Try This One On For Size Part 5

It said much for the muscles and authority of the guards that the panic was quickly controlled. Every window was opened and the dense smoke slowly dispersed.

Sc.o.o.ner, using a bullhorn, kept shouting, aThere is no fire. This is a hoax! Everyone is to remain still!a Like sheep, the crowd obeyed.

Trumbler came up to Sc.o.o.ner.

aLook!a He showed Sc.o.o.ner a plastic container. aA sophisticated smoke bomb, and read . . .a Sc.o.o.ner read the label stuck on the bomb: TO h.e.l.l WITH RUSSIA! The Anti-Soviet League.

aThe sonofab.i.t.c.h is still here,a Sc.o.o.ner snarled. aWeall find him!a A squat KGB man came up.

aNo one to leave until we have checked for damage!a he barked.

aSure,a Sc.o.o.ner said. aThis is a hoax. Iall talk to these people.a Using his bullhorn, Sc.o.o.ner, now sweating and knowing he was in trouble, explained to the crowd that some joker had let off a smoke bomb and before anyone could leave, names and addresses were needed. Would they all queue up in the lobby and when it had been ascertained that no damage had been done, they would be free to leave.

Relaxing, the crowd began to laugh. They seemed to think it was a good joke against the Soviet Union.

As soon as the first floor had been cleared, the KGB men went through the exhibits, looking for damage. To Sc.o.o.neras startled surprise, they all seemed to be art experts. One of them going to the icon in its gla.s.s case, stared at it, then stepped over the guard rope and found the gla.s.s case unlocked.

Watching him, Sc.o.o.neras heart sank. An alarm should have sounded as the KGB man opened the case.

The KGB man s.n.a.t.c.hed the icon from the case, glared at it, then turned to Sc.o.o.ner, his face purple with rage.

aThis is a fake!a he screamed.

Hearing this, Trumbler turned and rushed to the nearest telephone.

A black 280SL Mercedes pulled into a disused builderas yard and into a shed out of sight of the street.

Ed Haddon consulted his watch. Give or take, he had a ten-minute wait. He was completely relaxed. His confidence in Lu Bradey was unshakeable. The operation had been well planned. Only bad luck could turn it sour, and Haddon didnat believe in either bad nor good luck.

Nine minutes later, an ambulance drove into the yard. A tall black man slid out, ran to the double gates and closed them. The driver ran over to Haddon and gave him the thumbs-up sign.

aNo problems, boss,a he said, beaming. aSweet as honey.a The tall black had opened the rear of the ambulance and the Vietnamese girl, no longer looking pregnant, wearing dark red slacks and a yellow blouse, clothes that had been waiting for her in the ambulance, came running over to Haddon. She thrust the icon through the window. Haddon examined it, satisfied himself it was the original, then produced three envelopes. He gave two of them to the blacks, and the third to the Vietnamese girl.

aOkay,a he said. aGet the gates open and get lost.a The tall black opened the gates, and with a wave of his hand, Haddon drove just below the legal speed limit, out on to the street and headed for the airport.

Arriving at the airport parking lot, he reached for a suitcase, lying on the back seats. Opening it, pushing aside his overnight articles, he pressed a concealed spring and the false bottom of the case opened. He slid in the icon, then snapped the suitcase shut and leaving the Mercedes, walked over to the departure centre. He checked in under a false name. The girl recognizing an executive big shot gave him a s.e.xy smile.

aThe Miami flight in ten minutes,a she said.

Nodding, Haddon paused to buy a copy of Time, then proceeded to the departure lounge, joining other businessmen, also on their way to Miami.

Arriving at Miami airport, he hired a Lincoln from the Hertz desk and headed for Paradise City. As he edged his way into the traffic, he glanced at his watch. The time was 15.05. Nice going, he thought. Not for a moment did he wonder what was happening to Lu Bradey, but he smiled, imagining the commotion that must be going on at the Fine Arts museum.

Bradey most certainly would have taken care of himself, and was probably now heading for New York.

An hour later, Haddon walked into Kendrickas Gallery where Louis de Marney was nervously moving around, shifting objects, putting them back in their original places, tense with waiting. At the sight of Haddon, he caught his breath.

aClaude?a Haddon said curtly.

aIn his office . . . waiting,a Louis said. aDida"did you get it?a aWhat do you think?a Haddon walked through the gallery, then pushed open Kendrickas door. Kendrick was pacing up and down, his wig askew.

aEd! Cheri!a he exclaimed. aIave been in utter torment! Have you . . ?a Haddon closed the door and walked over to Kendrickas desk.

