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  He made another deliberate pause while he looked at the four men. Mish scowled and began to scratch his head. Wash sat motionless, his black face expressionless. Perry continued to stare up at the ceiling. Plans like this bored him. All he wanted was to be told what to do and then to go into action. Chandler stared at Maisky as if he thought he was crazy.

  "Oh, for Pete's sake!" he said. "Is this a theory? You haven't a hope in hell of getting into that vault. What are you doing . . . having a game with us?"

  Maisky took from his jacket pocket a shiny, steel cylinder no more than six inches long. He placed it on the table with the finicky care of a man displaying an artistic masterpiece.

  "This is the answer to the problem," He said. "With this, we will have no trouble removing the money from the vault."

  The four men stared at the shiny cylinder on the table.

  After a pause, Perry said, "Just what the hell is that?"

  "It contains a paralysing gas," Maisky said. "It is quite ingenious and it's under tremendous pressure. It is effective within ten seconds."

  Chandler rubbed the back of his neck as he eyed Maisky.

  "Is it . . . lethal?"

  "Oh no. After four or five hours its effects wear off. We are robbing the Casino, my friend, not committing mayhem."

  "Well, what do you know? That's mighty cute," Perry said. "Go on . . . tell us more."

  Maisky picked up the papers on the table and handed them to Mish.

  "Look at these. Do they mean anything to you?"

  Mish leaned back in his chair and studied the blueprints of the Casino's electrical circuits. It took him only a few seconds to realise what he was looking at and he glanced up, his red face alight with a grin of admiration.

  "I take my hat off to you, doc. Sure, I get it now. How did you get hold of this little lot?"

  Maisky shrugged.

  "As I told you, I have been here for nine months and I have not wasted my time."

  Chandler peered over Mish's shoulder, then he looked at Maisky.

  "You've certainly been working at this thing, but I'm not sold yet. Just what do we have to do?" he said.

  "Here is the general plan. The Casino shuts at three a.m. At twothirty a.m. most of the money will have been returned to the vault. This is the time for our attack. Here is what happens in outline. At two-thirty precisely, Mish will walk into the Casino wearing the uniform of the City's Electricians. This uniform I have already obtained. He will say there is an electrical fault and he wants to check the fuse boxes. At this hour, there will only be a stooge in control. I have been to the Casino every night since I have been here and I know at one forty-five the general office shuts down. Harry Lewis, who is charge of the Casino, is always moving around in the gambling rooms at this time until the Casino shuts. His secretaries have gone home. So you will have no trouble. The stooge in the lobby will assume Lewis has called you and he will show you where to find the fuse boxes. You will have to be careful about the timing, Mish. Now look at the blueprint. First, I want the air conditioner in the vault cut off."The other men watched as Mish studied the blueprint. After a few moments, he looked up and nodded.

  "Can do . . . it's easy."

  "Yes . . . I thought it might be with you handling it." Maisky's voice was gentle and confident. "Then there is a calculator in the vault which the girls use to add up the total take. This almost must be put on the blink. I believe you will see the fuse box for that."

  Mish nodded after examining the blueprint.

  "Sure," he said. "No trouble."

  "So this is your job, Mish. You put the air conditioner and the calculator on the blink. I'm just giving you this in outline. Later, of course, we will go into details. Now . . ." he looked at Chandler. "You have a more difficult role to play. You and Wash will arrive exactly at two-thirty in a small truck . . . I have the truck in my garage. You both will be wearing the uniforms of I.B.M. engineers, and you will have with you a carton that is supposed to contain a calculator. It will not, of course, contain a calculator. It will contain two gas masks and two automatic pistols. These articles I have already obtained. Jess will tell the doorman who guards the entrance to the vault that he has had a call from Mr. Lewis to replace the calculator in the vault. While he is talking to the doormen, Mish will put the calculator in the vault on the blink. So when Jess and Wash arrive at the door to the vault, the guards will know the calculator has broken down. It is up to Jess to talk his way into the vault . . . it shouldn't be too difficult. Both he and Wash will be wearing the appropriate uniforms and carrying a carton marked on all sides: I.B.M. The girls will be complaining that their machine is out of order. Pyschologically, I think we can get away with this. Once inside, Chandler will open the carton and hold up the guards. Wash will put on his gas mask and then take over from Chandler who will also put on his gas mask. This must be done very quickly and with a lot of menace. We will, of course, practice this tomorrow. Before the guards have the time to start trouble, Jess will release the gas. This is very simple to do. A sharp tap on any solid object . . . the table . . . the wall . . . anything solid, will set it off. In ten seconds there will be no opposition. The vault will be filled with the gas. You two will then fill the carton with as much money as you can lay hands on . . . and there will be plenty. You will choose only fivehundred-dollar bills. These bills will be in packets and will be easy to handle. Having filled the carton, you will walk out. The doorman will assume you are taking away the calculator that has broken down. You will put the carton into the truck and then we will all drive off. This is a very brief summary of my plan. The details, of course, will have to be fully discussed and rehearsed, but we will do this tomorrow night." He sat back, tapped ash off his cigarette and looked inquiringly at the four. men who had been listening with absorbed concentration.

