Frost leaned back in his chair.
‘Let me get this straight,’ he said. ‘Grandi has hired Silk to kill me and the payoff is two hundred thousand... right?’
‘That’s it,’ Umney said. ‘Liking you as I do, I thought I would tip you off.’
‘When does Silk plan to kill me?’ Frost asked.
Umney nodded with approval.
‘That’s also a good question. So you get the photo, Grandi now hates your guts. He wants to prolong the agony. He’s that kind of freak. That’s why I’m here to tip you off. It’ll be the long gun. Lu’s in a class of his own with a silenced telescopic rifle. Last year, he did a job just like this. The money wasn’t so good, but it was good enough. He didn’t put the guy away for six months, but he kept piling on the pressure, and after six months, this guy was a complete wreck. He was a real toughie, just like you, but after six months, never knowing when he would have a hole in his head, he fell apart.’ Umney leaned forward, waving his charming smile at Frost. ‘Because I liked this guy, as I liked you, I tipped him off. I told him, as I’m telling you, never walk on a lonely street. Never look out of a window. Never answer a knock on your door without checking. Be careful when you get into a car, and be ready to drop on the floor when the windshield shatters. I told him to go to ground, but I also told him, that sooner or later, Lu would find him.’
‘And of course, he did,’ Frost said.
‘That’s right.’ Umney’s voice hardened. ‘This guy followed the tips I had given him, but he ran out of guts. He did something stupid. He got a gun and went looking for Lu.’ Umney looked sad. ‘This guy’s wife gave him a good funeral. Lu sent a wreath.’ Umney got to his feet. ‘Well, if you’re not going to give me a drink, I guess I’ll go biddy-byes. I just wanted to tip you off. Sooner or later, Lu will get you lined up. He’s a professional.’
Frost leaned back in his chair and released an explosion of laughter.
Umney, staring, stiffened.
‘Do you imagine all this crap scares me?’ Frost asked. ‘It’s pathetic. If you imagine you can wage a war of nerves on me, you’re a bigger jerk than I thought. Now I’ll tell you what you say to this one-eyed phony. Tell him he’s picked on the wrong guy to scare. I can take care of myself. I’ve been taking care of myself since I could walk. Tell him from now on, he and I have a war on. I’m a professional too. His nerve could be softer than mine. Tell him he will have to earn his blood money the hard way, and tell him, I’ll kill him with pleasure and for nothing.’ Frost pointed a finger. ‘Take off. The next time I see your face you start praying. Get out!’
The two men stared at each other. Umney felt a sudden empty sensation inside him. The cold, vicious expression on Frost’s face sent a chill through him.
‘Don’t get me wrong, Mike,’ he said hurriedly. ‘I’m just passing on the message. I told you, I’m your friend. I am keeping out of this. It’s between you and Silk.’
‘Losing your guts already?’ Frost grinned. ‘You’re in, and so is your pal, Goble. Tell him. When I’ve fixed you two, I’ll fix Silk, but you two go first.’ He drew his gun from his hip pocket and aimed it at Umney. ‘Piss off! I won’t send a wreath to either you or Goble, but tell Silk, I’ll send him one. Get out, before I give you a second navel!’
White faced, Umney bolted out of the cabin.
Frost had a built-in instinct for survival. As the door slammed behind Umney, Frost slid out of his chair, reached the light switch and plunged the room into darkness. He then dropped to the floor.
A split second later, the window smashed and he heard the thud of a bullet into the back of his chair.
He lay still.
A warning shot? Beginning of a war of nerves or was this the business?
He waited until he heard a car start up and drive away. He heard the car stop, then start up again.
Could be Umney had picked up Silk. Could be it was a fake, and Silk was still out there in the darkness.
Frost remained on the floor, his mind active. Silk had proved he was the better man with a rifle, but he still had to prove his nerve was better than Frost’s.
During the Vietnam war, Frost had learned you don’t sit around, waiting to be shot. You took the initiative. You went out into the jungle, and you hid, and you waited for movement, a rustle of leaves, a passing shadow, a stifled cough, then you squeezed the trigger, and there was one sniper less.
Frost felt a surge of excitement run through him. This threat of death was like a shot of adrenalin in his veins.
‘Okay, you one-eyed punk, let’s see who’s the better man,’ he said, half aloud.
Getting silently to his feet, he left the cabin by the back door. Storm clouds shrouded the moon, and it was dark. Even if Silk was still out there among the flowering shrubs and the trees, Frost was confident he couldn’t see him.
Keeping in the darkest shadows, he ran silently to the guardroom. He heard the dogs snarling and barking and bounding against their wire compound. No one had fed them. They sounded ferocious.
Reaching the guardroom, Frost closed and locked the door, then turned on the light. From the gun rack he took down one of the automatic rifles, checked the magazine, then laid the rifle on the desk. Then he picked up the telephone receiver and called the guard at the entrance of the villa.
‘Did my two friends just leave?’ he asked, when the guard came on the line.
‘Yeah. I’ve just checked them out. What’s going on?’ The guard sounded worried. ‘Was it okay I let them in?’
‘No problem. I’m leaving. Miss Grandi died. You go home.’
‘She died. For the love of mike!’
‘I’m shutting the place up. You be here tomorrow at 08.00. Marvin will take over.’
‘Well, if you say so...’
Frost hung up, then picking up the rifle, he walked back to his cabin. He quickly packed his clothes, then carrying the suitcase and the rifle, he walked to where he had parked the Lamborghini. He was uneasy about taking the car, but he had to get away fast. He remembered what he had been taught in the Army: Always take the initiative. Always strike first.
There was a light on in the guardhouse, but the barrier was up. He gave a tap on the horn as the guard appeared in the doorway and shouted something to him, but Frost didn’t stop.
The clock on the dashboard showed 03.15. He drove fast to the airport. A sleepy-eyed clerk behind the Hertz desk rented him a 200 Mercedes. He drove the car to where he had parked the Lamborghini, transferred the rifle and his suitcase to the boot of the Mercedes, then headed back to the highway. He stopped at the Twin Oakes motel, booked in and shut himself in a small, air-conditioned cabin. He stripped off his clothes, took a shower, then dropped on to the bed.
Tomorrow, he told himself, would begin his own private war: not a war run by generals who couldn’t care less how I many men died as long as the battle was won. This was I going to be his own private war against three men who had started the war, and he didn’t intend to die.
The time was 02.50.
The Ace of Spades was in darkness except for a light from the room over the swimming pool. The clients had gone home. Marcia had returned to the Spanish Bay hotel. The staff had left.
Mitch Goble sat at the table, a flabby hamburger on a plate before him. His eyes felt heavy. He liked his sleep, but he wanted to know how Umney’s prepared talk with Frost had gone off. The three had discussed the best way to soften Frost, and it had been Goble’s idea of the long gun threat.