff found himself taken by it, from the rear the building was death stretching into the backyard and rubble but from the front—ah! from the front it was the gleaming center of a thriving, industrious government. Washington, D.C. was the same way, crawling in from the drug-smeared ghetto to the abrupt sweep of Pennsylvania Avenue and the White House and these people had certainly taken their lessons from American administration, either that or both of them had learned from some common source…. Well, it was very complex and interesting, but having nothing to do with the primary thing, which was not to speculate on urban sociology but to get hold of Delgado and proceed from there. The uniforms ringing the steps did not even look at Stevens and Wulff as they climbed upwards; they looked straight out ahead, one of them chewing gum, a couple of others conversing, a gleaming display of governmental authority except that they did not hold themselves correctly and surely did not know what was going on. Stevens walked through a glass door, held it open for Wulff and they went into a huge lobby, stone figures ringing the walls. There at last a guard stopped them; a man whose face under the ornate cap was both young and stricken, showing a kind of personality which officials should never have.

“Yes,” he said, holding his hand out, then his arm extended so that Stevens walked into it and stopped. “What can be done for you?”

“We’re here to see Raoul Delgado,” Stevens said.

“Have you got a pass?”

“No,” Stevens said, “we have no pass at all. We do have an appointment. He asked—”

“Who is this gentleman with you?”

“I’m his assistant,” Wulff said, “I assist Mr. Stevens.”

The guard’s eyes flickered. “I’m afraid I do not understand that,” he said. “I will have to call up to Mr. Delgado to—”

“It is not necessary,” Wulff said flatly. “We have an appointment.”

“You may bery well have an appointment but there is no verification—”

“This is our verification,” Wulff said. He took out a pistol and aimed it at the guard’s stomach. The man looked down at it and seemed to shrivel.

“Keep quiet,” Wulff said. “Don’t say a word. I don’t want to draw any attention.”

The guard seemed fascinated by the gun. There were two others in the lobby but they had their backs to them, seemed to be examining the walls. That was governmental efficiency for you. Still, at least they were English-speaking which was something. It made business easier to transact. Trust this government; they would, all of them, make English their second language. They knew where the money was.

“Lead us to Delgado,” Wulff said. He held the gun close in against him with old practice. Anyone looking casually would not even see it. “I really would like you to lead us there,” he said. “Otherwise I’m going to have to kill you and that would draw a crowd.”

The guard gulped. He appeared eighteen years old now, probably exactly what he was. “You’ll never manage this,” he said, “it’s impossible—”

“Nothing’s impossible,” Wulff said. “Check him out,” he said to Stevens.

Stevens had been looking at this with awe. Now, impassively enough, he stepped forward, ran his hands up and down the guard’s body. His eyes kindled with a little expression of pleasure and he reached into a side pants pocket, took out a small gun and drawing it against him like a professional, passed it to Wulff.

“Keep it,” Wulff said. “Is it in working condition?” he asked the guard.

“I don’t know,” the boy said. He was gasping, his cheeks turning greenish. “I’ve never used it.”

“Well,” Stevens said, “we’ll just take our chances. Probably it fires backwards.”

“No doubt,” said Wulff. “All right,” he said to the guard, “you’re going to escort us to Delgado’s office now.”

“I’m what?”

“You heard me. We want an escort.”

“I can’t do that. I’ll be killed.”

“That’s possible,” Wulff said.

“It’s possible that we’ll all get killed,” Stevens said dryly. The activity seemed to have soldered him into courage; the man looked imperturbable now. “Life’s a temporary state at best. Get moving.”

“I’ll get killed,” the guard said again, almost wonderingly. “But I don’t want to get killed. I want to live.”

“Not at this rate,” Wulff said and prodded him gently in the buttocks with the pistol. The guard’s body yanked forward, then he moved into a slow, perilous walk. The two facing the wall did not even turn. They walked through the lobby: first the guard, then Wulff, Stevens in the rear, all toward a winding flight of stairs at the rear, then the guard stopped and turned. “You want the elevator?” he said. His eyes were shrouded as if he had just thought of something.

“Not a chance,” said Wulff.

“It’s two flights.”

“Good. We need the exercise.”

The guard sighed, turned again. As he did so he cast a longing, sidewise glance at the two by the wall; he seemed to think that they might take some notice of what was going on. A dart of sheer need flamed from him which Wulff intercepted, caught that bolt in the air and then the guard sighed, relaxed: the two were paying no attention whatsoever. Shaking his head the guard led them up the steps. Looking back, casting a quick sidelong glance at the guards as he trailed, Wulff had a sudden flare of understanding himself: it was quite likely that the guards did know what was happening, did suspect that something had gone wrong … but it made no difference. They were not going to pay attention because they simply wanted no part of it. It was a reasonable thing; it fitted in with everything that he had already come to know of Havana. These two guards were not going to get involved; it was not worth it to them. If Wulff and Stevens were assassins, if they had compelled the guard to lead them upstairs to deal with some official of the bureaucracy…. Well, if the guards could stay out of it they might well benefit. A change of order might be a promotion. That was about the only way you could make it in this kind of regime if you were at the bottom levels; hope that it would be changed over and that you might move upward in a purge.

