1955 - You've Got It Coming Page 7

  Ben knocked the ash off his cigar while he stared at Borg.

  “Think we can trust him?”

  Borg lifted his massive shoulders.

  “I guess so. He won't get the chance to double cross us. I’ll take care of that. I think he can handle this job. But he isn't Harry Green. It's up to you whether you care who he is or not. If he delivers, it doesn't matter who he is. If he doesn't, then it does. He's being smart. He is taking care of himself. It's my bet when the job's been pulled, Harry Green will vanish because Harry Green doesn't exist.”

  Ben nodded.

  “Yeah, that's the way I figured it. Maybe it'll be a good thing if he does vanish. If the cops catch him, he might squeal.” He stared into space for a long moment. “I don't give a damn who he is so long as he delivers. Have you any dope on the diamonds?”

  “They exist. The Far Eastern Trading Corporation is run by a guy called Takamori, who represents a big industrial group in Japan. He has bought three million dollars’ worth of industrial diamonds. He has got government permission to release the diamonds and he is shipping them to Tokyo from San Francisco. This is the consignment Green is talking about. The diamonds are there all right. It depends on Green if you get them or not.”

  “What about the three guys who are to help him?”

  “I've got them fixed, Joe Franks and Marty Lewin will ride with him. Sam Meeks will handle the car.”

  Ben frowned.

  “Who are they? They're not our men, are they?”

  Borg shook his head. Ben could almost hear the thick fat around Borg's neck creak as he moved his head.

  “We don't want our guys on this job. These three will be seen by the crew and the passengers. They could be identified. We don't want to give the cops any trouble. I picked them from San Francisco. They go back as soon as the job is done. We don't want the cops to hook us to the job, do we?”

  “That's right. They're okay?”

  “They're okay.”

  “So you think we're going to get away with this job?”

  Borg lifted his black, heavy eyebrows.

  “It depends on Green. If he isn't a bluffer as well as a phoney, we will get away with it.”

  Ben nodded.

  “He may be a phoney, but I'll stake my life he isn't a bluffer. He's just as keen on this job as I am. I think he'll pull it off.”

  Berg's fat, puffy face remained expressionless, but there was an edge to his breathless voice as he said, “He'd better pull it off.”

  “You've been over his plan with him?”

  “Sure. He's certainly got it figured out. The guy's smart. He's taken care of everything I can see. It depends if he can bring the plane down without a smash-up. He says he can, but if it's dark, he'll have a job. He's picked a good spot. I've been out there. The sand's hard and flat. It's about thirty miles from Sky Ranch airport. I'll meet him at the airport and collect the diamonds. Our three guys will fly from there to San Francisco. I've fixed for them to go in an air taxi. Green says he's arranged his own transport.”

  Ben grunted, brooded for a long moment, then asked, “Did you get anywhere with Glorie Dane?”

  “She's skipped.” Berg's eyebrows came down in a frown. “She never went back to her apartment after seeing you. Want me to take it further?”

  Ben shook his head.

  “No: to hell with her. I don't think she's hooked up in this. Forget it.” He opened a drawer and took out two pink slips of paper and pushed them across the desk to Borg. “That's Green's pay-off. What's to stop him jumping the gun as soon as he's got the money?”

  “I’ll stop him,” Borg said. “I've talked to Lewin and Franks. They know the setup. They'll watch him. If he looks like trying a double cross, they'll put a slug into him. I'll stick with him until he's on the aircraft. Lewin and Franks will take care of him until they get to Sky Ranch airport. They're good boys. He won't pull anything on them.”

  Ben nodded.

  “Okay. Looks like I'm going to make me some money,” he said and got to his feet.

  Borg looked at him from out of his ebony, hooded eyes.

  “That's what it looks like,” he said.

  chapter three

  I

  Fifty minutes before the scheduled take-off, they arrived at the airport in an old Roadmaster Buick. Borg was at the wheel; Harry sat beside him. Lewin and Franks were at the back.

