Dodd laughed. “That was two years ago. My wife tells me I’ve slipped a few points since. Mike, I tried to reach you last night without any luck, and I thought I’d better get started early before you went anywhere. Have you had a call from somebody named Esther Landau?”
“The phone’s been ringing. It didn’t get all the way through.”
“I don’t know when she’s due in-she’ll call from the airport. This is a nice bright Israeli chick, and I’ll give you her name again. Esther Landau. She works for the Shin Bet. That’s like their FBI, but it covers more ground.”
“Never heard of it,” Shayne said. “And I’m not sure I want to right now. Try me again in half an hour.”
“Mike, hang on, please. All I’d like to do is establish her bonafides, and ask you to see her.”
“Does she speak English?”
“With a cute accent. And she’s nice, Mike. Very down to earth, and I think you’ll like her. She was an army lieutenant. That doesn’t mean she’s not totally feminine, if you don’t mind that old-fashioned word. An interesting mixture, and she has an interesting problem, just your kind of thing.”
Shayne breathed in and out slowly. “I’ll be tied up later, I’m not sure for how long. Talk a little slower. Don’t be afraid to say things twice. As I keep saying, I haven’t had coffee yet.”
At the other end of the conversation, Dodd made an effort to slow down, but the pace wasn’t natural to him. In a moment he was speaking as rapidly as before, in staccato bursts.
“The channels on this I won’t go into, but they’re gilt-edged. It carries a high priority, shall we say. The Ambassador put in a personal request, and that’s why I got up so early to make this call. What Esther wanted us to supply was the name of a competent and discreet-and I’ll say that again, discreet — investigator in Miami, with connections to handle an important undercover assignment. The name Michael Shayne sprang to mind. If you’re too busy to take it on, I hope you’ll talk to her and recommend somebody else. The bill comes to us.”
“To the State Department? That must mean you really think it’s important.”
“You’re remembering the trouble you had getting paid. This is different, it’s out of contingency funds and it won’t have to be approved by so many people.”
“I have to talk to the cops about something that happened last night. How pressing is this?”
“Rather. I want her to tell you about it, but maybe I can whet your appetite. Murray Gold.”
“Yeah?” Shayne said slowly. “And she’s from Israel. That’s enough, you’ve hooked me. If she’s a cop why don’t you send her to our cops here and save your department some money? They’re as interested in Murray Gold as I am.”
“If you try hard enough, maybe you can guess why. All right, great. That’s all I want to say on the phone. I won’t tie up your line any longer. She may be trying to get through. Call me if you have any questions.”
The phone rang the instant Shayne put it down. It wasn’t the Israeli woman he had just been told about. It was Rourke.
“Man, are you O.K.? What happened last night?”
“Two or three things. I’m waiting for a call, Tim, but quickly: I saw a guy putting a body in a car and I chased him around for an hour and a half. He finally got away from me. That’s more or less all, except that at one point he bought ten or a dozen stolen submachine guns from a master sergeant at Homestead. I haven’t decided what to do with that. Don’t print it, but if you want to pass it along, go ahead. I’ll be talking to Gentry later. Have you heard anything about Murray Gold in the last couple of weeks?”
“Gold. Now there’s a newsworthy name. Where does he connect?”
“Tim,” Shayne said curtly. “I want the line.”
“Just the usual rumors that he’s been seen. The bondsmen are so anxious to get their hands on him they’re catching at anything. If he really is around, and I doubt it, he has to have a damn good reason. O.K., I’ll hang up,” he said when Shayne made an impatient sound. “But remember your good friend Rourke. Remember I’m in the newspaper business.”
The water was boiling. Shayne made coffee, adding a sizeable dollop of cognac. While he sipped, he watched the local news. He frequently made this program. This morning he made it twice. He listened with no change of expression to several misstatements of fact, no more or less wide of the mark than usual. He poured more coffee and dressed.
His next caller was his daytime mobile operator.
“This is a funny one,” she said. “I have a call from your own car phone.”
“My car’s in the garage downstairs, I hope. That’s where I left it.”
A woman’s voice, speaking quickly: “Mr. Shayne. My name is Landau. I am here in this country from Israel, and I would like to consult you on a matter. I am sorry to say that I believe some men have been following me. It seems I have evaded them, but I decided against using one of those glass cages the phones are in on the street. I persuaded the man to show me your car, and it is from there I am calling. May I tell you the subject I would like to discuss?”
“It’s O.K. Dodd called me from Washington. Come on up. Take the elevator from there. You won’t have to go through the lobby.”
“That was what I intended, but for these people to know I am here in Miami has surprised me completely. Do they also know that I hope for the assistance of Michael Shayne? I would dislike to have our discussion interrupted by gunfire. If you would come down, perhaps I can compress myself into a small space, out of sight, and you will drive us somewhere.”
“O.K., compress yourself,” Shayne said with a smile. “I’ll be down in a minute.”
He finished his loaded coffee. He took cigarettes, a half-filled fifth of cognac, and in case of trouble on the way, a Walther. 38, which he concealed in his sling.
The elevator took him to the basement garage without stopping. His Buick seemed at first to be empty. The woman was on the floor of the front seat, her knees high, a gun in her hand. She was older than she had sounded, but better looking than he had expected from Dodd’s description. She looked more like an ex-Harper’s Bazaar model than an ex-lieutenant in the Israeli army. She had black shoulder-length hair and olive skin, and was so slender the bones of her shoulders showed through the fabric of her black dress. Her earrings might have been diamonds. High-heeled shoes elevated her knees still further. She had a stern look, and the lines of concentration around her eyes were likely to stay there, Shayne thought, even after she stopped concentrating.
“You have a broken arm!” she exclaimed. “Can you drive a car?”
“Not easily,” Shayne said, getting in. “But I put on quite a few miles last night, and I’m getting better at it.”
She opened a shiny purse and put the pistol away. “Am I down far enough? I regret this, Mr. Shayne, and it is possible, of course, that it is all my fancy. One reads so much about violence in America. But these men did seem to have a certain-intentness. I was quite frightened.”
Shayne backed out of the berth and eased the Buick around. He nodded to the attendant, who glanced in and saw the woman on the floor.
“I hope it was all right, letting her use the phone. She showed me her credentials.”
“Sure.”
When they were out on the street the woman said, “I showed him credentials, and I also tipped him five dollars.”
“That’s how we do things here.”
“In Israel too, I’m afraid, more and more.”
He turned north along the Miami River. “Any special place?”
“No, somewhere we can talk.”
She began to change position to come up on the seat. Shayne said quietly, “No, stay down there. We’ve got somebody with us.”
There were two men in the car he had spotted. Both had a charged air, as though when they moved they would go directly from repose into violent action. A third, who had been looking into a show window, crossed the sidewalk, too hurriedly, and joined them.
“A green Pontiac, three men,” Shayne said, still speaking quietly. “They’re new at this. They aren’t being too careful.”