The guard must have sensed something too, for he spun around. Shayne swung the club with two hands like a baseball bat. He caught the soldier on the side of the skull, causing a cracking sound that reminded the detective of a home run.
“What the—” exclaimed Remaley.
Shayne handed McCord’s aide the guard’s gun. The alternative would have been to give the still-suited figure the pine knot, thus rendering him useless.
“Follow me,” commanded the detective. “We’re going for the two guys on the bridge.”
Remaley surprised the redhead the way he followed him from tree to tree, then on his stomach. He motioned for Remaley to take the right guard. Slowly Remaley moved in.
The left guard saw Remaley as Shayne knew he would. As the distracted soldier stepped toward McCord’s aide, Shayne raised the club and whacked it over the guard’s hands. The Uzi clattered to the sand. As Shayne reached for it, he heard a sharp command.
“One more movement, buddy, and you’re dead.”
It was Remaley.
Damn!
“Don’t say a word,” cautioned the aide. “Just march right back to the others. Rico,” he said to the conscious guard, “stay with me till we toss him inside.”
With two guns somewhere behind him, the detective did as he was told. The elderly quartet seemed surprised to see him.
“They told us they had executed you,” Harrow informed him.
The big redhead said, “It was a lie designed to help keep you in line.” He walked over to the table and looked at McCord. “I know how Alpha Red found out about your secret enterprise here — Remaley.”
“Peter?” said the industrialist. “But he came to me with the highest of credentials.”
“That mistake doesn’t matter now,” said the detective, rasping a thumbnail across his chin. His gray eyes scanned the four men. The plan he had been working on would have to begin right away — Tim’s life and theirs depended on it. “Now pay attention,” he ordered. “Here’s what we’re going to do.”
The four men listened quietly with complete attention. It was the kind of concentration that had helped them to the top. Their interest improved their chances, but the odds were still heavily weighted against them.
McCord put up one final protest in the name of safety. Harrow probably spoke for the other two when he said, “Edward, if my time is up, I want to go out like a man — not a whimpering coward.”
In other circumstances, Shayne thought, it would have sounded like a line from one of Harrow’s movies, but right here and now he sensed its truth — for all of them. In coming back Shayne knew he had made the right decision.
“Juan, Esteban, Rico — you Spanish pigs,” called out the voice. “Get in here and get your leader out.”
The door to the metal building was thrown open, and two uniformed guards peered in looking for Raoul. Even watching Harrow, Shayne found it difficult to believe the ex-actor could imitate Raoul’s Spanish accent so perfectly.
“Raoul?” questioned one of the intruders. “Where are you?”
The lights in the building went out. Shayne didn’t know how Jerry had done it, but the former owner of Stokelectronics had struck exactly as he said he would — on cue.
Like pulling guards, Shayne and Phelps leveled the surprised soldiers with cross-body blocks.
“They went down easier than a couple of boola-boolas,” quipped the Harvard grad, his satisfaction overflowing.
McCord scooped up their guns. Shayne took them both, checked them, then pitched one to the industrialist. He put McCord on the right flank. He took the left and led them to the pine grove where Tim lay. Harrow and Phelps picked up the reporter and, holding him in a fireman’s carry, transported him to the Rolls Royce.
The detective then crept back to the bridge with Stokes and McCord. When he and the ex-electronics entrepreneur had positioned themselves, he signalled McCord to step into the first light.
Hesitantly McCord did as he was told. The two soldiers saw him simultaneously and turned. While they were momentarily off-guard, Shayne struck, swinging the Uzi into one’s face. The other guard pivoted toward Shayne. As he did, the formerly scared Jerry Stokes crowned him with a piece of driftwood. Hit for the second time in a short while, the guard dropped as though shot.
Shayne tied them up as he had the earlier two in the building. It had taken only a few minutes and it had been accomplished in silence. Harrow gave him the high sign. The keys had been left in the Silver Ghost, and the group was ready to roll. Harrow, Stokes, and Phelps lifted Tim into the rear seat and then crowded into the jump seat of the limo.
“Still want to wait?” Shayne asked McCord.
For a moment the industrialist looked a bit indecisive. Then he raised the Uzi and pointed it at Shayne.
“This has gone too far to stop,” glared McCord.
“Edward, what are you doing?” questioned the actor.
“Put down the gun, man,” said Phelps. “We’ve got to get out of here. You don’t know what you’re doing.”
“He knows exactly what he’s doing,” the detective said. “You don’t think Remaley had the brains to figure this thing out?”
“Raoul, Remaley,” called out McCord. “Get out here quick before it all goes down the tubes.”
“It’s already down,” said Shayne calmly walking toward the gun pointed at his gut. “Go ahead and fire.”
Cornered, McCord pulled the trigger. Nothing happened.
“I removed the clip when we took those guns from the guards.”
“How did you know?” asked McCord.
Remaley and Raoul came racing down the path. The cigar-smoker was carrying a gun while Remaley was unarmed.
“Drop it, Raoul,” Shayne commanded.
Raoul had only lifted the gun from his waist when Shayne opened up. One blast threw the charging soldier up against a tall pine, the dark, wet liquid staining his green fatigues. Remaley surrendered instantly.
“We’ve still got to hurry,” urged Phelps. “The other soldiers will hear the shots—”
“There aren’t any other soldiers,” said the detective.
“Remaley counted at least twenty,” reminded Harrow.
“Yeah,” countered the redhead, “but we only had his word for it. I was all over this island and never saw more than five.”
“But Alpha Red?” pressed Stokes.
“There’s no such thing as Alpha Red. McCord simply made the group up. Yesterday his daughter told me he gave his help some time off — in the middle of the week! So a bunch of gardeners and house-boys become weekday warriors, complete with guard dogs.”
“But why?” Harrow was as puzzled as the rest.
“McCord here didn’t plan for his retirement as well as the rest of you. His daughter suggested as much when she told me he cut off her allowance. Mangrove Key was going to be his goldmine, but he ran out of funds.”
“I was desperate,” admitted the industrialist. “I knew I couldn’t con all of you.”
“They’d have grown as suspicious as I did,” said the detective. “There’s only one building up, and who can build a resort community with only one bulldozer? That’s why I gave McCord the unloaded gun. I had my suspicions, but I had to be sure.”
“But, Edward,” said Harrow, “we ate at each other’s table, we shared our lives for the last year. If you were in trouble, why didn’t you ask for help?”
“You weren’t my friends,” spat out McCord. “You never really accepted me. I just wasn’t in your league financially. Then, the risky investments I made trying to keep up with you turned sour. I knew with the ransom money I could continue to travel in your circles, maybe get some respect.”