"As a cash deal. No explanations. Our client was anonymous. We've had plenty of clients like that."

"Aren't you going to look in the other cartons?"

"Nope. We know what's there. Eighty-nine billion dollars less our share. Someplace in there is a pile of gold, industrial securities . . . all that good stuff, but who needs to count? We'll never get to use it, but we know where it is and we'll never tell. But there are those who will know we found it. They can't do anything about it without leaving themselves open to the law. They'll figure we arranged for that to happen."

She was beginning to smile now. It was like that old song, "I've Got Plenty of Nothing."

I said, "Don't laugh, kitten. Do you know what we'll really have for sure?"

"No, tell me."

"The greatest credit rating in the world. We could go to Vegas and have a ball in the casinos and they'd give us anything we wanted."

"Can't we just stay at home and work the way we used to?"

This time I laughed. "Absolutely, kitten. I was only kidding."

Covering up the entrance wasn't going to be as easy as opening it. Dooley had done a capable job, but he had more time to do it. There was no telling who would come in here now and spot what I had done. I looked over the area carefully, noting the shape of the ledge that was like a lintel over the hole I had dug. There was enough loosely packed rock there to solve the whole situation if it could be brought down.

Velda came up beside me. The thought of the bats inside kept her right by my side. "What's the problem?"

"I need a demolition man," I said. "That would solve this one."

Her mind started doing some mental gymnastics. "Mike . . . under the seat in your car . . ."

I exploded with a "d.a.m.n!" and ran across the cave to the entrance. I saw where she had parked the Ford and yanked the door open. It took a minute to pull out that packet of explosive that was supposed to blow us to jelly. When I got back to the backhoe Velda was standing between the headlights, flattened against the radiator.

To the wires on the charge I added another thirty feet from a roll in the tool box on the backhoe. I placed that little oblong package of destruction against the opening, protected ourselves behind the backhoe's battery and the blast banged against our eardrums.

But it did the job. The opening was sealed. It took another hour to get the exterior rubble back in place and to drive over the area enough to pack it down. When I let the lights run over it, the place looked pretty much like it did before.

It took another hour to get the backhoe on the trailer and hooked up, then we started back down the mountain again.

And then that rain with the frosty breath behind it started misting up the windshield. I turned on the wipers and flipped on the lights. The dark was coming in fast and the visibility was getting sour. I touched the brakes, but the ground that had been packed so tight had gotten slippery with the rain and the backhoe trailer didn't have a brake hookup and was a deadly crusher in back of us.

I angled the car to the right, getting off the downhill slope and came to a stop. Velda shot me a concerned glance and said, "What do we do now?"

I opened the door and slipped out. "We leave that piece of equipment right here. No way I could make it down to the highway with that thing. We can bring it back another day."

"Need a hand?"

"No. Just sit tight."

Getting the trailer unhitched was easy enough. Getting down the hill was another story. The wind had picked up and blew the foliage with it, making it brush against the car, distorting our visibility. The ground wasn't soaking up the water at all, letting it flow down the tire tracks, eliminating the car's traction.

Beside me, Velda said nothing and breathed heavily.

Twice I hit the brakes, the wheels locked, but we didn't stop. Luckily we hit a patch of gravel that gave the tires a bite and we slowed down. I dumped the transmission into low and let the engine brake as well as the wheels. I could feel the car still picking up speed, little by little. If it got out of hand I'd be driving a couple of tons of momentum right down a black alley.

And there it was back again, the BLACK ALLEY. Before it was just me. Now Velda was riding into it too.

There was a harsh crunching sound and branches slashed against the window and the car jerked and slowed. The wind-driven brush had gotten caught under the wheels and the drag was another braking effect.

"How far are we from the road, Mike?"

"A half mile, maybe."

"Would it be better to walk?"

"Let's push it as far as we can. At least we're dry. If a tree comes down there's a roof over us." I touched the gas pedal and we rocked over the blown underbrush, seemed to stall out at the top, then went over the peak and gained forward momentum. The low gear was holding us in the tire ruts, but the minute the speed picked up, the car started fishtailing toward the trees on either side. It seemed like almost a sure thing that we were going to get wrapped around the trunk of a pine, then the roadbed firmed out and the tire treads bit in again and we had traction enough to move and steer.

Both of us heard the sound of heavy truck traffic and knew we were near the paved county road. The tension left us like the sudden unwinding of a spring. Then the road was clear and before I pulled out on the pavement Velda looked at me, and I said, "And you wanted to walk."

"Why do you make everything seem so easy?" she chided me.

I grinned at her, then sat there until another set of headlights swept past us. The rain was heavier now, angling down with a determined viciousness. There was a glow down the road and I waited for that to turn to headlights and when the red taillights went by I steered onto the asphalt.

Two cars pa.s.sed on the other side of the road followed by a logging truck. A pickup pa.s.sed us with a patched-top convertible right behind it. Velda wanted to know where all the traffic was coming from on a backwoods road and all I could think of was a possible traffic tie-up on the major highway. I turned on the radio, found the local channel, but there were no accident reports going out. I did pick up a weather station that said an unusual frontal system was bringing in heavy rains and winds and that driving was going to be hazardous.