He laid the suitcase on the desk, snapped open the locks, pressed the spring, and turning with a wide smile, handed the icon to Kendrick.

aDear G.o.d!a Kendrick muttered. aAnd how I worried! I should have known! Marvellous, marvellous man!a Then he stared apprehensively at Haddon. aAny trouble? No horrid violence?a Haddonas smile widened.

aWent as sweet as honey. Now itas your turn to do some work.a aYes . . . yes.a Kendrick lumbered to the door and called for Louis. Then he went to his desk telephone and dialled his cousinas number. When Maverick answered, Kendrick said, aThe goods have arrived. I am sending Louis to you right away.a He listened, then said, aA beautiful job. No problems,a and he hung up.

Louis slid into the room. At the sight of the icon, his little eyes lit up.

aMy pet,a Kendrick said. aWrap this, and take it to Roger. He is waiting and ready. You know what to do.a Louis picked up the icon and studied it.

aI think my colours are nicer, donat you, baby?a aHurry . . . hurry.a When Louis had gone, Kendrick went to the liquor cabinet.

aI am in such a nervous state, I must have a brandy,a he said. aDear Ed. Join me.a aNo, thanks. Nervous? I told you Iad get it, and Iave got it. The time to get nervous is when the real heat is on which will be around two hoursa time.a aYes. I can imagine. Those Vietnamese? The police will be horrid to them.a aSo what? They know nothing. The only two in on this are the pregnant girls. The one with the smoke bomb got rid of her belly basket in a toilet. Her clothes were reversible. She has false papers. She left the toilet and mingled with the crowd: just another art lover. Even if the cops catch up with her, she wonat talk. The girl who gave me the icon is probably in New York by now, and lost.a Kendrick lifted his wig to mop his baldhead.

aAnd Lu?a Haddon laughed.

aLu is the one man you never need worry about.a Kendrick sipped his brandy, then came to his desk and sat down.

aSo, it now remains for that dreadful Lepski to carry the icon to Switzerland, then we are rich.a aThatas it,a Haddon said. aItas a sweet operation.a Then he paused and stared at Kendrick. aAlways provided your buyer doesnat stall at the last moment. Six million is a lot of loot to find. Are you sure of him, Claude?a aCertainly. He is enormously rich. Yes, I am sure of him.a Claude again sipped his brandy, then an uneasy thought crept into his mind. Could he be sure when dealing with Herman Radnitz? Could anyone be sure when dealing with this ruthless tyc.o.o.n? Even another gulp of brandy didnat soothe his jumping nerves.

Fred Sc.o.o.ner was trying to placate Karra.s.s Keremski, Head of the KGB security guards.

aFor G.o.das sake, take it easy,a he was saying. aOkay, the icon has been stolen, but it must still be in the building. The moment the smoke started, I had all exits sealed. No one has left the museum. The thief is still here, and the icon is still here. This is a stunt by the Anti-Soviet League to cause trouble. Everyone will be checked, and their names and addresses taken. Ten of my men are already searching the whole museum. Itas my bet, theyall find the icon.a Keremski glowered.

aThe icon is gone!a Sc.o.o.ner turned away. He went to the head of the steps and looked down at the patient queue, giving their names and addresses, and submitting to a body search.

Hurley, guarding the exit doors, let them out as he or she handed him a clearance chit. The operation was going smoothly, and Sc.o.o.ner was satisfied that no one could smuggle out the icon.

Lu Bradey, in his white sports shirt and black trousers, laid a false English pa.s.sport before one of the security checkers.

aIam staying at the Delaware hotel,a he said. aI will be sightseeing all day, and then I go on to Ottawa: Hotel Central.a The guard surveyed him: just another G.o.dd.a.m.n tourist, he thought, nodded and pa.s.sed over the clearance chit. Bradey submitted to the body search, then walked out, hailing a taxi that drove him to the Delaware hotel.

Within an hour and a half, with some thirty guards working fast, the last visitors had gone.

Sc.o.o.ner was relaxing. The icon could not, repeat not, have been smuggled out of the museum. It was now just a matter of careful searching to find it. Then he became aware that one of his men was signalling to him. It was a discreet signal and Sc.o.o.neras heart sank.

aIall be right back,a he said to Keremski, and walked over to where the guard was standing.

aSomething odd here, sir,a the guard said. aIn one of the womenas toilets.a Trumbler joined them.

aWhat is it?a he asked.

