The Kremlin File

Caco prodded me past and into the lobby. Thomas Sawyer would go through the roof to see it now, a wreck. The big sofas were slashed, spilling stuffing and springs, newsstands were overturned, papers and magazines tom and trampled on the floor, trinkets and candies were looted. The glass fronts of the shops were broken in, racks and shelves emptied, walls stripped of the exotic baubles, “native” mats and masks manufactured by the ton in the cheap labor ports of the world. What a mess! Colonel Carib Jerome might be a class conspirator, but he was one hell of a lousy commander to let his army take the place apart. He could’ve made a bundle out of it later, after he won his game.

The casino looked worse than the lobby. Gambling tables that cost in the thousands were knocked over, broken. Roulette wheels were smashed so their rigging and magnets spilled among the tumbled chips. The painting of cavorting nudes above the long bar was carved up, the figures cut out like paper dolls. Caco and Lambie whistled.

“Some jump-up we missed.”

Under the painting the rows on rows of glasses had been swept to the floor. A few empty liquor bottles lay shattered against the front of the bar. The rest were gone. I mentioned that.

“Jerome’s liberation army has got itself liberally loaded.”

My men looked around the cavernous, empty rooms uneasily. “Where’d they all go? Where’s the colonel?”

“In bed. Where else, with three hundred rooms here? Except for Jerome. I bet he’s tucked himself away in Chip Cappola’s office to count the loot from the tables. Let’s go visit him.”

We went on to the cashiers’ booths. These alone were unviolated, pristine; there were no stacks of coins behind the glass partition, no trays, no bills in the open drawers. The soldiers had been kept away from here and the temptation of the till. I borrowed a knee from Caco to step up on the counter, bent over the glass partition and unlatched the door to the inside hall. The boys walked me through.

Jeb, the burly black guard, was still at his bank of control switches. Maybe he had changed sides, but it was more likely he was Jerome’s man to begin with, with eyes and ears trained to report on the hotel. We surprised him. He made a grab for the gun in his desk, saw Caco’s rifle in my spine, recognized me and laughed.

“Upon my word, Mr. Carter. Where’d you find him, Lieutenant?”

Lambie swaggered, waving his gun airily. “Picked him up at a roadblock. Tell the colonel we’re here.”

Jeb lifted a finger. He wasn’t ready to announce us. “Miss Mitzy left here with Carter. Where’s she?”

Lambie shrugged eloquently. “Wasn’t anyone with him tonight. Maybe she cleared out with the mob.”

“Well, she don’t count.” Jeb stabbed the intercom to Cappola’s office and purred into it. “Colonel, you have guests.”

Annoyment rattled back. “I said nobody...”

“Mr. Nick Carter and two soldiers bringing him.”

The voice from the office changed to a bark of satisfaction. “That’s different. Send them along.”

Jeb buzzed the office door, it slid back and we went in. Carib Jerome was at Cappola’s desk, bundles of paper currency and trays of coin filling the top of it, more of the same stacked on the floor. All the operating cash of the casino, plus the day’s receipts from the hotel and the shops around the lobby, was here — one hell of a lot of Syndicate and Sawyer money. The colonel had a computer to count it. I smiled at him.

“Found a system to beat the wheels, Jerome?”

He returned the smile, but it was chillier than mine. “The very best, you must admit.” He looked beyond me at Lambie. “Lieutenant, where is the girl who was with this man?”

I threw it out flat. “Dead. Drowned.”

The black eyes narrowed and the ebony head moved slowly, side to side, the voice gliding from lips that barely moved.

“She swims like a dolphin, Mr. Carter. Do not try to deceive me. She is a valuable property in Miami.”

I glanced over my shoulder at the door, still open, Jeb an interested audience in the hall. With him behind my men, I couldn’t pull the Luger on Jerome. I’d get Caco and Lambie shot. I wanted that door closed and the quickest way was to make the colonel wary of the guard.

I told Jerome, “You might get a ransom for Mitzy, but I bet this lieutenant never sees his reward for me from your sticky fingers.”

The door slid shut on Jeb. Jerome dropped his eyes on the table, reaching for a packet of bills. When he held it forward and raised his head, he looked down the barrel of the Luger.

“Take what you want, help yourselves,” I told Caco and Lambie. Then, as Jerome’s hand edged toward the intercom to call Jeb, I said, “No, colonel. Roll the chair back.”

He didn’t move, but his hand dropped to his side. He looked from Lambie to Caco as their guns veered from me to him and his face tightened.

“Treachery, Mr. Carter? Bribing soldiers? They’ll be courtmartialed as soon as I...”