Great.

I slowed down, squinting through the windshield. Both wipers were going at full speed but the road ahead was a dark, wet blur. The lights from three cars crept up on me until I was the leader in the parade and when the closest one leaned on his horn to get me to speed it up I shook my head at his idiocy and stayed at my own speed. The driver gave in to his impatience, pa.s.sed me in a shower of spray, almost lost it when he straightened out and kept on going until he was lost in the darkness. The other two cars behind me got the message and stayed right where they were.

Up ahead the lights from a small city put a muted glow in the sky and when we got to a road sign that indicated a motel not far ahead, I turned at the intersection, drove to the tight little cl.u.s.ter of old-fashioned cabins and stopped at the office.

An old man was watching TV and looked up, surprised, when I opened the door. I said, "You have any vacancies?"

It was as if I told him a joke. "That's all I have, mister. The summer season's over and until the snows. .h.i.t, n.o.body is going to be here at all."

"How come you're minding the store?"

"If you knew my wife you wouldn't ask that. At least here I have my own TV. Want a cabin?"

"I'm not going any further in this weather."

"Take number four. That one don't leak and it's right beside the hot water tank." He looked out the window at my car. "Just you and your wife. No pets."

I said, "No pets." There wasn't much sense telling him we weren't married yet. I wanted to stay close to Velda. Too much was happening to take any chances of her getting ambushed. The possibility of Ugo getting a lead on us was remote at this point and I wanted to keep it that way.

I took the key, went back to the car and drove up to the fourth cabin, got the bags out of the backseat and ran for the porch. When we got inside and I turned the lights on I felt like a homesteader. We were back a couple of centuries into log cabin living with modern conveniences, a fireplace with cut oak ready to burn, two lounge chairs facing it and, like a lovely invitation, a pair of double beds with golden maple frames.

Velda made no suggestion. She wore a little self-satisfied smile that was telling me the future was right ahead and for the time being she would play the game. We were in a bind and she wouldn't make it worse with the things an engaged woman can do to a man when the chips were down like this. She showered, put on another one of those wild jump suits that meant she was ready to move out in a hurry if we had to, then jumped into bed.

I took the lounge chair. My .45 in the shoulder holster I draped over the back of the small chair, took the inch shorter Combat Commander and tucked it in the cushion beside me, then tilted the back toward the wall and put my feet up.

One thing, I wasn't expecting to fall asleep.

But I did.

There are some things you simply can't control. Snoring. Falling asleep. While I was thinking it dropped on me like a blanket.

It wasn't the feel of cold metal at my temple that brought me awake. It was the light from the lamp beside my chair. It was dull and yellow, but lit the room enough so I could see Velda in the bed, a tight gag wound around her mouth, her hands and feet cinched by strips of tape. There was a contusion on the left side of her forehead from where she had been knocked unconscious while she slept.

She wasn't unconscious now. Her eyes were wide open, hatred and fear spilling out of them at the same time, staring at the person holding the gun to my head.

I turned just enough to recognize who it was and said, "Nice trick, Ugo."

"No trick," he replied. "I'm just smarter than you."

There are times when there is nothing to say. I watched Ugo walk up beside me, the nose of his gun still against my head. I could see just enough of him to catch his smirk at my gun slung over the chair. The way I was slumped in the lounger meant it would take at least three seconds to get on my feet under the best of conditions, which would be two seconds too long. He could put a half dozen shots in me without any kind of trouble in that time span.

All I could do was sit quietly and play the hand out. As far as he was concerned I was no more than cold meat and so was Velda. What he didn't know was that I had on body armor too and a .45 Combat Commander where I might get a chance to use it. He kept thinking that I was a dummy for letting my piece get so far away from me.

I had to get him talking, enough so that the .45 in the leather holster would keep him focused in on that, letting him enjoy the moment. I said, "You didn't know we were coming here, Ugo."

"Didn't have to. I was behind you all the way."

I let an amazed expression cross my face. It was forced, but he didn't know that.

"You think I didn't know you'd come back to Harris' place? Man, that Dooley wouldn't go to all that trouble of stashing the families' money without leaving a roadmap. It's right up there on that mountain."

The hatred in Velda's eyes had given way to resignation-utter, hopeless resignation. This time I could read her mind. We were so close. She had her big ring, we had a license to marry. One more day and the union would have been solidified. All she knew was that we didn't have that one more day. Briefly, the hatred came back, then sank down in despair again.

"The feds had teams of experts up there. They didn't find a thing," I told him. I tried to keep a flutter in my voice.

"So they didn't look in the right place, did they?"

"They looked everywhere. Go check it out."

"I don't have to. You did it for me. You know where Dooley hid it all. That's why you took that digger up there and you found it too. Don't give me any c.r.a.p about not knowing where it was. Those numbers came together right inside that cave. So he had to bury it right there." He paused and grinned. "Now that was pretty smart, digging a hole in a cave."

