Mystery Of The Sea Horse Page 9

  "Did they have a reservation? Do you know his name?"

  "No, senor. Although I believe . .

  The Phantom pushed out into the street. The rain had changed to a misty drizzle. No one was visible on the sidewalk.

  The window of the lone cab at the curb rolled

  down. "Don't get wet, senor. I'll take you anyplace."

  Sprinting to the open window of the cab, the Phantom asked, "The couple who just came out. Which way did they go?"

  The man tugged at the left side of his lopsided mustache. "No one has come out of there in the past ten minutes, senor. A very slow night."

  The Phantom returned inside. "Getting closer," he said to himself. "But not close enough."

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  The rain continued.

  A little after ten the next morning, the Phantom received a phone call. "Senor Walker?"

  "Yes, speaking."

  "This is Jimenez," said the man on the other end. "We met yesterday, you recall?"

  "Do you have some information on where Torres is?"

  "No, senor. But if you can meet me near his cantina in one hour, I can take you to his partner, who will be able to help you," Jimenez promised him. "Also, could you be prepared to pay me, say, twenty-five American dollars?"

  "I'll see you ?n an hour." He cradled the receiver, smiled across the room at Diana. "This may be something."

  The dark-haired girl was sitting in a wicker armchair. "Another solo performance?"

  'Yes, that's the safest thing." The Phantom fetched his trench coat out of the closet. "You stay here or in your room."

  "Where are you meeting your informant?"

  "In the vicinity of the Ail-American Cantina," he replied. "I want to get there a little early to make sure no one is planning an ambush." He kissed her on the cheek as he left the room.

  There was only Jimenez. He was huddled in the doorway of the little grocery store next to the cantina, watching the rainy street. The same shaggy yellow dog was scavenging his way down the block. "Over here, senor," called Jimenez when he saw the Phantom approaching.

  The Phantom had arrived nearly a half hour before and carefully checked out the neighborhood. When he was satisfied that this didn't look like a Danton setup, he let himself be seen. "Ready to go?" he asked the small thin Jimenez.

  "It is not that distant, senor." The other man was wearing a thick black overcoat and a Panama hat. "We can walk."

  The old shopkeeper peered out of his store, recognized the Phantom, and asked, "How are you today, senor?"

  "Fine and yourself?"

  "I would do better if rogues and rascals didn't use my place of business as a shelter against the rain." ~

  Jimenez gave him a brief scowl before stepping down onto the sidewalk. He proceeded to lead the Phantom downhill and quite close to the sea. In front of a small warehouse made of black stone, he stopped. "The twenty-five dollars which was mentioned, senor?"

  "Here you are." Rain and wind slapped at the money when he drew it from his wallet.

  There was an awning of tattered canvas over the wooden warehouse door, and it kept some of the rain off the two men. "His name is Ramirez," explained the Phantom's guide. "He may want ... oh, perhaps fifty dollars to tell you what he knows."

  "He's expecting me?"

  "Yes, senor. It is all arranged." Jimenez's narrow wrist shot out beyond the cuff of his heavy overcoat as he rapped on the door three times, then twice. "Even this knock is prearranged."

  Nothing happened.

  Jimenez cleared his throat before knocking again.

  Still no one came to let them into the black stone building.

  After a third series of knocks, Jimenez said, "Perhaps we would do well to return at a later—"

  "Well go in now and look around." The Phantom tried the door. It was locked.

  "Allow me," offered Jimenez. He slid a device out of an inner pocket. After glancing up and down the wet waterfront street, he went to work on the lock. "There, it is open," he said after a half minute.

  The Phantom turned the knob, pushed the door slowly inward. All the lights seemed to be on inside die place. He crossed the threshold.

  Following him, Jimenez called out, "Hey, Ramirez! Have you forgotten our appointment?"

  The large room was half-full of cases. Canned goods for the most part, judging by the stenciling on the cartons. There were also sacks of flour and corn meal.

  And toward the rear of the warehouse, just in front of a wide sliding door, a man was sprawled on the concrete.