  Perry said, "Just where do I come in on the set-up?"

  "Ah, yes . . . you." Maisky smiled at him. "You will also be wearing the I.B.M. uniform. You will come in with Jess and Wash, but you will stay with the doorman. I'll tell you about him later. He is an old man who likes to talk. Your job is to talk to him. I don't anticipate trouble, but we must be ready to deal with it should it occur. Some nosy guard might turn up and start being awkward." Maisky stared fixedly at Perry. "I am relying on you to take care of trouble and of nosy guards."

  Perry grinned.

  "Fine . . . if that's all I have to do, it's easy."

  Chandler said sharply, "We now know what Mish, Wash, Jack and I have to do. Just exactly what will you do?"

  "I will drive the truck," Maisky said. "I am a lot older than any of you and I don't propose to take too active a part in this operation. We will have to make a quick getaway, so I feel I am quite capable of handling the truck." He paused, waited, then went on when none of the men said anything. "There is one thing we must accept. The news of the robbery will break very quickly. The Chief of Police here is very efficient. We would be asking for trouble if we tried to leave the City with the money until the heat dies down. The money will be buried in my garden. We will then split up, take a vacation in the City, then, when the heat is off, we will take our shares and leave in our own separate ways."

  Perry said, "I don't like that. We will split the money at once and each of us will be responsible for taking care of his own share."

  Chandler said, "Yes."

  After hesitating, Mish said, "Well, I guess that's right." Maisky shrugged.

  "As you like, gentlemen. We will, of course, work out all the details later. But I take it, you approve of the general plan?"

  "It's great," Mish said.

  Maisky looked at Wash.

  "And you?"

  "Oh, yes . . . I will do exactly what you tell me," Wash said. "I think it is good."

  Chandler said, "There's one thing that fazes me . . . just how did you get this blueprint and all your information? Whom did you buy it from?"

  Maisky regarded the glowing end of his cigarette.

  "I wonder
if you really want to know, my friend?" he said. "You need have no fear about my informant. I have taken care of that very minor problem." He looked up suddenly and Chandler flinched as he looked into the grey, ice-cold eyes.

  Two

  HARRY LEWIS, Director of the Casino, neatly parked his black Fleetwood Cadillac in a vacant parking bay outside police headquarters, cut the engine and slid out into the early morning sunshine.

  Lewis, tall, thin, elegantly dressed, was moving into his late fifties. He had been in charge of the richest Casino in the world now for fifteen years. He had the air of affluence and supreme confidence that only a background of extreme wealth can give a man.

  He walked up the steps and into the Charge Room, where the desk sergeant, Charlie Tanner, was coping with a mass of drunk-incharge-of-a-car reports.

  Seeing Lewis, Tanner dropped the reports and jumped to his feet.

  'Morning, Mr. Lewis. Something I can do?"

  Lewis always recieved V.I.P. treatment from the police. They were well aware of his generosity at Christmas and Thanksgiving Day. Every detective and every patrolman received a sixteen- pound turkey and a bottle of Scotch on these two festivals, and they realised this generosity must cost a whale of a lot of money.

  "The Chief in?" Lewis asked.

  "Sure, Mr. Lewis. You go right on up," Tanner said. "How's your wife, Charlie?"

  Tanner grinned happily. This was another thing about Lewis. He seemed to know everything about everyone in Paradise City. Tanner's wife had just come out of hospital after a difficult miscarriage.

  "Fine now, Mr. Lewis . . . and thanks."

  "You must take care of her, Charles," Lewis said. "We men take our wives too much for granted. Where would we be without them?" He flicked a folded bill across the desk. "Fuss her . . . women like being fussed."

  He walked over to the stairway that led to Chief of Police Terrell's office. Tanner's eyes grew round when he saw the bill was for $20.

  Lewis tapped on Terrell's door, pushed it open and walked into the small, sparsely furnished room.

  Chief of Police Terrell, a massively built man with sandy hair, turning white at the temples and a jutting, aggressive jaw was pouring coffee from a carton into two paper cups. Sergeant Joe Beigler, his right-hand man, watched the coffee with an eye of an addict while he rested his big frame in a creaking, upright chair. Both men stiffened as Lewis walked casually into the little room. Beigler got to his feet. Terrell reached for another paper cup, smiling.

  "Hello, Harry . . . you're early," he said. "Have some coffee?" Lewis took Beigler's chair, shaking his head.

