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Operation Breakthrough
Dan J Marlowe
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Operation Breakthrough
Dan J Marlowe
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Drake had the assignment. He was sent to steal confidential files of the Mafia that had been stashed somewhere in a bank vault on an island in the Bahamas.Drake got the files.He also got himself trapped into a deadly private warâwith the Syndicate, the local police, and a gang of freelance assassins.The only man who could help him out of the trap was being held incommunicadoâbehind the thick walls of a Bahamian prison.Breaking out of jail was something Drake knew about. Breaking in was something else again âŠ
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THREE
I DRIED myself vigorously with a coarse towel, wrapped its dampness around my waist, and went in search of Candy.
Outside the bathroom door I almost ran into Chen Yi, the Chinese girl. It was something of a relief to find that at least her six-foot, four-inch presence had been no dream. She had on another high-necked garment of some gauzy material, barely opaque, but this one reached her ankles. âGood morning,â I said. âOr is it afternoon?â
âEarly afternoon,â she replied. âIâve brought you a set of Candyâs underwear.â She removed it from her arm and handed it to me. I noticed for the first time that despite her size, her voice had a musical, little girl tinkle to it.
âJust what I need,â I assured her. âI appreciate it.â
She smiled, but her eyes were upon my body above the damp towel fastened at my waist. She made no comment about my body scars, though. âIâve pressed your suit for you,â she continued.
âThat wasnât necessary,â I protested halfheartedly. A freshly pressed suit would help a good deal in avoiding attention when I left Candyâs. I wondered if Chen Yi had noticed the lack of labels.
I returned to the bathroom with Candyâs underwear. His choice ran to bold colors and wild patterns, but the fresh material felt welcome. I went back into the room I had come to think of as the Incense Room and found my freshly shined shoes at one end of the couch with a new pair of socks draped across them. My pressed suit rested on the back of the couch. The hospitality in Candyâs apartment almost was embarrassing in its thoroughness.
I pulled on socks and shoes and sat down on the couch opposite the end marked by a slight lumpiness where I had hidden the canvas sack with the papers from the bankâs safe deposit boxes. If I followed the script, Iâd get to the private airstrip and meet the escape plane. There Iâd turn the canvas sack with its contents over to someone named Baker.
I hoped that Baker knew me because I surely didnât know him.
Iâd never learned which government agency employed Karl Erikson. There were times when Iâd suspected he was a troubleshooter for more than one agency, doing special government jobs on assignment. The only other man who worked with Erikson who was more than a nameless face to me was Jock McLaren. Heâd been with Erikson and me on the recovery of an AEC shipment, a job which used an import office on Fifth Avenue in New York City as a cover for the retrieval effort.
But if I left the island now, there was Karl Erikson himself.
Right now he was undoubtedly lodged in the Bahamian equivalent of maximum security. He had made a point of emphasizing, as he always did on these jobs, that we were strictly on our own if anything went wrong. Now that it had, no US consul was about to step around to the Nassau brig and inquire about Karl Eriksonâs welfare.
No one knew he was there except me.
He had been emphatic about that contingency, too. âIf only one of us makes it, thereâll be no looking back by the survivor,â heâd said to me on the darkened jet which had flown us from Andrews Field when the pilot began to circle the cluster of lights that was Nassau below us in the black water. âThe whole purpose is to get what weâre after into the right hands.â
Which was fine â business as usual â except that I recalled at least twice when heâd violated the rule himself. Once in Cuba heâd come back across an open space heâd successfully traversed to knock out an armed Castro militiaman who was preventing me from taking the same escape route.
And once when he and Hazel and I were in the drink in the south Atlantic after a fishing cruiser had been shot out from under us, heâd tried to save Hazel at a time when he couldnât reasonably have expected to save himself.
I looked up as a sound from a corner of the room caught my attention. Candy Kane was standing in the doorway, his blocky body swathed in a bright purple robe. âWhooo-eee!â he exclaimed with every evidence of deep feeling. âMustâve been quite a bash from the way I feel.â
âYour brandy is potent,â I admitted. He was eyeing my underwear. His underwear. âChen Yi pressed my suit, too,â I added.