Together he and Sc.o.o.ner entered the toilet and the guard pointed to an egg shaped wicker basket with elastic straps, lying on the floor.

aWhat in G.o.das name is this?a Sc.o.o.ner muttered.

aDonat touch it!a Trumbler said sharply. He moved forward, crouched and examined the basket, then he looked up at Sc.o.o.ner. aThatas how the smoke bomb was brought in. Those Vietnamese! Two of them were pregnant!a aSir.a Sc.o.o.ner turned to find another guard at his side.

aIn the gentas loo on the second floor, there is a disguise.a ah.e.l.l!a Sc.o.o.ner exclaimed. aYou stay here,a he went on to the first guard, then following the second guard, followed by Tumbler, he walked up the steps to the second floor. The guard opened the door of one of the menas toilets and stood aside. On the floor was a black coat, a bald wig, a heavily padded waistcoat and a clerical collar.

Trumbler immediately read the photo.

aThat fat clergyman! The Vietnamese!a he exclaimed.

Shoving past Sc.o.o.ner, he raced down to the lobby. His inquiry as to whether a fat clergyman had been checked out brought a negative reply.

Sc.o.o.ner joined him.

aThose Vietnamese!a aI have all their names, sir,a one of the guards said. aThey are all staying at the Brotherhood of Love hostel.a aWhen you were checking them out, did you notice two of the women were heavily pregnant?a Sc.o.o.ner demanded.

aI didnat notice, sir, but Hurley might. He took the checkout slips and let them out.a Trumbler said, aIam calling the Boss,a and dived for a telephone.

Sc.o.o.ner crossed to where Chick Hurley was standing by the exit doors. The excitement over, Hurley was again thinking of his wife. He came to attention as Sc.o.o.ner grabbed his arm.

aDid you see two of those Vietnamese women who were pregnant leave?a Sc.o.o.ner demanded.

Hurley blinked at him.

aNo, sir. Of course one of them was taken away in an ambulance, but I didnat see the other one.a aAmbulance?a Sc.o.o.ner glared at him. aWhat ambulance?a Hurley stiffened.

aWhy, the one you sent for, sir.a aI sent for? What the h.e.l.l are you yammering about?a Sweat began to drip down Hurleyas fat face.

aWell, sir, when the smoke started, the clergyman told me this Viet woman, shocked, was in labour, and you had called an ambulance. The ambulance arrived moments later, and two black men with a stretcher carried her out. She was in great pain, sir. As you had ordered the ambulance, I let them out. Did I do wrong?a Sc.o.o.ner stood motionless, his eyes glazed like a man who had been hit over the head with a length of lead piping.

Trumbler, rushing from the telephone box, grabbed his arm.

aThereas no such hostel as the Brotherhood of Love!a Sc.o.o.ner drew in a deep breath. He now knew the icon had not only been stolen, but had been smuggled out of the museum.

aItas gone, Jack! You take over. Iall talk to this KGB creep. Man! Are we in trouble!a Trumbler rushed back to the telephone. Thirty minutes later, every exit from the United States of America was slammed shut.

At 11.00 on Wednesday morning, a sleek, impressive-looking van pulled up outside the Lepskisa bungalow. On each side of the vanas buff-coloured cabin was the magic word: MAVERICK. The van and the name caused curtains to be pulled back, neighbours to walk casually into their gardens and envious eyes to stare.

Carroll had been waiting expectantly, and seeing the van arrive, seeing the commotion it caused was a highlight of her life.

The van driver, a tall, elegant, blond young man, wearing a buff-coloured uniform, laced with brown braid, and a buff-coloured peak cap with a brown visor, carrying a vast parcel, arrived at the Lepskisa front door.

Carroll practically tore the front door off its hinges as she opened up.

Giving Carroll a shy, smirking smile, this beautiful young man insisted on coming in to unpack the parcel.

aMr. Maverick wishes to be absolutely sure that you are completely satisfied, madam.a Carroll was reluctant to let this glamorous young man into her home. The living room, as usual, was in an utter mess. It took Carroll until late in the afternoon to straighten up. Somehow, she and Lepski always left the living room in a state of chaos before retiring for the night. How this happened, Carroll never understood, but happen it did. But the blond van driver was so charming, so apparently oblivious to the mess, she regained confidence.