  “Over to your right,” Harry said, as Borg drove through the gates into the parking lot. “Far end. We'll be able to see the aircraft from there.”

  Borg drove down the tarmac, lined on either side by parked cars, and manoeuvred the car into a space by a white wooden fence that cut the parking lot off from the airfield.

  Under a battery of lights, a hundred yards away, stood a twin-engined Moonbeam. Five men in white coveralls were checking the plane. A girl in the C.A.T.A. uniform was supervising the loading of a number of canisters from a four-wheel truck into the plane. Harry recognized the girl. Her name was Hetty Collins.

  He had flown with her two or three times, and knew her to be a smart and efficient hostess. He wondered who the crew captain was going to be, and if he would be anyone he knew.

  He was feeling cold, and there was a tight band across his chest that made breathing difficult. His hands sweated and his mouth was dry.

  This was it, he kept telling himself. In another hour I'll be at the controls, bringing her down in the desert. That is if the crew don't act heroic and start a fight. His stomach tightened at the thought. The two sitting behind him were killers. If anyone started trouble they would shoot. He had no doubt about that.

  Lewin was a small guy, around thirty. His face was thin, granite hard, his eyes restless. Franks was over fifty, tall, bulky, with a coarse, brutal face, small pig's eyes and a disconcerting twitch that kept jerking his head.

  But they were as nothing compared to Borg.

  Borg unnerved Harry. He had never encountered anyone like him before. He felt the menace in him as one feels the menace in a sleeping tiger. He knew this man was deadly. Whereas Lewin and Franks were brainless thugs who killed because they were paid to kill, Harry had a feeling that Borg would kill because it would please him to kill. It made him fed slightly sick to be sitting next to him, to listen to his short, wheezing breathing and to the disgusting bubbling sound he made with his thick lips from time to time.

  “Is that it?” Borg asked, pointing a thick finger at the aircraft.

  “That's her,” Harry said. “When they have fuelled and checked her, they'll run her over to those sheds over there to the right. We have plenty of time.”

  Borg grunted, fumbled for a cigarette, lit it and slumped back in his seat.

  While they waited, Harry thought back over the past four days. He had taken care of everything. By now Harry Green was a notorious character. He wasn't likely to be forgotten. When his description appeared in the newspapers, there would be at least a dozen people to come forward and claim that they knew him.

  He thought of Glorie and wondered what she was doing at this moment. He had written to her, giving her his final arrangements. He had told her he was handing the diamonds to Borg at the Sky Ranch airport As soon as Borg had gone, he intended to get rid of his disguise, and then take a bus to Lone Pine. He had asked her to rent a cabin at the motel there under the name Mrs. Harrison. She was to buy a second-hand car and wait for him. They would remain at the motel the whole of the next day.

  When they were sure nothing had gone wrong and it was safe to move, they would drive to Carson City. They would stay there for a day and again see what progress the police were making.

  If it seemed safe to go, they would sell the car and go to New York. From there they would go to England and begin their European trip.

  Harry had made arrangements with the managers of the Los Angeles Bank and the Bank of California to transfer the two sums of twenty-five thousand dollars to the National Finance Bank of New York as soon as the cheques had been paid in. He had paid
them in that afternoon, and he knew the money would be waiting for him when he reached New York.

  He had spent the rest of the day in Berg's company, aware that two men had followed them to the banks, and had remained in a car outside Lamson's, and had followed them to the gates of the airport.

  The sudden sound of motorcycle engines broke in on Harry's thoughts. He looked up sharply.

  Out of the darkness, across the airfield, came four motorcycle cops, escorting an armoured truck. The trade pulled up close to the aircraft and the cops dismounted.

  “Here it is,” Harry said softly and leaned forward to watch through the windshield.

  The steel doors of the truck swung open and two men, in brown uniforms and peak caps, revolvers in holsters at their hips, jumped down. One of them was carrying a small square box.

