The air was filled with the smells of melting aluminum and magnesium, and burning rubber and plastic. There was no odor of Sheng’s burning flesh; it was too weak beside the other flaming elements. As the cockpit melted and flowed, scarring the grass, I saw what might have been his body, or what might have been a charred, crooked log, or a shriveled black cow. A crusty stub still had hold of the wheel. Now and then flames licked at it, but not often, because it was already burned through.
Orange light also revealed Tanya running across the grass toward me. The calmness was still there. I knew what I had to do now. She came with her skirt riding high, fine legs pumping that soft flesh along. Something dangled from her shoulder by a strap.
I had forgotten what it felt like not to hurt. Besides the wounded side, which was the deepest of pains, I was a mass of bruises. By some lucky twist of fate no bones had been broken, at least none that I could tell. There was pain low on my chest when I took a breath, but it was no worse or better than any of the others.
Tanya reached me all out of breath. I had managed to push myself to my feet. Standing there with the whole world lit by wavy orange and red flames, I waited for Tanya to get to me.
For a long time we stood in the orange light, just holding each other. Her fragile body shook with sobs. For some reason I was smiling.
Then she pushed away from me and looked at my face. “D-did we lose?” she asked. “I know he’s dead... but the assignment... did we... fail?”
I kissed her forehead. “We’ll see. I’ve got a hunch. If I’m right, we were successful.”
Then she grabbed me again, and the pain almost made me pass out. “Oh, Nick,” she cried. “When I saw that bus rolling and rolling and I thought you were inside...”
“Shh. It’s all right. What have you got in the little case?”
“First-aid kit. I called Mr. Hawk. He’s on the way. Nick? Where are you going?”
“I was hobbling toward the overturned bus.” She came trotting beside me. “I want to have a look at the Winged Tiger,” I said.
The plane was still burning but the flames had diminished quite a bit. I felt the heat as I circled it to get to the bus. Metal was flowing from it like silver molten lava, oozing from cracks and open cavities.
When I reached the bus I got the big side door open. The inside smelled strongly of raw gas. Tanya waited outside while I rummaged through the scattered tools. The box had been kicked around quite a bit and a couple of wrenches had smashed through windows. Using the waving flames for light, I found two screwdrivers, a Phillips and a straight slot. I wasn’t sure what kind of screw heads I’d be removing.
As I walked away from the bus, Tanya walked dutifully and silently beside me. She didn’t ask questions; she knew if she remained silent and watched, all the answers would be there. As we walked toward where I had seen the tail section land, I put my arm around her shoulders. She pressed against me, lightly brushing me a little with each step.
There was a loud explosion behind us that sent another cloud of flame boiling up.
Tanya looked back over her shoulder. “What do you think that was?”
“Oxygen bottles probably. There it is, over to the right.”
The tail section of the Lear jet had broken again and was resting in grass about a foot high. I passed over the pieces ripped from the main and stopped when I found the main piece.
“The Winged Tiger,” I said.
Kneeling with Tanya beside me, I wiped grass stains and dirt and black soot from the smooth surface. There was the painted face and body of a winged tiger. The flush screwheads held a panel about eight inches square. I tossed the straight-slot screwdriver aside and used the Phillips. In less than five minutes I had the panel free and hanging by its small chain.
“What’s in there?” Tanya asked as I felt around inside the cavity.
“This.” It was a small packet of shiny aluminum foil about four inches by two. Very carefully I began unwrapping the foil. There were several sheets of folded paper inside clipped together.
Tanya was looking over my arm. “Nick,” she said. “That’s it, isn’t it?”
I nodded handing her the clipped papers. “The list of the Winged Tiger. All of Sheng’s Communist contacts in America.” The words came automatically because I had discovered another piece of paper wrapped in the foil.
“What are you grinning about?” Tanya asked.
“We have a bonus, something I didn’t expect. This list contains the names and locations of every contact from Palermo to Saigon where the heroin moves.” I handed it to her, then kissed the tip of her nose. “Look it over, love. Names, places, and dates of previous deliveries.”
“Nick, then...”
My grin turned to a chuckle that hurt. “Yes, Tanya, you might say that our mission was successful.”
Fourteen
Two days later I was in Washington, D.C., in Hawk’s office, still wrapped like a cocoon. The small office smelled of stale cigar smoke, although he did not have a cigar now. He sat behind his desk straight across from me. His leathery, creased face wore its constant frown of concern but his eyes were amused.
“The Attorney General has instructed me to place a commendation in your record, Carter.” He smiled at some personal joke. “If we can find room for it.”
“What about Tanya?” I asked.
Hawk leaned back in his chair and folded his hands across his flat stomach.
“I’ll see that a letter of commendation is placed in her record,” he said.
When he pulled one of his cigars from his coat pocket, I took out a gold-tipped cigarette. We lit up together with my lighter.
“How is the side?” he asked in a softened voice.
“A little painful but not too bad.”
The final tally had been assorted lacerations and bruises, three ribs with hairline cracks, and that chunk of flesh out of my side. It was enough to keep me in a hospital one day, chomping at the bit to get out.
Hawk pulled the cigar from between his teeth and studied it. “Well, at least one source of heroin moving into Saigon has been stopped.”
I nodded. “Did you ever find out who put those nineteen slugs into Carlo Gaddino?”
“Yes, the same two you caught searching the apartment. They were operating under Sheng’s orders, of course. Seems they got into Gaddino’s place by pretending to be picking up the laundry. Once they were inside, they went directly to the sauna, opened the door, and let him have it with silenced machine pistols — .38s. Nineteen times. Then they picked up the laundry and left.”
“Afterwards I guess they got orders from Sheng to get the list from Acasano.”
“Exactly. And they were to kill Acasano silently, with a dagger.”
“So what happens with the list of the Winged Tiger?”
“It is already happening, Carter. At this moment all the Communists are being rounded up. We’ve discovered that most of them are in this country illegally, so they will be deported back to China.”
I leaned forward and mashed out my cigarette. “Sir, what is going to happen with La Cosa Nostra? With Nicoli and Acasano and Sheng all dead, who will be the new boss of the underworld?”
Hawk shrugged, then mashed his cigar in the ash tray. “They’ll probably find somebody no one has heard of. I’m sure the underworld will continue to function and to flourish. Emergency measures are probably already being taken.”
A picture of Lake Tahoe and a lakeside cabin came to my mind. “What about the real Sandee Catron? You don’t have anything to hold her on, do you?”
“No, we don’t. She is here in Washington, you know. After talking with her for a long time we’ve convinced her that perhaps she would find a rewarding career working for us.”