The Kremlin File

“Pity.” He held my eyes. Then he raised his brows and dropped the subject. “I wanted this opportunity to thank you in person for aborting the hijack. Extremely fortunate for President Fleming — and for me — that you were aboard. And armed.” A puzzled frown. “Was it known that you carried a gun on the plane?”

I didn’t blink. Gave him a smile that shared a secret. “My employer knows I like my own tools. He has some influence.”

“Of course.” His first smile came then, brought forth by the thought of my special privilege. “Again, fortunate. President Fleming would be dead today, or in Communist hands, but for your quick thinking. You must be a very accomplished security officer to react so rapidly.”

It was a question. How much more than a hotel dick was I? I stayed cautious.

“I was escorting Miss Sawyer. She could’ve been hurt or killed, and my reflexes react when a gun is aimed toward me.”

“Oh?” Was that really surprise? “You weren’t aware our president was the target? But, of course, in your position you could not know he was going to be kidnapped to Cuba.”

“Is that a fact?” I sounded incredulous. “Did the stewardess confess the plot?”

His eyes, his hoarse voice were flat. “We have the information from other sources. The girl escaped before I had the time to question her.”

Escaped from the jail I’d been in? I thought about scared little dupe. Or was she an agent, good enough to sell me that act? Jerome appeared to read my mind.

“Her innocence act took the matron in. She used karate, knocked the woman out, stole her clothes and simply walked away.”

We were on an island with an abundance of police. I said, “Where could she go?”

An impatient shrug. “Cruise boats come and go. I understand she was artful enough to have won her way aboard one of them.”

It was hard for me to buy. But then I wouldn’t have believed a stewardess could bring a pair of guns on a plane. The Colonel waved the incident out of mind and sank back, complacent.

“No matter, really. Thanks to you our president arrived safely and is taking up the reins of government. The army is convinced it is in its best interest to give Dr. Fleming its full support, so our problems are resolved to everyone’s satisfaction. I hope your transition into the job here will be as smooth as ours.” He finished the coffee and stood up. “If I can help you with anything, you’ll find me at the Palace.”

I took the hand he offered and saw him to the door. He knew more about me than he’d admitted. That was clear from his assurance to me that the lid was on the army. Simple gratitude about the skyjacking didn’t require that he discuss political maneuverings with a hotel dick. I suspected he was telling me that the undercover job was no longer necessary.

I gave him time to get clear of the hotel, then left the room. The soldiers were gone from the top floor. So were Lewis’ men. But the Mafia boys still pored over the racing form beside the elevators.

I dropped down to Fleming’s floor. Only the syndicate’s crowd was represented. They said the doctor was still asleep. I walked down to the next flight and found the same personnel. Strange.

I decided it was time to move on to my next stop. The Casino. I was looking for some answers and they might be there.

Roulette tables, faro banks, and crap tables made a rectangle around the pit, connected by velvet wrapped chains. No one except the dealers and pit bosses was allowed inside. Only the chained-off area offered a modicum of clear space. The rest of the floor crawled with humanity.

There were no windows beckoning to the outdoors. No clocks to tick off time. There was only the clatter of chips and glasses and hoarse pleadings that dice, balls, cards fall this way or that. Not my kind of gambling. Mine is a bet every day that when I get out of bed in the morning, I’ll make it back in one piece at night.

Trying to make my way through this raucous crowd, I got bogged down in the crush of milling flesh as it stampeded toward a jackpot winner. Bells rang for the lucky dope, singled out as a come-on to keep the other slots hot. Bells rang for me too. A redhead stood ten feet away, lips curled in scorn, brows arched at the madness.

She stood out like a spotlight. Five nine or ten, sleek shining nipple-length hair, a pantsuit swelled in all the right places.

While I waited for the herd to pass, the space around her cleared. She turned and escaped to the uncrowded pocket around the cashiers’ cages, paused at the end grille for an instant, then shoved open an unmarked door and went through. I was headed that way myself. She added urgency to my visit.

A man whose luck held beat me to the cage. I waited while the clerk racked the chips, then shoved stacked silver to the winner. When the man moved off, the clerk flicked a look at my empty hands and said in a bored voice, “Help you, friend?”

I don’t like being called friend by someone I never saw in my life. “Chip Cappola. I want to see him.”

The blank face went blanker. “Never heard of him.”