  The Phantom ran toward him. "Is this Ramirez?" he asked.

  Jimenez had approached the sprawled man more slowly. "Yes, senor. This is he."

  Getting up from beside Ramirez, the Phantom said, "He's been dead about an hour."

  The sun came out and Diana mused, "I don't suppose it would hurt if I left for a little while."

  It was getting on toward noon. She'd returned to her own bungalow and had been sitting near the

  phone. She'd tried to read a paperback she'd brought with her, and a copy of the local daily.

  Standing, she said to herself, "We may be going home today and I haven't even picked up a gift for Uncle Dave."

  She put on a light coat, wrote a note which said: "Gone down to the market plaza to shop for flamboyant shirts. Back shortly. Love, Diana." She slipped that under the door of bungalow eleven on her way out.

  Roughly ten minutes after she'd arrived in the shopping area, when she had hardly had time to look into more than one of the bright shops, she noticed the gray-haired man.

  He was across the cobblestone street, alone, studying a display of silver bracelets in a shop window. The newly emerged sun made the silver sparkle and flare.

  Diana reversed her direction and walked back toward the corner. Then she crossed the street. There were dozens of people out on the sidewalks now, more arriving all the time. It shouldn't be too difficult to trail the gray-haired man, she thought. Perhaps he wouldn't lead her directly to Chris Danton, but she'd follow him anyway. She should be able to find out where he was staying and then let the Phantom know.

  The man moved on, sauntering along the street, studying the shop windows. He paused to check the price of a fat wicker basket, then strolled on. A fat woman with a pushcart offered him a tortilla wrapped around meat and beans. He glanced at the tortilla which rested in her palm, shook his head, and continued his stroll.

  Halfway down the block, an alley branched off. The gray-haired man turned down that.

  Diana, following at a safe distance, came to the

  mouth of the alley. There didn't seem to be anything down there except a tiny cafe at the alley end. The man must have gone in there. She decided to go closer to the cafe.

  She was ten yards down the alley when someone said, out of a shadowy alcove, "Over here, Diana."

  The small red-haired Laura was standing there. She had a .38 revolver pointed straight at Diana.

  "Laura," she said.

  "You walked right in, didn't you?"

  "I—" Someone grabbed her from behind.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  "It's coming along, yes, very nicely." Chris Danton, in a black pullover and dark slacks, was standing on a catwalk watching his men at work on the Sea Horse.

  The yacht was nearly two hundred feet long, with funnel and superstructure of aluminum alloy. Her original color was white, but she was in the process of being painted a dark gray. A half-dozen men, some sitting on platforms lowered from the lifeboat davits, were painting the Sea Horse's starboard side.

  Chuck Piper rubbed several times at his short hair. "I don't like it down here," he complained. "I feel odd, all pressed in sort of."

  Danton laughed. "That's only natural. You're in a cave."

  The Sea Horse was floating in black water inside a huge cave. The only light came from vapor lamps fitted into the rough cave ceiling.

  "I wish we were long gone from here," said Chuck.

  "Shell b
e finished in another few days," said the handsome Danton. "Then we will once again adopt new names and new identities. We'll set sail for new ports of call."

  Chuck pointed at the yacht. "All that stuff is still hidden down there."

  "No place safer," Danton assured him.

  "Too many people know about us."

  "You use the wrong tense, Chuck. Some people

  knew about us." Danton took a cigarette from his silver case. "Did you have any trouble with Ramirez?"

  "No, none. He's out of the picture," answered the blond young man. "And I got us enough supplies to last through the rest of our stay here. But this guy . . . this Phantom is still going to nose around. He almost got to Ramirez. How did he think to come down here to Mocosa in the first place?"

  "Obviously there's been a slight security leak somewhere."

  "Maybe you said something to the girl."

  Danton laughed again. "Does that seem likely?" He lit the cigarette before asking, "And what about the fair Diana?"

  "I got a call from Laura about twenty minutes ago," answered Chuck. "She says the girl left her bungalow, all by herself. Laura and Edwards are going to see about grabbing her."

