I reached forward and caught hold of the cable from which the big hook was hanging and slid down the cable on to the roof. I took off my gloves and tucked them into my belt, then my hand closed around the sponge-covered handle of my knife. I pulled the knife from its sheath.
I moved around the roof of the penthouse, surveying the terrace below. Then it slowly dawned on me that there were no guards on the terrace. Every so often the storm clouds uncovered the moon and I could
see the terrace below me clearly.
Had I walked into a trap? No one guarding the crane and now, no one on the roof.
I paused to think, remembering the geography of the apartment block. It had three entrances and four elevators. None of the elevators operated after 18.00 when the agent closed down for the night. I put myself in the place of Savanto’s button men. Why walk up twenty flights of stairs to guard the roof when they could seal off the building by guarding the entrances, elevators and staircases? It was slack security, but it made sense.
I slid off the roof down on to the terrace, still moving silently, still holding the knife ready for action. It took me only a few minutes to convince myself that I was alone on the terrace.
I walked to the parapet surrounding the terrace and looked across at the Imperial Hotel. I could see the lights in Savanto’s sitting-room. There was no movement. No one seemed to be in the room or on the balcony.
There was time, I told myself. Now I was sure I was alone, I could fetch the Weston & Lees.
I put on my gloves and climbed back on to the penthouse roof. It was a struggle to climb the cable and get back on to the arm of the crane, but I did it. I went along the arm of the crane, collected the golf bag and made the return journey. As I began to move from cross bar to cross bar I began to wonder if it wasn’t all too easy. Was it possible Savanto had already gone back to Caracas? Was this the answer why the crane wasn’t guarded and there was no one on the roof? Could this be the answer?
It wouldn’t be until I looked through the telescopic sight into the distant room that I could tell. Maybe I would find some wealthy tourist installed in there instead of Savanto.
I took the golf bag down on to the terrace, slid out the rifle and lay flat, resting the rifle barrel on the parapet. I clipped on the telescopic sight, screwed on the silencer, then putting the rifle butt to my shoulder, I looked through the sight. A quick turn of the focusing screw brought the room into sharp focus. On the far wall of the room I saw the silver trout which I had noticed when I had first visited Savanto and I knew I was looking into the right room. I shifted the sight to take in the dark balcony. I picked up two lounging chairs: neither of them was occupied.
So I had to wait. Well, I had learned to wait. If luck was still running my way, Savanto would eventually come out on to the balcony. I was certain, from this range, once I had his head lined up in the cross wires of the sight, I could kill him.
Aware that the storm clouds were building up, feeling the heat of the night, I lay there, sweating, but relaxed. Every so often I looked through the sight, but I didn’t keep my eye glued to it. I wanted my eye to be relaxed when I took in the slack of the trigger.
Then suddenly I saw a movement in the sitting-room : a figure crossed before one of the standard lamps. I shifted the butt of the rifle into my shoulder and my eye went to the rubber eyecup of the sight.
In the sight, I picked up a blonde woman as she came out on to the balcony. I felt a surge of bitter disappointment run through me. So Savanto had gone! My suspicions had been right. Someone else had taken the suite.
Then I felt a creepy sensation crawl up my spine and my mouth turned dry. I was sweating badly and my body heat was so great that the eye-piece of the sight misted over.
Frantically I took out my handkerchief and wiped the eyepiece and then my face. I again looked through the sight.
The woman, standing on the balcony, the light from the sitting-room lighting her hair, looking exactly like Lucy !
I looked again. My heart skipped a beat and then began to race. It was Lucy ! Lucy whom I had thought dead! Lucy whom I had mourned and buried! It was Lucy !
Then I saw a movement and I slightly shifted the sight. A tall, lean man was now standing by her side. It was Timoteo. There could be no mistake. Lucy and Timoteo were standing together on the balcony looking towards me!
“They make a handsome couple, don’t they, Mr. Benson?” Savanto said quietly from out of the darkness.
I dropped the rifle and rolled over. I could just see his square- shaped figure outlined against the white wall of the penthouse. He was standing some fifteen feet away from me.
I was too shocked to move or say anything. I just lay there, supported by my elbows, staring up at him.
“I am alone and unarmed,” Savanto said. “I wish to talk to you. Will you listen to what I have to say?”
My hand closed around the sponge-covered grip of the hunting knife. I half drew the knife from its sheath.
“I have some cigarettes,” he said. “It is against my doctor’s orders, but I find I can’t resist them. Will you smoke, Mr. Benson?”
I looked across at the distant balcony. Lucy and Timoteo were no longer there. Had I imagined I had seen them? Although I had the urge to kill this man I knew I couldn’t kill him with the knife. My years of training had made a rifle an impersonal weapon, but a knife to me was very personal.
I got to my feet and walked away from him. I sat on the parapet. He struck a match. He lit a cigarette and the flame of the match showed me he had aged and his black, snake’s eyes no longer glittered.
“In a few hours, Mr. Benson,” he said, “your wife and my son will be in Mexico City. From there, they will go somewhere else. I don’t know where, but it is necessary for their safety to disappear. You have lost a wife and I have lost a son. I regret what has happened. I regret that you were involved. We have a saying in my country : a man can get struck by a thunderbolt. This means that a man can meet a woman and a thunderbolt hits him. When Timoteo met your wife this happened. It also happened to her. It doesn’t often happen, but when it does, my people respect it, and I am forced to respect it too. Please think carefully, Mr. Benson. You are intelligent enough to know that your wife isn’t the woman for you. If you can accept this truth then the loss of your wife will be less sad to you than the loss of my son is to me. They are going to be happy together. You and I will be unhappy, but this is the way of life. I came here to explain all this to you. Raimundo, who is very loyal to me, arranged this meeting. I know you want to kill me.” He lifted his heavy shoulders. “That is understandable. I am an old man and I don’t fear death. But, first let me explain. Raimundo has already explained about Diaz Savanto. I now admit I made a grave mistake. I misjudged my son and I now know he hasn’t the qualifications to take my place. I must have funds if I am to improve the lot of my people. You know all about that. I couldn’t foresee the thunderbolt would strike my son. When he ran away with your wife, the situation became dangerous. I love my son and I couldn’t have ordered his death although the traditions of my people demand it. I am necessary to my people. The man who would take my place has no spine.” He dropped the butt of his cigarette on to the terrace and put his foot on it. “So, something had to be arranged. When one has money and influence as I have, Mr. Benson, it is easy to make arrangements. I had to convince Lopez that my son had been executed. Since my son ran away with a woman, Lopez had also to be convinced she too had died. Hartley, the bird watcher, was easy to bribe. Money buys most things. Lopez heard Hartley’s broadcast, but he wasn’t entirely convinced. I reckoned on that. I have learned to be thorough. It is the only way to succeed. Lopez was shown the bodies. I have a good man who is an expert mortician. He arranged everything. Your wife and my son were heavily drugged. The mortician arranged realistic-looking head wounds which could be wiped away with a sponge. Lopez was convinced. Now they are safe to go to Mexico City and to go from there somewhere else to begin a new life. I have lost a son. You have lost a wife. I am sorry for both of us.”