The parcel was unpacked.

aThe suitcase with your initials, madam, is packed with your dresses, shoes and handbags,a the driver said. aMr. Lepskias case is empty. Here is the vanity box. Mr. Maverick particularly wants to know if it pleases you.a Carroll was still drooling over the vanity box, long after the van had driven away. Apart from a de luxe a.s.sortment of expensive cosmetics, it included a baby mink crocodile wallet for Travelleras cheques, her initials embossed in gold, as well as a matching sleeve for her pa.s.sport and a manicure set, so elegant that Carroll was nervous of touching it.

An hour later, three of her best girlfriends, unable to contain their curiosity any longer, came knocking on her front door.

This was Carrollas moment of glory. The little bungalow resounded to squeals of envy, admiration and warm delight as she displayed her purchases.

None of her friends were content until she had put on each dress and paraded around the messy living room. As all her friends also had messy living rooms, none of them cared a d.a.m.n about the background.

They feasted their eyes on Maverickas creations, dreaming of the day when someone would leave them money so they too could compete with Carroll.

While Carroll was changing into another creation, her closest friend cut sandwiches, using up the cold chicken and ham that Carroll had put aside for her husbandas dinner. They also attacked Lepskias bottle of Cutty Sark which Carroll had replaced. The party became quite a party, even to a glee song, led by Carroll at her most powerful, with the others filling in, in a noise that set the neighbouras dogs howling.

Finally around 18.00, the party broke up. The girls had to rush back to their homes to sc.r.a.pe up something for their husbands to eat. Carroll, a little tight, once again sat before the vanity box to finger the gorgeous bottles and sighing with delight.

Then Lepski arrived.

Lepski had had a trying day. Chief Fred Terrell had returned from his vacation. Lepski had had to fill him in on the various crime happenings since he had been away. Although of little importance, Lepski liked to make out that if he hadnat been in charge, Paradise City would have been on its knees. Terrell, who knew Lepski well, had listened patiently, nodded and puffed at his pipe. He summed up: ten cars stolen: ten cars recovered, three minor breakins and five drunken drivers.

aOkay, Tom,a Terrell said. aNow, you get off and have a good vacation.a Sergeant Beigler came in.

aReport. Thereas a nut with a rifle, shooting the lights out in a high-rise. The squad cars are down there. Should Tom take a look?a Terrell nodded.

aOkay, Tom, your last job. Take a look.a This was meat and drink to Lepski. He threw himself into his car and belted down Paradise Avenue, his siren screaming. He liked nothing better than to make a Rolls, a Bentley, a Caddy swerve out of his way.

Arriving at the scene, he found ten uniformed cops staring up at a distant window of a seventeen-storey high-rise.

aHeas up there,a one of the cops said. aShooting.a Lepski patted his gun.

aLetas go,a he said.

Aware of a big crowd watching, aware too that a TV crew had arrived, Lepski took his time, walking slowly and purposely towards the entrance to the high-rise, hoping the TV creeps were filming him.

With three cops and a shivering, elderly janitor, Lepski rode up to the 11th floor.

aThatas the door to his apartment, sir,a the janitor said as they stepped out into the corridor. aItas Mr. Lewishon. I reckon he has bats in his attic.a Lepski, gun in hand, waved the three cops into position, then raising his foot, he slammed it against the lock of the door and the door flew open.

It came as an anti-climax as they rushed into a well-furnished room where a fat, elderly man was sitting before an open window with a .22 rifle in his hands.

aHold it!a Lepski bawled in his cop voice, his gun pointing at the elderly man.

aAh! The police! How right!a The man laid down his rifle. aCome in. Come in. Look at this disgrace! In broad daylight, people over there have their lights on. It is an utter disgrace! Our good President is continually asking us to save energy, but no one heeds. Lights! Lights! Everywhere are lights!a When Lepski turned in his report, Beigler and Jacoby laughed themselves sick.

aOkay, you two jerks,a Lepski shouted. aIall be on TV, so laugh that off!a It so happened, after inquiring, Lepski was told by the Paradise City TV people that the shot of him walking to the high-rise had been blacked out by a kid who thought it smart to put his grimy little hand before the lens of the TV camera.

In a sour mood, Lepski, pounding into his bungalow like a fire engine on emergency, bawled, aIam home! Whatas for dinner?a Carroll had just replaced an elegant scent spray in her vanity box. The sound of Lepskias voice jarred her from the dream of how millionairesa wives live down to the sordid reality of how a First Grade detectiveas wife lives.