«Details are time-consuming.» Bonner reached into his tunic and withdrew a gun, handing it to Andy. «Here’s a weapon; I reloaded it. There’s a full magazine.» He crossed to Trevayne’s desk and took out bullets from his trousers pocket. He put them on the blotter; there were eleven. «Here are extra shells. Put the gun in your belt; it’ll frighten what’s-her-name. Lillian… Is there a door down here, or back here, that can get me to the garage without going out front?»
«Over there.» Trevayne pointed to a heavy oak door that once had been a ship’s hatch. «It goes out to the terrace. There’s a flagstone path to the left, past that window—»
«It leads to a side door at the garage,» interrupted Paul, remembering.
«That’s right.»
The sound of the maid’s footsteps could be heard on the stairs.
«Does Lillian scare easily?» asked Bonner.
«Obviously not. She stays here alone, often for weeks at a time. We’ve offered to get her a companion; she’s always refused. Her husband—he’s dead—was a New York cop. What about Phyllis? The hospital. You said you’d check.» Andrew watched Bonner closely.
«Will do.» Paul reached down on the desk for the telephone as Lillian opened the door. Before closing it, she snapped the wall switch in the lower-level hallway, and the lights went out. Trevayne took her aside and spoke softly while Bonner put through a call to 1600 Security.
The Major suffered through the whining discourse of 1600’s problems but was satisfied that the relief men were on their way to the hospital, if they weren’t there already. His memory temporarily wandered back to the nurse… Phyllis was in good hands. Bonner hung up as Trevayne spoke from across the room.
«I’ve told Lillian the truth. As you’ve told it to me.»
Paul turned and looked at the maid. There was only the single light of the desk lamp, and it was difficult for him to see her eyes. Always the eyes. But he did see that the strong, middle-aged face was calm, the head firm.
«Good.» Bonner crossed to the hatch door. «I’m going to bring in our friend from the garage. If I hear or see anything, I’ll get back here fast, with or without him.»
«Don’t you want me to help?» asked Trevayne.
«I don’t want you to leave this room! Lock the door behind me.»
30
The man named Joey was slumped forward in the front seat of the Army vehicle, his forehead resting on the dashboard, the blood from his scalp partially congealed in splotches. Bonner pulled him out the door and lifted the gunman’s midsection so he could slide his shoulder underneath and carry him fireman-style.
He returned to the side door of the garage and started back toward the terrace. Outside the door he walked along the side of the garage to where the driveway veered to the right, the flagstone path straight ahead toward the rear of the house.
He stopped. There was a dim reflection of light far off on the approach road. If he judged correctly, it was several hundred yards away, near where the man now slumped over his shoulder had tried to kill him. The light moved up and down, the motion emphasized by the falling snow. It was an automobile going over the bumps in the dirt road, the driver traveling slowly. Perhaps looking for a gunman.
Paul ran with his charge back to the study door and knocked. «Hurry up!»
The door opened, and Bonner raced in, throwing the gunman down on the couch.
«Good Lord, he’s a mess!» said Andy.
«Better him than me,» replied the Major. «Now, listen. There’s a car up the road… I’m going to let it be your decision, but I want to present my case before you choose an alternative.»
«You sound very military. Is this Fifth Avenue? Sunset Boulevard again? Are you bringing out coffins?»
«Cut it out, Andy!»
«Was that necessary?» Trevayne spoke angrily, pointing to the unconscious, brutalized man on the couch.
«Yes! Do you want to call the police?»
«I certainly do, and I will.» Trevayne started for the desk. Bonner overtook him and leaned across the top, between Andrew and the telephone.
«Will you listen to me?»
«This is no private mock battlefield, Major! I don’t know what you people are trying to do, but you won’t do it here. These tactics don’t frighten me, soldier-boy.»
«Oh, Jesus, you’re not reading me.»
«I’m just beginning to!»
«Hear me out, Andy. You think I’m part of something that’s against you; in a way, maybe I am, but not this.»
«You have a remarkable ability for tracing itineraries. Doug Pace, two Lear jets …»
«Okay. But not this! Whoever’s in that car was able to reach right up into ‘sixteen hundred.’ That’s out of line!»
«We both know how, though, don’t we Major? Genessee Industries!»
«No. Not this way. Not a Mario whatever-his-name-is.»
«What are you people—»
«Give me a chance to find out. Please! If you call in the police, we never will.»
«Why not?»
«Police matters mean courts and lawyers and horse-shit! Give me ten, fifteen minutes.»
Trevayne searched Bonner’s face. The Major wasn’t lying; the Major was too angry, too bewildered to lie.
«Ten minutes.»
It was Laos again for Paul. He recognized the weakness of his exhilaration but rationalized it by telling himself that a man was cheated if he couldn’t practice what he was trained for; and no one was trained better than he. He ran to the end of the terrace, and by instinct, looked down the slope at the stone steps leading to the dock and the boathouse. Always know your environs, commit them to memory; you might use them.
He crept up the lawn, staying close to the side of the house, until he reached the front. There were no headlights in the distance now, no sound but that of the falling snow. He had to assume that whoever was in the car up the road had stopped, shut off the engine, and was on foot.
Good. He knew the area. Not well, but probably better than the intruders.
He saw that the snow was holding to the ground a bit better than it had been, so he removed his tunic in the shadows. A light khaki shirt was less obvious than the dark cloth of a uniform. A little thing, but then, there were no little things—not when patrols were removed without authorization and murder attempted. He dashed across the open lawn to the outer perimeter of the drive and began making his way silently through the bordering woods, toward the dirt road.
Two minutes later he had reached the end of the straight approach to the driveway. He could see the out-line of an automobile several hundred feet down the road. And then he saw the glare of a cigarette within.
Suddenly there was the beam of a flashlight pointed downward on the side of the road, his side. It had come from the woods. Then there were voices, agitated, rising and falling, but never loud. Quietly shrill.
Bonner instantly knew what provoked the excitement. The flashlight on the side had come out of the woods precisely where he had pulled the bleeding gunman to the Army car. The snow, still thin, still wet, had not yet covered the blood on the road. The footprints.
A second beam of light emerged from the opposite side. There were three men. The man inside the car got out and threw away his cigarette. Bonner crept forward, every nerve taut, every reflex ready to spring into motion.
He was within a hundred feet now, and began to discern the spoken words. The man who had come out of the automobile was issuing orders.