“Mario. Mario.… It’s Joey.” The voice was urgent but not loud.
Bonner waited in the seat, his hand gripping his pistol. The stranger stopped. The car was not the car he expected. The night, the wet snow, the glare of the headlights on the private back road, had caused the man to see what he anticipated, not what was there. An Army vehicle with its unmistakable dull-brown finish. He reached into his jacket—to a holster, for a weapon, thought Paul.
“Hold it! Stay where you are! You move, you’re dead!” The Major opened his door and crouched.
Four shots, muffled by a silencer, was the stranger’s reply. Three bullets embedded themselves in the metal of the door; one shattered the windshield above the steering wheel, leaving a tiny hole in the center of the cracked glass. Bonner could hear the man begin to back away on the soft, snow-covered road. He raised his head; another puff of the silencer was heard, and a bullet whistled through the air above him.
Paul whipped to the rear of the car, protected by the open door, and flung himself on the ground. Underneath, between the two front tires, he could see the man running toward the woods, looking back, shielding his eyes against the glare of the lights. The man stopped at the edge of the trees, his body in shadows about forty yards down the road. It was obvious to Bonner that the man wanted to come back to the Army car, to see if he’d hit Paul with his last shot. But he was afraid. Yet for some reason he couldn’t leave the scene; couldn’t run away. Then the man disappeared into the woods.
Bonner understood. The man with the gun had first come out with his flashlight to stop a car he was expecting. Now he had to get around the Army vehicle—with its alive or dead driver—and intercept the automobile he’d been waiting for.
That meant he’d make his way west through the dense forest of High Barnegat to a point behind Paul on Shore Road.
Major Paul Bonner felt a surge of confidence. He had learned his lessons in the Special Forces, in the scores of remote fire bases in Laos and Cambodia where his life and the lives of his team depended upon the swift, silent killing of enemy scouts. He knew the man with the gun who shielded his eyes from the headlights was no match.
Paul quickly estimated the man’s distance—the distance to the point at which he’d entered the woods. No more than a hundred and twenty-five feet. Bonner knew he had the time. If he was fast—and quiet.
He dashed from the car to the woods and bent his elbows to fend the branches in front of him—never letting them slap back, never letting them break. He assumed a semicrouch, his legs thrust forward, his feet nearly balletic as he tested the dark earth beneath him. Once or twice his foot touched a hard object—a rock or a fallen tree limb—and like a trained tentacle, it dodged or went above the object without interrupting the body’s motion. In this manner Bonner silently, rapidly made his way thirty feet into the wet, dense foliage. He angled his incursion line on an oblique left course so that when he had penetrated as far as he wished, he was directly parallel to the beams of the headlights out on Shore Road. He found a wide tree trunk and stood up, positioning himself so that whoever crossed between the trunk of the tree and the lights on the road would be silhouetted; Paul would see the man without any chance of being seen.
As he pressed himself against the bark and waited, Bonner recalled how often he had employed this tactic—using the light of the sun at dawn or a low moon at night—to singularly ambush a scout or an infiltrator.
He was good. He knew the jungles.
What did the beavers know?
The man came into view. He was awkwardly sidestepping his way through the woods, shouldering the branches, his eyes on the road, his pistol raised, prepared to fire at any moving thing. He was about fifteen feet from Paul, concentrating on the obscured outline of the Army vehicle.
Paul picked the least obstructed path between himself and the man with the gun and prejudged the timing. He would have to divert the stranger for a second or two; do it in such a way as to cause him to stop at precisely that spot where their paths would meet. He reached down and felt the ground for a rock, a stone. He found one, rose to his feet, and silently counted off the man’s steps.
He threw the rock with all his strength just above the heavy ground cover toward the car on the road. The sound of the rock’s impact on the automobile’s hood caused the man to freeze, to fire his reloaded pistol repeatedly. There were five puffs from the silencer, and by the time the man crouched instinctively for protection, Bonner was on him.
He simultaneously grabbed the man’s hair and right wrist, crashing his left knee into the gunman’s rib cage with enormous force. Paul could hear the crack of the bone tissue as the man screamed in anguish. The pistol dropped, the neck wrenched back, blood matted the scalp where the hair was torn from the flesh.
It was over in less than ten seconds.
The man with the gun was immobilized, pain wracking his entire body—but, as Bonner had planned, not unconscious.
He pulled the man out of the woods to the car and threw him into the front. He ran around, got in the driver’s seat, and sped down the remaining dirt road to the Trevayne driveway.
The immobilized gunman wept and groaned and pleaded for aid.