  While the four cops stood guard, the other two men crossed to the aircraft, spoke to the air hostess, and then the one with the box climbed the stairway into the plane, followed by die air The other guard returned to the truck, slammed the doors, had a brief word with one of the policemen, then got into the truck and drove away.

  Harry's heart skipped a beat.

  “Looks like the other guy's going to travel with the rocks,” Lewin said.

  “So what?” Franks said. “He won't cause trouble.”

  Harry wasn't so sure. This was unexpected. He hadn't thought that a guard would fly with the diamonds.

  “He's paid to cause trouble,” he said uneasily.

  Franks laughed.

  “Okay, so he'll earn his dough.”

  The aircraft engines started up with a roar.

  “They are going to bring her over,” Harry said. “We'd better get moving. You two guys know what to do; no move until I give you the signal.”

  “Where will the guard be?” Lewin asked.

  “He may travel in the cabin or he may keep in the luggage bay. If he travels in the cabin we'll handle him before we go to the flight deck,” Harry said.

  “Okay,” Lewin opened the car door and stepped out.

  Borg twisted his bulk around so he could look at Harry.

  “You go with him. Franks will follow,” he said. “And listen, Green, watch your step. There are a couple of guys waiting outside the airport should you change your mind about making this trip. No diamonds, no dough—get it?”

  “Sure,” Harry said and got out of the car.

  “I'll be waiting at the Sky Ranch airport for you.” Borg went on, his fat face peering out of the car window.

  “We'll be there,” Harry said and hoped they would be. He walked down the tarmac with Lewin towards the reception hall.

  They didn't say anything to each other. As they neared the entrance, Lewin dropped back.

  “You go ahead,” he said.

  It seemed odd to Harry as he limped up the steps and into the luxuriously appointed reception hall to be entering this place.

  Although he worked with C.A.T.C. for six years, he had never once been in the reception hall.

  A dark, pretty girl, wearing the C.A.T.C. uniform, took his ticket and told him his name would be called in twenty minutes or so.

  “The bar's to your right sir,” she said. “When you hear your name called would you please go to Bay Six: over there,” and she pointed. “I’ll be waiting to take you to the aircraft.”

  Harry thanked her and went into the bar. There were a number of people grouped around the bar. He wondered if they would be travelling on his flight. He ordered a double Scotch and water, and, leaning against the bar, he examined them casually. They were of the same breed as those who used to travel on his aircraft when he had been crew captain. The rich, fat business men: the glamorous, mink-coated women: the hard-faced, sharp-eyed salesmen: all drinking and yakitting like magpies.

  Lewin wandered into the bar and ordered a beer. He carried his drink to a table away from the group of people, lit a cigarette and stared around him, his hard eyes missing nothing. Franks didn't show up.

  Harry was glad of the whisky. His nerves were jumpy, and he was sweating. He kept assuring himself nothing would go wrong, but the thought of the armed guard on the aircraft worried him.

  If the fool tried to stop them, he'd get hurt. Harry shied away from the thought of violence. The guard might even get killed.

  He took out his handkerchief and wiped his hands, and looked at the people at the bar. No one paid him any attention. He looked across at Lewin who stared back at him, his eyes expressionless.

  Minutes ticked by, then a voice came over the loudspeaker announcing Flight Six. He heard his name called, and finishing his second drink, he limped to the door, followed by three men and two women in mink. Lewin strolled after them.

  They, joined eight other passengers and Franks at Bay Six.

  Hetty Collins appeared. She had the passenger list in her hand, and she quickly ticked off the names, smiling at each passenger.

  “If you will please follow me?” she said, and took them down a passage into the open where the Moonbeam was waiting.

  Harry felt a chill crawl up his spine as he saw the four policemen were still guarding the aircraft.

  One of the women in mink said, “Look, Jack, they're giving you a police escort.”

  A thick-necked, red-faced man, smoking a cigar, grunted.

