Bahama Crisis

"Can we tap his room telephone?"

"It's probably illegal but we'll do it. I'll have a word with the switchboard operator. Carrasco might speak Spanish; do we have anyone who can cope with that?"

"One two when Rodriguez comes."

"That should be enough. Any problems, let me know." We knocked it around a bit more, trying to find angles we had forgotten, did not find any and left it at that.

For the next three days nothing happened. Carrasco had no visitors to his room and used his telephone only for room service and for restaurant bookings. Rodriguez bugged his car and his room, and put a tape recorder on the telephone tap so that we had a record of his conversations, but we got little joy out of that. A search of Carrasco's possessions brought nothing; he carried with him just what you would expect of a man on holiday.

Debbie wondered audibly about the muscular young black who had been imported into the house to help Luke Bailey, who did not need it, and who was making good time with Addy Williams. She knew about Walker's crew and I saw no reason to keep from her the knowledge that this addition to the household was one ofPerigord's cops.

"I'd like you to keep to the house as much as possible," I said.

"How long will we have to live like this?" she said desolately.

"Being in a state of siege isn't exactly fun."

I did not know the answer to that, but I said, "It will blow over soon, I expect." I told her about Carrasco.

"If we can use him to nail Robinson I think it will be finished."

"And if we can't?"

I had no answer to that, either.

I had not expected to go back to New Providence for some time. Jack Fletcher was an experienced manager and did not need his hand held, which is why I had put him into the Sea Gardens. But when he telephoned four days after I had left him in charge he was in a rare panic.

"We've got big trouble, Tom," he said without preamble.

"Our guests are keeling over in all directions dropping like flies. Tony Bosworth has his hands full."

"What is it? Does he know?"

"He's closed down the big air-conditioner."

"He thinks it's Legionnaires' disease?" I thought quickly.

"But it doesn't work that way it didn't at the Parkway. Let me talk to him."

"You can't. He's in a conference with officials from the Department of Public Health."

"I'll be right over," I said.

"Have a car waiting for me at the airport."

During the flight I was fuming so much that I expect steam was blowing out of my ears. After all the trouble I had taken to ensure the hotels were clean, this had to happen. Surely Tony must be wrong, the symptoms seemed quite different to me. This would be enough to give Jack Cunningham another heart attack.

Fletcher met me at Nassau Airport himself. As we drove to the Sea Gardens I said, "How many people ill?"

His answer appalled me.

"A hundred and four and I'm not feeling too good myself." He coughed.

"My God!" I glanced at him.

"Are you really not feeling well, Jack?

Or was that just a figure of speech? "

"I'm feeling lousy. I'm running a temperature and I have a hell of a headache."

He was not the only one. I said, "You're going to bed when we get back. I'll have Tony look you over. How many of that figure you gave me are stafi?"

"As of this morning we had three on the sick list four with me now." He coughed again convulsively.

"Stop the car," I said.

"I'll drive." I found it puzzling that the number of staff casualties should be so low. As I drove off again I said, "How many registrations have you got?"

"Something over three hundred; I'll let you know when we get to my office."

"Never mind," I said.

"I'll ask Philips. You go to bed." What he had told me meant that about one-third of the clientele had gone down sick.

"Any deaths?"

"Not yet," he said ominously.

We got to the Sea Gardens and I packed Fletcher off to his staff flat and then went to look for Philips. I found him helping out at the cashier's desk where there was a long line of tourists anxious to leave as quickly as they could like money bats. The buzz of conversation in the queue was low and venomous as though coming from a disturbed hive of bees. I was in no mood to placate the rats leaving the sinking ship, to mix the metaphor even further, and I hauled him out of there.

"Someone else can do that. Jack Fletcher's gone down sick, so you're in charge. Where's Bosworth?"

Philips jerked his thumb towards the ceiling.

"Doing his rounds."

"Has he any help?"

"A load of doctors from Nassau and some nursing staff from the hospital."

"Track him down; I want to see him in Fletcher's office five minutes ago."

When I saw Tony Bosworth he looked tired and drawn, his eyes were reddened as though he had not slept, and he swayed a little on his feet. I said, "Sit down before you fall down, and tell me what the hell we've got."

He sighed as he sat down.

"The tests aren't through yet, but I'm fairly certain it's legionellosis."

"Damn!" I mopped the sweat from my brow and loosened my tie. It was hot and humid and I realized why. The air- conditioning in the public rooms was not working.