After snapping the lights on I heard a rustle on the other side of the suite, and then the connecting door burst open and Juana stood there, eyes wide. It seemed as if she had just awakened from a deep sleep.
"Did you meet him?"
"Yes," I said. Quickly I moved to the bureau and picked up a pad of paper there. I scribbled «bug» on it quickly and showed it to her.
She nodded that she understood.
"How did it go?" she asked me.
"Nothing to report. I'll have to see him again." I was busy writing on the pad. "You meet him tomorrow ten o'clock in gondola. Details later."
She nodded.
"Now I'm going to bed and get some rest."
"Okay," she said.
I pointed to the hall door, indicating that I would meet her outside in a moment.
"Good night, George," she said, and went back into her room.
I got out of my clothes, changed into clean ones, and went into the hallway. Juana was standing there smoking a cigarette.
"Are you sure the rooms are bugged?" she asked.
"Positive."
"Did you meet Corelli?"
"Yes. We know him as Barry Parson."
She studied me. "I almost guessed that."
"So did I."
"Can you be sure?"
"How can I be completely sure? But he's meeting you in the cable car where hell give you the material"
"What is it?"
"I'll handle it," she said with confidence.
"Good. I'll cover you from the ski slopes. Corelli wants it that way."
"But how could The Mosquito find out about the meeting between him and you?"
"He's been following us all the time."
"I'll try to keep a lookout for him."
"Don't you bother. I'll take care of that. You just meet Corelli and find out if he's jiving us or not."
She looked at me. "Why didn't he give me the information before?"
"He said he wanted to be sure."
She shrugged. "I suppose that makes sense."
"Get in the cable car with him, and ski down from the Borreguilas. I'll meet you in the bar downstairs after it's all over. Then we'll rush down and have the stuff authenticated."
"Malaga?"
"Granada. AXE has a transmitter there."
"Good."
I went back in the room and went to bed.
I could see everything along the rocky spine now. The sunlight was pure white. The glare of the snow was blinding, but I was using a filter on the Zeiss 60x glasses.
The cable car moved upward and I could see Juana's yellow sweater clearly. She and Parson were the only ones inside. The gondola usually took four, and I knew Parson had been forced to tip the attendant for a private ride, but I did not worry. He had the money for it.
I swept the field again with the glasses and then I saw him.
He was lying flat on his stomach on a ledge of granite about halfway between the Borreguilas and the Prado Llano. He had put on gray clothes so that he blended in exactly with the mica and granite schist. But I could see that he was a man after all, and I could see that he held a long rifle in his arms along the rock. There was a scope sight attached to the rifle.
I could not identify the type of rifle with the glasses.
He was lying there very quietly, waiting. And he was watching the gondola with Juana and Parson in it. How had he known they were taking it? How could he have found out?
Parson? Was Parson a substitute? Was someone setting up Juana? How had the information been leaked again? No one had said a word in our rooms. Nobody but Parson and I knew the time and the place.
And yet there lay the killer, waiting.
Moscato? Quite probably.
I opened my windbreaker and got out the Luger. I checked it and then slid it into my windbreaker pocket. I'd have to traverse the slope and anchor myself on the rock spine to get him. Then I would have to crawl over the rocks and kill him before he was able to make the hit.
There was no other way. If I left Moscato alive, he would try again to get Rico Corelli — try until he succeeded!
Judging from the speed of the cable car and the location of the man on the rocks, I had about a minute and a half to make my move.
I checked my descent slightly to avoid a dangerous mogul and passed just below it. As I hit the lower part of the hump, something happened to the rest of the snow above, and I suddenly found myself buried to the knees in a slide. I pushed and flailed, and the snow flew off me. I was lucky. The big ball of rolling snow continued away from me, and smashed against some rocks nearby.
I had lost precious seconds.
The rocks were ahead of me, but I could not see the man lying below me. I had to get out the glasses and slowly pan across the ridge.
Then I saw him.
I had been thrown off course by about a hundred feet! I was far too high.
Quickly I started down the hill again, traversing back the other way, christening out of that course and traversing back to a point well within reach of the man on the rocks.
I released my clamps and stowed the skis in the rocks so they would not slide away. Then I got out my glasses and peered over the edge of the rocks.
I could see the cable car moving slowly up between the second and third steel poles. And I could see the man with the rifle gripping it hard, and leading the gondola carefully as it moved up along the spidery steel cables.
I aimed the Luger at the man's head and fired.
The slug hit a rock and spun off somewhere. I could hear the singing of the ricochet.
The man turned quickly. I could see the blur of his white face. Quickly he arched his back, twisted, and aimed the rifle at me — scope sight and all.
A slug hit in the snow behind me — too close for comfort.
I fired again. But he had ducked out of sight right after his shot. I could not see him.
Crouching there, I tried vainly to find him.
Another shot broke rock by my hand.
I ducked down.
The gondola was moving slowly up the cable, and I could see Juana's yellow sweater and that was all I paid any attention to.
The rifleman stood and turned away from me, aiming at the gondola. I fired again.
He went down, ducking behind a rock, not hit at all. I saw him steady himself against the crag and aim at the gondola.
I started across the rocks, but knew I could not reach him in time.
Snapping on the cable clamps, I got onto the skis and started down the slope, two poles in one hand, the Luger in the other. It was not the most comfortable skiing position I could imagine.
As I moved along, I realized I could not shoot as I skied, and thus was wasting more valuable time.
I got down to the level at which he was crouched, and jerked out of the bindings and crossed the rocks at a crouch.
There he was!
I fired.
He was aiming at the gondola and he fired just as I fired — or perhaps a split second after I did. Whatever happened, my own shot apparently caused him to misfire, and his charge went harmlessly into the base of the gondola rather than through the window and into Parson's heart.
I hit the rifleman.
He went down, face first in the rocks, and then in a reflex movement, he came around and whirled the rifle until it was pointing right at me.
I jumped back and onto the snow, sliding downhill. The bullets scattered about me, but none hit I climbed onto the rock again, clinging there for purchase.
The rock was slippery, but I crawled over it and when another slug exploded near my ear I lifted up my own head, saw him clearly, and shot him in the neck.
He went down instantly. Blood exploded in the air about him in a red cloud.