Reasonable: it was all reasonable. They climbed one flight, then two, the guard offering no further resistance of any sort, only clambering upward numbly as if he were an actor following the rather obscure instructions of a director who he did not understand, but who made no difference to him anyway. At the second landing the guard stopped, his chest moving unevenly under his jacket, his young face beaten and now streaming sweat. He lifted a shaking finger and pointed down the hall.

“No,” Wulff said. “You take us in there.”

The guard shook his head. Some last vestige of resistance showed in soft pastel moving across his cheeks. “No,” he said. “I won’t do that.”

Wulff showed him the pistol again. “Then I’ll have to kill you right here.”

The guard looked up; the sweat had converted his face into a mirror in which Wulff thought that he might see himself. “No,” he said, “you wouldn’t do this.”

“I wouldn’t? Try me.” There was no one in the corridor. The corridor was empty. The soft sounds of typing drifted down. Fluorescence winked.

“I won’t,” the guard said again, with less assurance. “You know which office it is,” he said to Stevens.

Stevens shrugged to show that he was out of it and nodded at Wulff. “It’s up to him,” he said. “I have nothing to do with it.”

“I don’t want to—”

“I know you don’t want to,” Wulff said. “You don’t want to lead us in there because you’ll be the first through the door and you’re afraid that Delgado has been alerted or is waiting anyway with a gun and as soon as someone walks in he’s going to shoot. You don’t want to die, do you?”

“No,” the guard said weakly. “I don’t want to die.”

“But you’re going to. One way or the other. You’re going to die in this hall or in Delgado’s office you see. You can have thirty seconds more of life if you listen to me. Otherwise you’ll die now.”

“You wouldn’t kill me,” the guard said. “You wouldn’t be so foolish. A shot would draw attention. You don’t want any attention drawn to you now.” He put his hands down, backed away, slowly, down the steps. “You won’t shoot,” he said, “you won’t do it.” Confidence flooded into his face. “You won’t,” he said again.

Wulff lifted the pistol and shot the guard in the throat. The guard made a sound like a frog and slowly, gracelessly, arced. His feet departed from the steps. Spouting blood he flew backwards, airborne for half a flight, then his body hit the landing. He spattered and began to roll, moving with increased speed down the steps and out of sight.

Stevens looked at Wulff and said, “Did you have to do that?”

“Yes, I had to do it.”

“You’re going to get all of them—”

“I’m going to get no one,” Wulff said. “No one at all if we won’t waste time.” He waved the gun at Stevens. “I don’t have the time,” he said. “Show me his office.”

“All right,” Stevens said carefully. The nervousness that Wulff had not seen since yesterday had returned. His hand shaking, Stevens took out a handkerchief and wiped his face in short, trembling strokes. Then he turned and walked down the corridor.

It was still empty. The typewriters sounded like silk in the thin space. The shot had been half-silenced by the guard’s croak; the guard’s croak, the kind of sound that a fat man might make clearing his throat, had not attracted any attention. Stevens led Wulff down the corridor. At the end light spilled out from a larger opening. Stevens pointed. “There,” he said, “that’s it.”

“Good,” Wulff said, the pistol held comfortably. “Lead us in.”

“Lead us in?” Stevens said, “I thought—”

“You thought exactly right,” Wulff said, “you’re going to lead us in there. What do you think I went through all of this for? To let you go?”

“No. I didn’t think so.”

“Good. Get on in there.”

“All right,” Stevens said. He ran his hands up and down his arms in a nervous, convulsive gesture, swallowed twice, then seemed to bring the various angles of his body together. “I never expected anything different,” he said, “I knew it would have to be this way.”

“No philosophizing.”

“I work for the highest bidder.”

“That’s right. Now work for the highest bidder and walk on in there.”

“Right,” said Stevens. “Right. Walk right in. Sit right down.” He strode out, Wulff behind him two paces, turned the corner and went into the crevice.

Delgado, in a white jacket behind the desk, was holding a gun. His hand reached out as he saw Stevens. The first shot might have gone right in, but as he was still aiming, his eye caught Wulff behind and that small instant of confusion was just sufficient to jar the gun in his hand. The shot came out screaming and went into the wall above Wulff’s left shoulder. Wulff fired immediately but Delgado had kicked down below the desk, scrambling, and the second shot came viciously near Wulff’s left shoulder, the one that had been injured in Las Vegas. It had been in pretty good shape; he had not even been conscious of it until now but yanking his arm sent a small explosion of pain through it all over again and he spread-eagled on the floor, the gun extended before him, gasping.