  "Good."

  "What do you figure to do with her if they bring her over here?"

  Smiling, Danton said, "I'm not exactly sure. Something effective."

  Chuck took a few steps on the metal flooring of the caveside catwalk. "I also heard from one of our contacts in Santa Barbara."

  "Don't tell me Marcus and Busino are in hot pursuit?"

  "Not them, no," said Chuck. "But somebody else."

  Danton frowned. "Who?"

  "Some peaceful-looking blond guy has been asking questions," replied Chuck. "He was calling himself Helmann most recently."

  "Helmann? Who is he?" asked Danton. "Is the

  syndicate thinking of trying to hold us up again?"

  "He's not syndicate, not interested in junk," said Chuck. It's about something else.

  That's all I know."

  "Ah," said Danton, nodding. He moved to a metal exit door. "Find out all you can about this Helmann. And tell the men to paint faster."

  For a long while, there had been no light in the room.

  Then a flashlight appeared some distance from her, floating in the blackness.

  Diana remained silent, watching the glare of yellow drifting closer. She was sitting on a dirt floor, among debris which seemed to be mostly broken pottery. The room had no windows in its thick adobe walls. There was one door, locked and bolted on the outside. Apparently, the whole room, including the door, was soundproof. At least no one had responded to the shouting Diana had done during her first few minutes here.

  This should be fairly near the marketplace. The gray-haired man, with a hand clamped tightly over her mouth, had dragged her down only one long corridor after grabbing her in the alley.

  "There's a chair over there." The flashlight beam illuminated the spot.

  "I didn't notice," answered Diana.

  "Well be leaving soon," said Laura, swinging the light back so it shone on Diana. "We want to wait until nighttime."

  Diana had no idea what time it was. She had the impression she'd been in this lightless room for hours. "Is Chris Danton here?"

  "Not right in Mocosa," answered the redhead. "Nearby, though. Maybe you'll have dinner with him." "I can forgo the pleasure."

  "Speaking of food, are you hungry? I can whip you up a sandwich or something," offered the other girl. "I'm very handy that way, with food."

  "No, thanks."

  "Oh, it wouldn't be drugged," said Laura. "When it comes time to haul you out of here, we'll simply give you a shot to put you to sleep for a few hours."

  "What does Chris have in mind for me now?"

  The flashlight rose and fell two inches as the red-haired girl shrugged. "I'm honestly not sure," she said. "But he said not to shoot you down this time. Instead he wants you brought out to the island."

  "Maybe after the other night he's lost confidence in your shooting ability," said Diana. "Does he have an island down here?"

  "Oh, Chris has always got an island somewhere," said Laura.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  The gray-haired man came in and said, "The truck's here."

  "I didn't hear it." Laura was sitting on the edge of a long wooden crate.

  "That's probably because this room is soundproof."

  There was a single wall light burning in the windowless room.

  Laura hopped to the earthen floor, taking a final look into the box.

  Diana was stretched out in there, unconscious. The gray-haired man, whose name was Edwards, had given her an injection ten minutes ago.

  "I'll need a hand with this lid," said Edwards.

  "Is she going to be able to breathe inside there?" The small red-haired girl was standing beside the crate, hands on hips.

  "Help me with the lid, will you?" said Edwards. "Don't worry, there are plenty of air holes."

  Laura picked up her end of the lid without bending her legs. "Heave ho," she said as they fitted it into place.

  Edwards secured it with a half-dozen nails. He grunted once, began pulling the crate along the floor. He'd placed a dolly under it before depositing Diana.

  The panel truck was waiting in an alley on the other side of the building. Night had arrived and little-light .from the street found its way here.

  With the driver pulling from inside, they got the crate into the truck.

  Edwards quietly closed the doors. "I'll see you over on the island tomorrow," he told Laura.

  "Seeing the blonde lady again tonight?" Laura walked around to the front of the truck.

  "Yes, but we're not dining out. I don't want to be noticed by any friends of your cargo there."