Ugo Ponti decided to move a little so he could see me better and when he moved I did too, just enough to position my hand so I could make a grab for the rod at my side. He raised the gun in his hand, a short-barrelled .38. If I took a head shot I'd be out of it instantly, so if he decided to shoot I was hoping I would be hit in the chest. Knowing Ugo's mentality, I didn't expect him to try for a fast kill. He'd want to see me hurting before he tagged me for good. He'd want Velda to see it too before he laid one on her.

"How'd you get in here, Ugo?"

The question seemed to insult him. We both knew I would have heard the door opening if he had picked the lock. h.e.l.l, I felt the change of temperature in the room when I first woke up and knew how he'd gotten in.

He answered me anyway. "Hammer, I was doing window jobs with the edge of a carborundum sharpening stone when I was a kid. I got cla.s.s now. I used a real gla.s.s-cutting tool, a suction cup and a small tap to break out a hole in the window. Then I reached in and opened the lock. You should know about those things. You've done the same thing yourself plenty of times."

"Why, Ugo?" I asked him. "This won't get you anyplace. The local soldiers that broke you out up here have a contract on you already."

"When I get that money I'll buy their soldiers. But you, Hammer . . . you I'm going to kill. You won't die too fast. You'll have time to see me put one in your girlfriend and she won't die too fast either. You might even have enough time to say good-bye to each other. How do you like that?"

As long as he was standing in front of me I hadn't taken my eyes off him. I was riveted on his face, his mouth and his eyes. I didn't look at the gun at all. Then suddenly my head moved, my eyes widened as I looked at Velda and he half turned to see what had happened behind his back and in that instant of time when situations change he realized that it was a ruse and he screamed with rage and let a shot go at me that slammed me back into the recliner, but the shot I snapped off caught him square in the sternum and he went down on his back, the .38 clattering from his hand.

The one that had hit me was like a monstrous blow from a giant's fist and for a few seconds I couldn't get my breath. I slammed the footrest down and half stood up. The slug had given me one violent punch, but it hadn't pierced the weave of modern technology.

Nor had my .45 destroyed Ugo. He was looking at me, the daze coming out of his eyes to let sheer amazement show through. I walked over and picked up his gun and shoved it in my belt.

He was getting his breath back now.

I grinned and shot him a little lower down in the chest. His eyes bugged out and he gave a couple of violent jerks.

Velda was watching the tableau unfold, her eyes hardly believing what she saw. I walked over and pulled the tape off her arms and legs, letting her handle the m.u.f.fling gags.

The pain hadn't started on Ugo yet. It would be another minute or two before the brutal impact of the .45 round against his rib cage would make the agony sweep up like engulfing fire. I said, "That body armor only stops the penetration, kid. This rod of mine is loaded with standard army cap and ball ammo, nice soft lead slugs that won't get inside you but will break every bone you have. You'll be screaming to die after the sixth shot and you'll remember all the reasons this is coming at you."

I didn't have to emphasize it. He knew I was going to do it and the dread was plain in the expression on his face.

"Mike . . ." She said it very softly.

I frowned, watching her.

"Don't end it for us."

You could count the seconds going past while I let it all run through my mind. When I looked down at Ugo I knew the pain was almost there so I told him very calmly, "It was a wild-goose chase, Ugo. There was no money. There never was any money at all. The big bosses in the family had blown it. They never said why or how, but they didn't want to go down at the hands of their kids. That's why they dreamed up this wild story. Dooley just faked it out for them and I was part of that fake. No money, Ugo. No big crime family of your own. But the contract is still out on you and it won't go away."

His breath was coming in wheezes, but he was understanding me.

"I'm taking you back to the city with us. I can drop you with some police who won't let the word go out that you're in custody. If you play your cards right you might get put in a safe cell where you'll stay alive for eighty or ninety years. Or I can drop you off outside a certain storefront in Manhattan where the club members will be happy to boil you in oil while they watch."

I got three pairs of handcuffs out of the car and snapped them on Ugo Ponti. He fit on the floor beside the backseat making pitiful sounds as he thought over his options. Halfway back to New York he told me where he preferred to go. I picked up the cellular phone, called Pat and made arrangements for the transfer.

It was all done very neatly.

In the east it was getting light, a soft warmth trying to get through the cold, damp mist.

Velda said, "Where do we go from here?"

I knew she wanted to go park outside the courthouse until the judge got there. Women are like that.

"Your choice, kitten," I told her. Then I turned and threw up. She looked at my face and I knew I was pale. My knees were shaky and there was a blaze in my chest where Ugo's slug had hit me. But the black alley wasn't there this time.

"I'm taking you home, Mike. I'm calling Ralph Morgan and you're going to do what he says as long as he wants."

I wiped my mouth. "I thought you wanted to get married."

"That will come," she told me.

"Then let's go home," I said.

end.