At first he didn’t see the two on the floor. Then the smell reached him and his eyes centered on the.45 in my fist before they swept the area and realized what had happened. He didn’t want to make their mistake and his expression was one of sickly pleading when he looked back at me again.
“You can drop that stuff,” I told him. “It’s only sugar.”
He let the containers fall from his hands.
“Over here and turn around.”
Eyes full of fear bulged over a slack jaw as he did as he was told. He thought he was going to be shot on the spot and his body twitched spasmodically. All he could get out was “Please, señor…”
“Shut up,” I said. I yanked his gun out of the holster, dumped the shells out of the clip and made sure the chamber was empty before sticking it back in the holster again. He couldn’t figure out what I was doing until I asked, “Who holds the keys to Victor Sable’s cell?”
Then he gasped and shook his head. “Not I, señor. They are… in the possession of Senor Carlos Ortega only.” I nudged him a little harder with the.45 and his voice became a near-shriek. “It is true, señor. There are no keys here. He was not to be moved except on Senor Ortega’s orders. Only then when he is questioned is the door opened.”
He was too shaken up to be lying, so I had to go along with him. I said, “Now I’m going to tell you this only once. All you have to do is make one little mistake and I’m going to put a hole in you big enough to throw a cat through without touching the sides. Is that understood?”
“Sí, señor.” His head nodded in vigorous acknowledgment. “I… understand.”
“Very well,” I told him. “You’re taking me to Sable’s cell and if there’s any question, it’s on the captain’s orders. I’m going to walk a little ahead of you and this gun is going to be right where I can get at it before you can bat an eye, so if you try one funny move you’ve had it.”
The lieutenant tried to swallow, but his mouth was too dry, so he just nodded again. He turned his head and I could see the fear in his eyes. He was wondering what was going to happen when I was finished doing what I came to do. One thing I couldn’t afford was having him go past the other guards shaking with terror.
“One more thing and consider this carefully. I don’t know you and I don’t give a damn about you one way or another. Whether I kill you or not depends on you. Frankly, I don’t think you really give a hoot about anybody in this place yourself, so if you want to stay alive, play it square. If I get out I’ll leave you with nothing more than a lump on your head and everybody will think you’re a hero. They won’t know whether I shot these other two before or after I got Sable out and your story can be that you acted on the captain’s orders to let me view his prisoner, then I kept you under a gun and killed the captain and Fucilla on the way out. You tried to stop me and I knocked you out. Hell, they might even put you in as head man here. Got that?”
It was the last thing I told him that did the trick. He could visualize the whole picture and it looked good to him, especially the part of sitting in that big chair behind the desk himself. This time his nod was slow and deliberate. The only ones who would take the blame were dead. He was about to be a hero.
12
Once a pattern is set it is easy to accept it. The guards stationed at each vantage point had seen me go by once before with Juan Fucilla and what had been a question in their eyes before at the irregularity in the procedure now was simply complacency. Who were they to question the motives of their superiors, especially an officer of great authority? Only one of the older ones, whose lean, scarred face showed that he had been through the trouble times, contained any doubt, but it was shrouded in the cynicism that meant the grapevine had passed the word on higher echelon activities which he personally scorned, but was forced to tolerate. He looked at the lieutenant with openly hostile eyes and admitted us through the steel gate only after a careful study of the pass he had written under the captain’s signature.
I didn’t have to coax the lieutenant at all. He was seeing bigger things and was fitting himself into the role perfectly, staying a step behind me and a little to my left so I could see him plainly, purposely carrying on a pleasant running conversation that made us seem like old-time friends. Back in the office were two dead men that nothing could be done about anyway, except to take advantage of them. My mission didn’t concern him personally in the least and there was no value in his death at all, so playing my game was the best way out with the greatest reward, and he seemed almost anxious to be cooperative.
The guard at the last post was the only one who showed any curiosity at all. Down this far in the bowels of the Rose Castle, anything that broke the monotony of the night was something to be enjoyed. He watched us go past, half turned in his seat to see what we were doing, his ears alert to catch every word.
A barked command from the lieutenant brought him to his feet and a sharp order to bring a glass of water sent him scurrying out of sight while I fingered the picklocks out of my pocket and went to work on the door of Victor Sable’s cell.
Both my hands were busy and if he had wanted to jump me it would have been the time and he knew it, but he simply smiled, moved away a few feet and watched while I started manipulating the tumblers.
From inside a querulous voice said, “Yes… who is there?”
I stopped for a moment, opened the peephole and spoke through it. “Quiet down. We’re breaking you out of here.”
There was a startled intake of breath, then: “Who… are… you?”
If he even indicated a refusal I was going to kill him. I said, “I represent the United States Government.”
His little cry of elation was enough. I went back to work on the locks again. I had the first one open in two minutes, was interrupted by the guard bringing the water while I faked looking through the peephole for his benefit before the lieutenant sent him off on another errand.
The other two locks took a little longer. One of the picks broke in my fingers and I had to fish the remnant of the metal out of the lock before I could continue. When that one opened, the guard had returned and taken his place at his desk.
Softly, the lieutenant asked, “How long, señor?”
“A few minutes if I’m lucky.” There was an expectant look on his face.
“Something must be done about that guard, Señor. He is armed and stupid enough to interfere. He knows I have no keys to this cell.”
I knew what he meant. I left the pick in the lock with most of the tumblers already fallen and made like I was ready to walk back out with him. The guard saw us coming, a note of regret in his fatuous smile because now he would be alone again.
But it didn’t last long. Just as we reached him I twisted, grabbed the lieutenant’s arm and threw him against the desk, spilling the guard to his knees, the gun in my hand where he could see it. Instinct made the guard grab for the pistol at his belt, but the lieutenant was still in the game and his struggle to get to his feet knocked the guy’s hand away intentionally so I could bring the barrel of the.45 down against his skull and stretch him out on the floor with only the story of the lieutenant’s heroic struggle to subdue me still in his memory.
When I stepped back he said, “An excellent performance, señor,” then smiled because I was still careful enough to watch him, knowing he was thinking the same thing I was. He could be an even greater hero if he stopped the action and nailed me too. There was just that one wall in between and he could see it. Even in his uniform with all the medals, he was still a rank amateur and I was a hard-assed pro with two kills he already knew about and just as ready to kill again. He smiled indulgently, took his place in front of me this time and let me finish opening the final lock on Victor Sable’s cell.