The Kremlin File

Caco and Lambie peeled out of the shirts and pants, hesitated over the loin clothes, then shyly turned their backs and unwound those. Both were wearing ouanga, battle charm sacks on thongs around their necks. Rifles were fine, but I guess they felt it didn’t hurt to take along a little extra protection. They buttoned the uniform jackets over the charms, hiked up the army trousers, and squared to attention.

We went back through the tunnel to the shed. Mitzy still drove, with me beside her in front. The two men stood up in the rear with their rifles against our necks.

The girl backed out and headed for the fort, using rear alleys. Tonight the streets were empty, everyone keeping indoors behind drawn blinds. The shops were dark and barred against looters. Port of Spain was a silent, grim city, altogether different from the gay place of the night before.

We climbed toward the fort on the low hill. A green lawn in front of the building tried to make it look innocent, but the iron fence surrounding it and a cannon bristling midway spoiled the effect. So did the sentry box outside the fence.

A corporal and two privates saw our climbing lights and walked into the road with rifles ready. Mitzy slowed and stopped short of them. Behind me Lambie cried out:

“Corporal, come see what we have. The fat prize.” He shoved my head forward with the rifle barrel, giving a high laugh.

The corporal came near with caution. Both our boys broke into a hairy story of the battle they’d had to take us. They made it good and convincing. The corporal was impressed. While our guys were still bragging, he raised his rifle, centering it on me.

My stomach tightened. He wouldn’t shoot Mitzy, I was sure, because of the possible ransom. But what Jerome had in mind for me might be something else. The corporal let me stew while he took the pleasure of watching me through his sights. Then he barked a command. The privates moved out of the road. The corporal climbed into the rear seat and ordered Mitzy to drive up to the fort.

It was a grisly looking building, no windows and only a single, center door like an open mouth. It made me think of a blind beast that ate people who displeased its master. It even had a plank tongue protruding from it. Mitzy stopped on the paved parking lot in front, and I saw that the planks were a drawbridge across a moat. It was weed-choked now, but in times past there would’ve been a line of slaves hauling sea water to fill it. Any attack would’ve had a wet crossing.

A private held the center of the bridge and the whole area was floodlighted. Our corporal got out and leveled his rifle again.

“Get them to the ground while I cover the man.”

I was prodded again and stepped out. Mitzy got out on the other side. Caco and Lambie kept their guns in our backs. The corporal gloated for a bit, then left us to cross the drawbridge and enter the fort. Minutes later he strutted back with a lieutenant. The private on the bridge presented arms smartly and the new man’s austere bearing tipped me he was in command.

The corporal chattered with excited gestures, hopping around until the officer slashed a hand to shut him up. From the glitter in the lieutenant’s eyes, I thought I knew who would collect Jerome’s reward, if this had been the real capture.

Lambie said smartly, “Colonel’s orders, sir. These two are to be locked up with Fleming. All the netted birds together.”

“Understood,” the lieutenant snapped. “Bring them into the guard room.”

He about-faced and we were walked into the old building along a stone passage, a place of chill echoes, a nightmare for a claustrophobiac. In the guard room the lieutenant flicked a hand that ordered us searched.

Caco chirped, “We did that when we caught them, sir. Stripped them clear down.”

“You did well.” The lieutenant turned a smirk on me. “Nick Carter, is it. Very dangerous, the colonel said. Tonight your teeth are going to be pulled, I think.”

I let my shoulders slump and put on a hangdog look. He swung his attention to Mitzy. Even with tears in her eyes and huddled like a frightened kitten she was a lot to see. Maybe he even liked her better submissive. His hips swayed and he pried her chin up with a forefinger.

“You, there. The colonel says you are valued by the Syndicate, that they will pay well to have you back. We will ask.”

Mitzy cowered further, pressed a hand over her mouth and whimpered. “Please, sir, please don’t send me there. They’ll kill me.”

The man’s brows climbed. “If you have value, why would they do that?”

She chewed her lip, holding back, then as though she saw that he had the power to make her talk, she whispered, “I was carrying some money for them. I didn’t deliver it...”

Dollar signs pinwheeled in the dark eyes. He sounded eager. “Where is it now?”

Suddenly looking hopeful, her words pounced. “I could show you. I couldn’t describe where... But if you turn us loose, I’d...”