237 Hellfire Trigger by Don Pendleton

Author:Don Pendleton
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

DEVEROUX STEPPED from the helicopter, followed by Kindzierski, the pilot. He strode quickly across the compound, toward the corner of the concrete block building. The door was steel, recessed a half foot into the wall. It had no knob, no keyhole and no visible lock.

Reaching into a pocket, Deveroux produced a tiny oval-shaped instrument made of black plastic. He held the instrument against the door and pressed a button. There was a loud click of solenoids and the door swung inward.

Deveroux and Kindzierski walked into a reception room. The floor was carpeted in burgundy, and colorful Degas lithographs hung on the walls. The track lighting was subdued, the air fresh and cool, unlike the humid oppressiveness outside.

A red-haired man wearing horn-rimmed glasses and the uniform of the Double D security force sat at a large mahogany desk. A compact walkie-talkie rested at his elbow. When he saw Deveroux, he hastily got to his feet, trying to hide the copy of Florida Swingers magazine.

"Anything to report?" Deveroux asked.

"No, sir. That is, not really."

Deveroux stared at the man over the rim of his sunglasses. "Not really, Burtis?"

Burtis made a feeble, dismissive gesture. "Three people on a boat about a half hour ago. The patrol questioned them and confirmed their non-belligerence. Since the man who you told us to watch out for wasn't aboard, and they really weren't all that close to the compound—"

"Who were the three people?" Deveroux broke in. "A black man—a local, and two Canadian tourists, a man and a woman."

"What did the woman look like?"

Burtis shrugged. "The patrol said she was dark-haired and really drunk. So was her husband. The black man, the charter captain, had no objections to his boat being searched, so—"

"Was the boat searched?" Deveroux's voice was like steel.

Beads of perspiration formed on Burtis's forehead. "No, sir. Because he gave his permission, you see, and because his answers to the patrol's questions were satisfactory, they were allowed to go on their way." Burtis licked his lips and added, "You did instruct us to be discreet, sir."

"So I did." Deveroux turned abruptly on his heel and strode for a door in the far wall, leaving behind the pilot in the reception room. Pushing open the door, he walked down a lofty, bare-walled corridor, lit at frequent intervals by soft-white, low-wattage bulbs in wall brackets.

As much as he wanted to, he couldn't blame the patrol for not recognizing Anastasia Kirchov. Since he had only become aware of her presence in the mix a short time before, he couldn't expect his employees to be any more precognitive than himself. They were on the alert for a man fitting Mike Belasko's description, but that was it. They didn't have the photographs.

At any rate, he rarely involved his security people in his low-profile affairs. As far as most of them knew, he was a legitimate businessman, a rather eccentric entrepreneur, but he wasn't dangerous. He certainly wasn't a criminal. He was simply a stickler for procedure. However, he retained a handpicked crew of a dozen to act as his personal extermination squad.

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