He nodded. âThe den mother,â he said with no particular emphasis. âWhatâd you think of Hermione?â
âI was trying to make up my mind if Iâd dreamed her.â
Candy chuckled. âIf youâd been goinâ to stick around for awhile, I wouldnât have let her tie into you like that. Sheâs shacked up regâlar with a muscle type, kind of a nasty job when heâs turned on. But Hermione enjoys a change of scenery.â
âWhat happens if the muscle type catches her at it?â
âHe leans on her, but itâs never stopped her yet. Iâd have to say the pair of them are well matched.â He rubbed his chin. âHow long âd you say last night you wanted to stay?â
âThree or four days. Maybe less.â I recalled that Eriksonâs man Baker was only going to keep the Andrews Field rendezvous for three mornings. âSurely less.â
âSeems to me youâd be takinâ your fences fasterân that with the bobbies lookinâ for you.â
âThereâs a problem. My partner was grabbed last night.â
âHe was? Where?â
âOn the roof of a bank building on Shirley Street.â
Candy cocked an eyebrow in a skeptical expression I was beginning to recognize as nearly habitual with him. âYouâre beginninâ to sound like a real hot potato, Earl. I only get to run my game here on the strength of a couple of contacts anâ a little payoff. I canât afford trouble.â He moved to the couch and sat down on the other end of it. The papers in the canvas sack crackled slightly under his weight, but he didnât notice. There was a brooding look on his heavy features as his eyes met mine at the closer range. âYou know what I mean?â
âWhy would anyone look for me here?â I asked in a tone of voice intended to sound reasonable. âThereâs no possible connection. For the law to suspect, I mean. As for my partner, thereâs something Iâd like to ask you about â â
I broke off as Chen Yi reentered the room. The tall Chinese girl had my washed-and-ironed shirt in her hand. âThanks again,â I said and stood up and began to slip into the shirt.
âWhat about your partner?â Candy wanted to know. I glanced at the Chinese girl, but Candy waved an impatient hand. âShe goes with the lease here. Speak up.â
âIâd like to take him with me.â
Candy stared. âTake him â ? You mean â ?â
âIt might not be too much of a job, depending upon the detention facilities,â I went on. âAnd Iâd pay the right man well for a little help.â
âIâm not about to get my black ass fussed up in no jailbreak,â Candy began, then paused. âYouâd pay? For what kindâve help?â
âIt shouldnât take too much. And Iâd expect to pay.â
âI could sure use a fresh bankroll,â Candy said thoughtfully. âThe dice turned real unfriendly since that Las Vegas disaster. Before that Iâd been goinâ so good you wouldnât believe it.â He shrugged. âThatâs the way it goes. But this thing youâre talkinâ about â â He was silent for a moment. âWell, how much of a payoff would go to this right man you mentioned?â
I tried to make my tone impressive. âYou name it.â
He rubbed his chin again. âWhat kind of help âd you say?â
âIâd need to know a few things first. Where would he be held?â
âNot at East Street, I wouldnât think,â Candy responded immediately. âCartwright Street more likely. Itâs kind of an unofficial detention center. Probâly not moreân two hundred yards from where you say he was grabbed. Did you score with the bank?â
I knew that my answer would have a lot to do with the price Candy set for his assistance â if he decided to help â and I had no cash to pay off at once. âIâm going to have to come back and retrieve it later when the heatâs off,â I said.
The answer appeared to satisfy him. âWas there any rough stuff that would make the police hairy?â
I thought of Karl Eriksonâs thickly thewed body shedding police like pearls from a broken necklace strand. And the wallop I gave the sergeant. âJust a little scuffle on the roof. What kind of a jail is this one you think heâd be in?â
âA bloody poor one, compared to US types,â Candy said. âActually, itâs a place people are sometimes held before they appear before a magistrate. I donât think thereâs moreân half a dozen cells behind the bookinâ desk, but even at night thereâs enough blokes around so no one walks in anâ out unless heâs got business there.â
âEven behind a gun?â
âDonât talk no guns to me, mon. Thatâs out.â
âWhat kind of a building is it?â
âOld like most of the government buildings near Bay Street.â
âNo, I mean what kind of construction. Masonry? Steel and concrete?â
âLetâs see now.â Candyâs brow furrowed as he tried to remember. âSeems to me itâs bricked over now,â he said finally, âbut when I was a tyke it was a wood-frame-an'-lath affair and old even then. Why?â
âIf I canât go in the front, maybe I can go in the back.â
âThrough the back wall, you mean?â
â...