Paul remembered that the drive in front of Trevayne’s house had an offshoot that led to a large, four-car garage to the left of the main building. He drove into it and pulled the Army vehicle up to an open garage door. There was no automobile inside, so he entered, and as he did so, the man beside him began moaning again in pain. Bonner parked the car, grabbed the man’s coat so that the head fell forward, and clenched his fist as tightly as he could. He then punched the anguished man just below the chin line so the blow would render him instantly unconscious, but with no danger of death.
In a way, the Major reflected, it was a humanitarian gesture; there was nothing quite so painful as broken ribs. He turned off the lights and got out of the car.
Running back toward the front entrance, he saw that the door was open. The maid, Lillian, was standing in the light.
“Oh, Major Bonner. I thought I heard a car. How are you, sir?”
“Fine, Lillian. Where’s Mr. Trevayne?”
“He’s downstairs in his study. He’s been on the phone since he arrived. I’ll ring down and tell him you’re here.”
Paul remembered Andy’s soundproof study that overlooked the water. He wouldn’t have heard the car. Or anything else, for that matter. “Lillian, I don’t want to alarm you, but we’ve got to turn off all the lights. We’ve got to do it quickly.”
“I beg your pardon.” Lillian was a modern servant but retained the old traditions. She accepted orders from her employers, not from guests.
“Where is the phone to Mr. Trevayne’s study?” asked Bonner as he stepped into the hallway. There was no time to convince Lillian.
“Right there, sir,” answered the maid, pointing to a telephone by the staircase. “Third button, and press ‘Signal.’ ”
“Paul! What are you doing here?”
“We can discuss that—argue it, if you like—later. Right now I want you to tell Lillian to do as I say. I want all the lights off.… I’m serious, Andy.”
Trevayne didn’t hesitate. “Put her on.”
Lillian uttered four words. “Right away, Mr. Trevayne.”
If she hurried, thought Bonner as he looked through to the living room and recalled the few lights on upstairs, it shouldn’t take her long. He couldn’t take time to help her; he had to talk to Trevayne.
“Lillian, when you’ve finished, come downstairs to Mr. Trevayne’s study. There’s nothing to worry about. I just want to make sure he doesn’t have to meet with someone … he doesn’t wish to see. It would be embarrassing for both of them.”
The explanation worked. Lillian sighed, half-humorously. She would be calm now; Paul had eliminated the essential fear. He started for the lower-level staircase, which was at the rear of the hallway, careful to keep his walk relaxed. Once on the stairs, he took them three at a time.
Trevayne was standing by his desk, its surface covered with torn-off pages of a yellow pad. “For God’s sake, what is it? What are you doing here?”
“You mean, neither Sam nor Alan called you?”
“Sam did. You left in a hurry. Is this … current tactic so you can take me apart? The Army way. You could probably do it.”
“Oh, shut up! Not that you haven’t given me reason.” Bonner crossed to the single large window.
“You’re right. I’m sorry. I thought it was necessary.”
“Don’t you have curtains or a shade here?”
“They’re electric. Buttons on either side. Here, I’ll show—”
“Stay back there!” Bonner barked his order sharply as he found the button and two slatted, vertical blinds came out of each side of the window. “Jesus! Electronic shades.”
“My brother-in-law; he’s obsessed with gadgets.”
“One Douglas Pace. Two Lear jets. Chartered between such diverse locations as San Francisco, San Bernardino, Houston, Boise, Tacoma, and Dulles Airport.” The blind closed, and Bonner turned to face Trevayne. For several moments neither spoke.
“You’ve put your well-known resourcefulness to work, haven’t you, Paul?”
“It wasn’t difficult.”
“I don’t imagine it was. I’ve been engaged in a little behind-the-lines work myself. It’s overrated.”
“You’re understaffed. You don’t know what you’ve left back there.… Someone’s after you, Andy. I judge no more than a couple of miles—if we’re lucky.”
“What are you talking about?”
Bonner told him as rapidly as possible, before the maid came downstairs. Trevayne’s reaction to the patrols at the hospital was immediate, panicked concern for Phyllis. Paul reduced the issue by explaining the precautions he’d taken. He minimized the encounter in the Barnegat woods, saying only that the injured man was unconscious in Trevayne’s garage.
“Do you know anyone named Mario?”
“De Spadante,” answered Andy without a pause.
“The Mafia boss?”
“Yes. He lives in New Haven. He was in San Francisco a couple of days ago. His people tried to cover for him, but we assume it was him.”
“He’s the one on his way here.”
“Then we’ll see him.”
“All right, but on our terms. Remember, he was able to remove the patrol. That connects him with someone—someone very important—in Washington. His man tried to kill me.”
“You didn’t put it that way.” Andrew replied in a monotone, as if he didn’t quite believe Paul.
“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 Pa
ul. 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.