Passage by Night - Jack Higgins [47]
'And you think our friends might try to pull another stunt at the worst possible moment.'
'Something like that.'
Manning was beginning to feel slightly tight. He carefully poured another measure of whiskey into his glass, drank it down and grinned. There's only one sure way of finding out.'
'And what's that?'
'I'll ask Viner.'
'You sure you know what you're doing?'
Manning nodded. 'I'll introduce you to Orlov on the way, but don't try to pump him. The only time he'll ever open his mouth is if he feels like it.'
There was no sign of Orlov when they went downstairs, but they could hear him splashing about in the bathroom. When Manning opened the door, clouds of steam billowed out. Orlov was immersed to the chin in hot water, a blissful expression on his face.
'You look happy,' Manning said.
Orlov grinned. 'It doesn't take much. Do they have chambermaids here?'
'Not in the afternoons. Wrong climate. You'll have to make do with Morrison. Maybe you'll find more in common than either of you realize.'
He left them there and went downstairs. He was feeling strangely light-headed and realized with something of a shock that he hadn't eaten for more than thirty-six hours. No wonder the whiskey had gone straight to his head.
People who had dined well were filled with a false sense of security so the casino was always busy in the early afternoon. Manning pushed his way through the crowd towards the green baize door and was aware of the little manager moving to cut him off.
He just made it and grinned falsely. 'Looking for someone, Mr Manning?'
'You know damn well I am.'
'I'm afraid Mr Viner's busy right now. He's given orders not to be disturbed by anyone.'
'Well, isn't that just too bad.' Manning pushed him roughly to one side, opened the door and went in.
Viner stood behind the bar pouring drinks into two glasses. The man who was sitting on one of the high stools was about six-feet tall and his fawn gabardine jacket was stretched tightly across broad shoulders. He had a craggy, dangerous face with a scar under one eye and the blond hair was cropped.
Manning kicked the door shut behind him and there was a short, pregnant silence. 'Why, Harry?' Viner said in a strained voice. 'This is a surprise.'
'I bet it is, you bastard,' Manning said and moved forward.
An expression of real alarm appeared on Viner's face. 'I don't know what you're talking about, but perhaps you'd better come back when you're reasonably sober.'
Manning kicked a small coffee table to the other side of the room. 'This is just the way I like it.'
Throw him out, Hans,' Viner said.
'A pleasure, Herr Colonel,' Hans replied and got to his feet.
Manning felt quite calm. It was as if he was somehow on the outside looking in on all this. He wondered about Hans. SS or Gestapo, one or the other, which led to interesting possibilities in Viner's past.
The German seemed very sure of himself. When he was about three feet away, he swung a tremendous punch that carried everything he had. To Manning, it was like a reed swaying in the wind. He moved in close, kicked him viciously on the shin and lifted his right knee into the unprotected face as Hans doubled over.
He lay on his back moaning, blood spurting from his smashed mouth and nose. 'Get up, Hans! Get up!' Viner ordered.
'I don't think he's going to be quite that stupid.' Manning took the Luger from inside his shirt, sat on one of the stools and reached across to tap Viner between the eyes with the hard, cold barrel. 'It's no good getting on the radio to Rojas any more, Viner. I'm afraid I left him in a very sorry state.'
'I don't know what you're talking about,' Viner said, trying to speak calmly.
'You made sure they were waiting for me when I reached San Juan,' Manning said. 'You helped to murder Maria. I should put one in your belly right now, Viner.'
'Please, Harry,' Viner said desperately. 'I'm only a tool. I have