Nick could still taste the mescal in the back of his mouth. He went into the bathroom again and once more cleaned his teeth and gargled. He went to the tall windows again and looked out. The sun had gone now and a mass of black clouds was piling in the west. A storm was moving in from the Pacific. As he watched the somber ramparts of cloud build and writhe, he felt a sudden strange coldness in him. There were many ludicrous aspects to this mission, he admitted that, but at the end of the affair Death would be waiting. For whom? For how many?
Lightning scribbled pale fire across one of the looming thunderheads. Thunder came along, sullen and threatening. Nick let the drape fall and turned toward the door just as it opened. The guard crooked a finger at him.
“Come. You are wanted.”
Chapter 9
Instant Murder
After a lavish breakfast — Nick had not realized how famished he was — served from a buffet before an open fire in a huge refectory, with transparent bone china and vermeil, Gerda von Rothe took Nick down a series of long dank passages to what she called the library. It was a tremendous room with a ceiling like that of a cathedral. It was lined with books, thousands of books, and there were wheeled ladders to reach the top shelves. Seated before another fireplace, in which you could have roasted several oxen — it was always dank and chill in the castle, she said, in spite of the central heating — they talked. But first The Bitch gave him back the Webley and his hunting knife, which she took from the drawer of a huge Louis Quinze desk.
As she handed them to him she said, “You will use your own weapons, Jamie. The knife would be more silent, but you must use your own judgment. If you use this gun and there is ever any trouble, your bullets will be found in the corpses. It seems most unique, your revolver. I have never seen one like it. Where did you get it?”
“I stole it from a guy,” he said gruffly. “A long time ago. It can’t never be traced to me, so don’t worry.”
“I am not worrying.” She tapped his chin with a thin black leather riding crop she was carrying. She would, he imagined, always be carrying some sort of whip or goad. She would probably feel naked without one. Just another facet of her nasty personality, of this incredible gothic persona.
She had changed into slacks and simple white blouse, and her silver hair was again caught back with the golden bangle. On her feet were highly polished black flats.
“I have been thinking.” And she told him what she had been thinking. A faint chill coiled up and down Kill-master’s spine. She was going to force his hand.
“Why wait?” The wide scarlet mouth smiled at him, the big white teeth glinted. “This room is huge and the books will absorb most of the sounds you make. I suppose,” she sounded regretful, “that you will have to use the gun after all. You will not be able to surprise them and get close enough to use the knife. No — it will just have to be with the gun. I’ll lock the door when I leave and give orders that no one is to enter this room. When you’re finished I’ll come and help you with the bodies.”
Nick stared at her. He let his mouth drop open. “You mean you want me to do it here? In this room. Right away?”
She drew the tip of the riding crop across his face. “Why not, Jamie? The sooner the better. I should have thought of it before. You see, I’m supposed to see them today to discuss business, and we always do that in this room. I’ll give them a few drinks first, to relax them and get them off guard, then I’ll make some excuse and leave the room. Then you do it. Very simple.”
“Not so damned simple.” He couldn’t pretend to be that dumb! Not even Jamie McPherson was that dumb.
“How will you explain me? They don’t know who I am — they don’t even know I’m in the castle. They’ll be suspicious the minute they see me. You said they knew how to take care of themselves, Gerda. Anyway look!” Nick put the big Webley in his belt and pulled the bush jacket over it. “See? It sticks out like a sore thumb. Those guys would spot it in a minute. No — you better let me figure out my own time and place. I—”
Whistttttt — the riding crop cut across his lean cheek. Not hard enough to draw blood but with a hurting sting. Nick took a step back, fighting for self control. If he lost his temper now he would ruin everything. He cringed. “Hey — don’t! That hurt. I was only trying to—”
“Don’t,” The Bitch said softly. “I told you — don’t try to think. I’ll do that. There is so much you don’t know, Jamie. Come here and I’ll show you how you can take them by surprise.”
He followed her to a shelf of books near the fireplace, saw her press a spatulate finger against the spine of a book. It was Dickens’ Dombey and Son.
A small section of the wall swung open noiselessly. She stood aside for him to enter first. It was a tight little cubicle, unheated, lined with dark paneling. Gerda pulled the section of shelves shut behind her. The washed and perfumed odor of her big golden body filled the tiny space. If sex had a distinctive smell of its own, Nick mused, this was it.
She was pointing to a narrow slit in the wall. “Take a look, Jamie.”
He found that he could see most of the library. Some of the books were shorter than others, and the space above them was covered with a fine black netting. She touched his shoulder and pointed to a set of earphones hanging from a nail set into the paneling. “With those you can hear everything that is said in the library. But they won’t be able to hear, and they can’t see you because of the netting. All you have to do is wait until I leave — I don’t want to be a witness to the actual killing, you see — then pick your time and open the section and go in and kill them. It should be easy. They’ll never suspect. They know nothing of this room.”
He nodded grudgingly. “Yeah. Like shooting fish in a barrel. So when do I do it?”
“Right away. Why delay? It’s storming outside now and the visibility is bad. They may not even be seen coming here from the labs. Not that it matters. They’ll simply disappear, not be seen again.” She touched his face with the riding crop. “You take care of those two, Jamie. I’ll take care of... of the others.”
And you’ll take care of me, too. No doubt of that. Aloud, he said, “That part bothers me a little, Gerda. They’ve got friends, huh? What happens when they turn up missing?”
Tap — tap — the leather of the crop cold on his cheek. “I told you. I’ll handle that. I can promise you, Jamie. When they are gone the, er, friends will go also. They will just pack up and leave. All right — I’m going to call now and tell Harper and Hurtada I want to see them. You will stay here. Any last questions?”
He could think of none. The time for questions was over. From now on it was going to be a deadly rat race and each man, or woman, for himself. Then a thought struck him. “Better test the earphones,” he told her. “I don’t want nothing to go wrong.”
“Nor do I.” She leaned close to him, pressing her big body, the full, tilting breasts, against him. Her lips moved across his cheek. “Don’t bungle it, Jamie. You know what happens to you if you do. But if you do it right I’ll show you what Paradise is like.”
She pressed a small lever and the bookshelves swung open. She went out and they closed. He watched her through the slit in the books. She went to the desk, then turned and stared at the shelves. “Can you hear me? If you can, rap on the paneling.”
Her voice was small, metallic, but quite clear. He rapped on the wall and saw her nod. She picked up a phone on the desk and dialed once. She waited, patting one foot, tapping on the desk with the riding crop, a sullen frown on her arrogant face.