  "Bon voyage," called Laura as the truck rolled out of the alley.

  Twenty-five minutes later, she and the crate were approaching a small hilly island some two miles offshore. Laura was sitting with one booted foot atop the box. "I'm trying to decide," she said to the broad back of the man at the wheel of the launch.

  "Huh?" he asked without turning.

  "Which of you is the best conversationalist, the guy who drives the truck or you."

  "People can talk too much."

  Sighing, Laura turned to watch the approaching island. It didn't look like much. Raw hills and a few stands of gnarled trees, a cluster of simple adobe houses. Orange light showed in some of the windows and dogs barked. Not guard dogs like Danton had on his other island, only mutts this time. Everything visible was camouflage.

  Chuck Piper was waiting for Laura on the dock. "Got her?"

  "Same-day service," replied Laura. "Have a hammer?"

  He drew a hammer from a loop on his trousers, tossed it down to her. "Here you go."

  Laura began prying the lid off the crate. "Hop down here and heft her out, Chuck." The nails made a twisting, whining sound as they were drawn from the wood.

  Chuck lifted the drugged Diana up out of the wooden box.

  "Wait a sec." Laura reached down into the crate. "One of her shoes came off."

  Chuck carried Diana onto the dock and then almost one hundred yards across the island. He went into the first small house with her.

  Laura followed, the lost shoe swinging on her forefinger. She tugged down two consecutive hooks in a closet of the bedroom, causing a section of wall to slide away. There was a metal door behind that. The red-haired girl pushed at three of the many screws on the surface of the door. It hissed slowly open. "All aboard for funland," she said, stepping into the concealed elevator. "Where's he want her taken anyhow?"

  "Onto the yacht." Chuck came sideways into the elevator with his burden.

  "Whereabouts on the yacht?"

  "Cabin A-5."

  "Ah, she's going to be traveling first-class."

  Steam spiraling up from the cup of coffee hid part of Danton's face. "At long last," he said, "I may welcome you aboard the Sea Horse."
>
  Diana was sitting in a chair next to her cabin bunk. She had awakened only a few minutes earlier. She brushed her hair back from her face and watched him without answering.

  "I really am sorry about that incident the other evening, Diana."

  "Which incident? The one where you tried to brainwash me, or are you referring to your attempt to blow me up?"

  Danton laughed, holding the coffee cup toward her.

  She brushed it aside, making hot coffee splash on his wrist.

  "You must believe me." Danton placed the cup on a bunkside bureau, and wiped his wrist. "I truly regret my attempts to have you killed, Diana. They were angry impulses, which I now sincerely regret. You can see for yourself that I am only holding you for a while until I am safely away. I have no intention of—"

  "Do you regret trying to kill my friend, too?"

  Danton laughed more loudly. "I must admit I am not as fond of the Phantom as I am of you."

  "So you know who he is."

  "Yes. As you know, I've traveled considerably throughout Bangalla. I've heard a good deal about the Phantom. Now, thanks to you, Diana, I've had the opportunity to meet him."

  "You'll meet him again."

  "I doubt he'll find you this time," said Danton. "My people were relatively discreet. And in another day or so we'll be safely at sea, heading for an entirely different part of the world."

  "The Sea Horse should be pretty easy to recognize, no matter where it is."

  "Unfortunately you came aboard while you were not too observant, otherwise you would have noticed I have crews working round the clock to change our facade." He sniffed the air for a second. "I've never been fond of the smell of paint, but it can't be helped. When we leave this little hideaway, under cover of darkness in a couple days' time, the Sea Horse will have ceased to exist. We will have new and believable registry papers and even I will be bearing a new identity."

  "Another one?"

  Danton stared at her. "What do you mean by that?"

  "You're not the only person who's wanted to talk to me lately," Diana said.

  "Something to do with who I am?" He took hold of her arms above the elbows. "Tell me."

  "Two men," she said, turning her head away from his. "They seemed to think I know a good deal more about you than I really do."