  “This kite carries freight,” he said. “I expect there's something valuable aboard.”

  “But surely nothing as valuable as you, darling,” the woman said sarcastically.

  “Oh, shut up!” the man returned, his face turning a deeper shade of red. He followed the woman up the stairway into the aircraft.

  One of the policemen was standing nearby. He looked at each passenger as they mounted the stairway. He looked particularly hard at Franks who stared back at him, a twisted grin on his coarse, brutal face.

  Harry was the last to limp up the gangway. He didn’t look at the policeman, but he felt him looking at him.

  Hetty Collins met him as he stepped into the cabin.

  “Is there anything I can get you?” she asked, professionally interested. “Would you like a drink or some coffee later on?”

  “No, thanks,” Harry said.

  “Your seat is right in front on the left aisle,” she told him.

  He nodded and made his way along the gangway. He had been lucky to get the outside seat, right by the door to the flight deck.

  The inside seat was occupied by a tall, scraggy woman in a mink coat. She looked up as Harry paused by her. She took in his shabby trench coat, his scar and his limp, and she drew the skirts of her coat around her, scarcely suppressing a shudder of disapproval.

  Harry sat down beside her, then turned in his seat to see where Franks and Lewin were.

  Franks was at the rear of the cabin, by the door leading to the galley. Beyond the galley were the toilets and the luggage bay where the diamonds would be: the diamonds and the guard.

  Lewin sat halfway up the cabin on Harry's right. Harry was satisfied they were all well seated. Both Lewin and Franks could see him and could see his signal when the time came to take over the aircraft.

  Hetty Collins moved down the aisle, seeing that the safety belts were properly fastened. The woman seated on Harry's left was having trouble with hers.

  “You put that through this,” Harry said, showing her one end of the belt. “It'll clip automatically.”

  She glanced at him, gave him a wintery nod and fixed the belt.

  “You might care to look at the evening paper,” she said, pushing the paper at him as if she were glad to get rid of it. Then she half turned her shoulder as if dismissing him and looked out of the window.

  Harry held the paper on his lap. He was fixing his belt when Hetty Collins came up.

  “Oh, I see you have your belts fixed. Are they comfortable?” she asked.

  The woman in mink ignored her. Harry said his was fine.

  The girl smiled brightly at him, and he looked up, letting her have a good look at his f
ace. She showed no sign of recognition and turned back to begin working down the right-hand gangway.

  Harry glanced at the newspaper. His eyes scarcely took in the print. His heart was hammering so violently he wondered if the woman next to him could hear it.

  Another fifteen minutes, he thought. He glanced over his shoulder and caught Lewin's eye. Lewin was poker-faced. He slouched in his seat, his collar turned up, his hat pulled low, his hands in his pockets. Harry looked beyond him at Franks who was smoking. His head was twitching and he scowled at Harry.

  The no-smoking warning flashed up and Harry put out his cigarette. Then he glanced down at the front page of the paper he was clutching in his hands. A bye-line caught his attention, and he stiffened. As he began to read the short paragraph the engines of the aircraft roared into life.

  TAKAMORI WINS DIAMOND FIGHT

  After eighteen months of persistent negotiation with U.S. Consulate officials, Li Takamori, millionaire owner of the Far Eastern Trading Corporation, succeeded last week in his fight to supply Tokyo with industrial diamonds from this country.

  Permission to export three million dollars’ worth of diamonds has been granted, and the diamonds, under special guard, are being flown tonight to San Francisco to be shipped to Tokyo.

  In an interview with our special correspondent, Mr. Takamori said that in spite of considerable opposition in certain quarters, he had at last succeeded in convincing the U.S. Consulate that industrial diamonds were essential to Japan's economic recovery.

  It is believed that Mr. Takamori has financed the deal himself, and this has been the deciding factor in the protracted negotiations. When asked if he were guaranteeing payments, Mr. Takamori refused to comment.