  "You two . . . you seem to live on coffee," he said. "Busy?"

  Terrell lifted his massive shoulders.

  "We're starting the day . . . nothing very special. Something on your mind?"

  Lewis selected a cigarette from a gold case. Beigler was quick to give him a light.

  "At this time of the season, Frank, I have always plenty on my mind," he said. "But tomorrow's something special. I thought it would be an idea to talk to you. Tomorrow, we are expecting twenty top class gamblers from the Argentine who are really out to win some money from us. These boys don't give a damn how much they lose. We have the job of coveting their play. There will be a lot of money in the Casino and I thought some police protection might be sound. Think you can help me?"

  Terrell sipped his coffee, then nodded.

  "Of course. What do you want, Harry?"

  "I am moving three million dollars in cash from the bank to the Casino tomorrow morning. I'll have four of my guards with the truck, but I would also like a police escort. That's a lot of money, and I want to be sure it arrives all in one piece."

  "That's easy. We'll have six men with you," Terrell said.

  "Thanks, Frank, I knew I could rely on you. Then I would like three or four of your men at the Casino in the evening. I don't anticipate trouble. I have twenty good men of my own, but I think it would have a depressing effect on anyone with ambitions to see the police were around too."

  "I'll fix that. You can have Lepski and four patrolmen." Lewis nodded.

  "Lepski would be just the man. Well, thanks, Frank." He tapped ash off his cigarette, then went on, "What's the situation like? Anyone here I should know about?"

  "No. We have had a number of hopefuls, but they have been recognised and turned back. From the reports I've been looking at we haven't one really dangerous specimen in town." Terrell finished his coffee and began to fill his pipe. "You can relax, Harry. I'm satisfied. We have really been working on this thing. There is, of course, the odd chance that some amateur might have a try at you, but with the extra precautions, you don't need to worry." He regarded Lewis thoughtfully. "You have no reason to worry, have you?"

  "No reason . . . I worry just the same."

  "Well, don't. What time are you collecting the money from the bank?"

  "Ten-thirty sharp."

  "Okay. I'll have my men at the bank and they will escort you. Okay?"

  Lewis got to his feet.

  "I think I will relax," he said and shook hands.

  When he had gone, Beigler reached for the carton of coffee.

  "Three million dollars!" His voice was outraged. "What a goddam waste of money! Think what one could do with all that dough . . . and it's going to be used to give a bunch of Spicks a thrill."

  Terrell eyed him, then nodded.

  "It's their money, Joe. It's our job to take care of it for them." He flicked down the switch on his inter-corn. "Charles? Where's Lepski? I want him."

  * * *

  At seven o'clock on this Friday morning, Serge Maisky got out of bed, put on the coffee percolator and then took a shower. He shaved with a cut-throat razor, dressed, then went into the small kitchen and poured himself a cup of coffee. Carrying the cup into the shabby living-room, he sat down and sipped the coffee.

  So far, he decided, everything was going according to plan. Jess Chandler was staying at the Beach Hotel. Perry was at the Bay Hotel, Mish Collins was at the Sunshine Hotel and Wash was at the Welcome Motel. Tonight, the four men would come to his bungalow and rehearse their particular jobs. He was now satisfied, having met the men, that he had a team he could rely on. Mish Collins' choice had been sound.

  He finished his coffee, washed up the cup and saucer, then went to a closet where he had stored two five-gallon plastic containers. These he filled with water from the kitchen tap. He then collected a fair-sized carton full of canned food from another closet in the kitchen. He carried the carton to his Buick and put it in the boot. He then went back and carried out the two plastic containers which he also put in the boot.

  His movements were slow and deliberate. He was feeling his years. He was sharply conscious that he was sixty-two and exertion of any kind didn't agree with him.

  He paused for a long moment to make certain he had forgotten nothing, then, remembering the batteries for his flashlight, he collected them from a drawer in his living-room and now decided he was ready to go.

  He locked the door of his bungalow and then walked to his car, slid under the driving wheel and started the motor.

  Thirty minutes later on the highway out of Seacombe, which was a suburb of Paradise City, Maisky edged the car on to the far right-hand lane, then swung off on to a dirt road that led in a climbing drive into the pine forest that circled the outskirts of Seacombe and Paradise City.

  The road was narrow and he drove with care. One never knew, even at this early hour, if someone might come belting down the road which was scarcely wide enough to take two cars. But he met no one. Finally, after driving through the forest for twenty minutes, he again swung off the dirt road and on to a narrow track, leading into the depths of the forest. He slowed long enough to inspect the sign that he himself had painted and erected two days ago. The sign read: Game Preserve. Private. Keep out. He gave a nod of approval as he continued up the track. The sign was weathering. He had to admit it was well executed, and it looked convincing.

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