“Lucia told me to pack,” Nancy said. “She knew this was the end.”
“Let’s go.” I lifted the suitcase as Coldwell came to the door. “All set, Lu,” I said. “Take the bag. I’ll help Mrs. Hamel.”
I went to her and pulled her gently to her feet. With my arm around her, I led her to the front door. The car lights had been turned off, but the smell of Lucia’s disintegrated body hung foully on the hot air.
Nancy took one breath, screamed and fainted. I just managed to catch her, then scooping her up in my arms, hurried across to the waiting chopper. Coldwell helped me lift her inert body into the chopper.
Nick, his eyes bugging, took her from us and laid her across the back seat. Coldwell pushed in the suitcase, then stood back.
“Let’s go,” I said as I dropped into the seat beside Nick.
“Man! I saw it all!” he exclaimed as he gunned the engine. “I wouldn’t have missed it for the world!”
I wasn’t listening. As the chopper lifted, I turned around to look at Nancy. Her face was white, her eyes closed.
So far, fine, I thought. She hasn’t recognized me, but she surely must when she is out of shock. Play one card at the time. At least, you have established the fact that it was you who rescued her.
It took less than ten minutes for Nick to land on the Spanish Bay hotel helicopter pad. As he switched on the landing lights, I could see Mel Palmer, a nurse and two white coated interns, waiting.
As the chopper grounded, Nancy stirred, then sat up.
“What’s happening?” she demanded shrilly. “Where am I?”
I turned to face her. The light in the cabin was strong enough to light both our faces.
“Mrs. Hamel, you are safe,” I said. “You’re at the Spanish Bay hotel and Mr. Palmer is waiting to take care of you.”
She stared fixedly at me.
“Who are you?”
“The guy who rescued you,” I said, and gave her my boyish smile, but I was puzzled. It was hard to accept that she didn’t remember that time when we had sat facing each other on the terrace of the Country Club when I had tried to put the squeeze on her, but I could see she didn’t remember, and I began to relax. “You have nothing to worry about. You are now safe.”
Nick opened the door of the chopper. I slid out. Nancy got unsteadily to her feet. Nick helped her descend and I took over. She leaned against me as Palmer came fussily up.
The two interns took over. I stepped back to give Palmer room to go into his soothing act.
For tonight, there was nothing more I could do. I watched her being led across the roof with Palmer murmuring. Then at the elevator that would take them down to the penthouse, she abruptly turned.
“Where’s my bag?”
The strident, urgent snap in her voice was a complete give away. Up to this moment, she had had me fooled, but that snap in her voice sent a cold prickle up my spine. That wasn’t the voice of a woman who had just lost her sister, just lost her husband, a woman everyone described as ‘nice.’ This was the voice of a dangerous, ruthless terrorist!
For a long moment, I stood still, absorbing the shock. Then my brain moved into action. Here was the answer to the puzzle why this woman I had thought was Nancy hadn’t recognized me. Lucia Pofferi had never seen me! So how could she recognize me? Into my mind flashed the picture of the woman I had thought was Lucia, staggering out of the ranch house, screaming: Don’t shoot! Lucia had sacrificed her sister in a ruthless attempt to escape! She had strapped live grenades to Nancy’s hands, then kicked her out into the open, knowing when the grenades exploded, her sister’s body would be a mess of broken bones and flesh, obliterating her hands and her finger prints.
But this gruesome escape plan had come apart at the seams. Lucia had made two fatal errors: she had failed to recognize me because she had never seen me, and the suitcase she had packed was so important to her, she had let her mask slip.
I forced myself to call, “It’s all right, Mrs. Hamel. I’m bringing it.”
The two interns closed around her. They and Palmer entered the elevator cage with her.
Nick handed down the suitcase.
“That’s it, Nick, and thanks. Don’t say a word to the press.”
“It’s been a ball,” Nick said, grinning. “Man! This is something to tell my grandchildren.”
I crossed over to the elevator, paused until he had taken off, then tried to open the suitcase. It was locked. Using the barrel of my gun, I forced open the locks.
Among the clothes, I found a .38 revolver, two hand grenades and a chequebook. Squatting on my haunches, I examined the chequebook. Every cheque in the book carried Nancy Hamel’s signature. Staring at the book, I realized the book was worth millions of dollars. I put it in my jacket pocket, then I hid the revolver and the grenades in the gutter, surrounding the roof. I carefully re-fixed the locks, then I took the elevator down to the penthouse floor. I found Mel Palmer, looking miffed, standing outside a door in the corridor.
“Mr. Anderson,” he said. “She wants her bag.”
“I bet she does,” I said.
“I don’t understand it” he went on, a plaintive whine in his voice. “She refuses medical care. She said she wanted to be alone. After all the trouble I have taken to arrange for her comfort! She actually pushed me out!”
That I could understand.
“I’ll give her the bag,” I said. “She has had a great shock. The best thing for her is to get some rest.”
“It’s nearly dawn!” he exclaimed. “I also need rest! I have commitments today! I am going home.”
“The best place, Mr. Palmer,” I said, giving him my sincere smile. “As soon as I have given Mrs. Hamel her bag, that’s where I’ll be heading.”
I watched him walk to the elevator, then I loosened my gun in its holster, then tapped on the door.
“Your bag, Mrs. Hamel,” I said.
The door jerked open.
The woman I was now sure was Lucia Pofferi stared at me. Her face had a boney, scraped look: her eyes were glittering.
“Put it down,” she said, taking a step back.
I moved forward and placed the bag just inside the room.
“Thank you,” she said. “Now leave me.”
With the heel of my shoe, I shoved the door shut. As I did so, I drew my gun and levelled it at her.
“Take it easy, baby,” I said. “Don’t try anything tricky.”
She cocked an eyebrow.
“So, who are you?”
“The name’s Bart Anderson.”
Watching her, I saw her eyes narrow. The nickel had dropped. Diaz must have told her my name: possibly Nancy also.
“Bart Anderson?” A thin, viperish smile touched her lips.
“Of course, the blackmailer. How did you get on the scene?”
“It’s my business. Let’s sit down, baby, we have much to talk about.”
She shrugged, then walked over to a big settee and sat down. She crossed her legs and leaned back, regarding me.
She looked as attractive as a coiled cobra. I took a chair well away from her and I kept the gun pointing at her.
“How does it feel to murder your sister?” I asked.
“That ninny? Why not? She was a useless birdbrain. Aldo agreed she should take my place. I am important to our movement. She was nothing.” Her eyes moved to the suitcase. “I see you’ve broken the locks. Did you get the chequebook?”
“I have it.” I smiled at her. “The hardware is up on the roof.”
She nodded.
“So let’s not waste time,” she said. “How much do you want?”
Still keeping her covered, I took out the chequebook and waved it at her.
“I’ll settle for a million. That leaves you plenty. Let’s work it this way: I keep the cheques. You stay here. I’ll write four cheques for two hundred and fifty thousand. When the loot has been transferred to my bank, I’ll give you the book. It’ll take a week or so. Then I’ll help you get away. There’s the yacht, baby. I’ll find a crewman and one dark night, you take off for Cuba. Like the idea?”