The Spanish Connection Read Online Free

Washington says to do," I murmured.
    "This came in yesterday," Kelly said, rattling the paper again.
    I tore my eyes away from Tina Bergson's shapely shoulders and breasts modeled by the sweater and put the binoculars down reluctantly. Kelly lifted them, swiveled the chair and focused them on Tina Bergson while I read the typed paper.
KELLY. RAMIREZ Y KELLY. 3 PASEO ZAFIO. ARRIVE TUESDAY ABOARD
LYSISTRATA.
HAVE VISITOR READY. TINA BERGSON WILL BRING HIM TO YACHT. WILL SET UP SKI RENDEZVOUS LATER WITH DRUG EXPERT.
ROMAN NOSE
    "Roman Nose!" I repeated with a grin.
    "That's Corelli's cover name," said Kelly. "Pretty corny, no?"
    "Pretty corny, yes." Roman Nose was an Indian Chief.
    "Corelli thinks he's an outcast himself. You know — from the Mafiosi."
    I looked at the message again. "The way it's worded, I guess she picks me up, huh?"
    "Right. She knows your hotel. I sent out a note already."
    "When will she be there?"
    "She's to pick you up in the lobby at noon." Kelly glanced at his watch. "That gives you half an hour."
    "What about Juana?"
    "She can wait. This is an initial probe."
    I shrugged. "Why all the rigmarole?"
    "Roman Nose is running scared. I think he wants to find out if he's being tailed."
    "Or if we are," I mused.
* * *
    I was waiting in the lobby at noon.
    When she came in, every eye in the lobby turned to her, the women glaring with resentment, the men leering with interest. The locals behind the desk suddenly turned into debonair Lotharios.
    I stood and walked toward her. "Miss Bergson," I said, in English.
    "Yes," she responded, with only the slightest of accents. "I am late. So sorry."
    "You're well worth waiting for," I said.
    She stared at me coolly. I thought of icebergs in the fjords. "Shall we go, then?"
    "Yes," I said.
    She turned and led me out of the lobby into the bright Spanish sunshine.
    "It is only across the plaza," she said. "We can walk"
    I nodded, and reached gallantly for her arm. After all, I was in Europe. She gave it to me without comment. Every Spanish eye turned to greet the two of us — her with admiration, me with envy.
    "It's a beautiful day," she said, breathing in deeply.
    "You like Malaga?" I riveted my gaze to her face.
    "Oh, yes," she said. "It is lazy and easy here. I like sunshine. I like warmth."
    She created it, but I did not mention that. "How was your boat trip down?"
    She sighed. "We ran into a squall off the Costa Brava. Otherwise…"
    "And your — your companion?"
    She eyed me thoughtfully. "Mister Roman?"
    "Mister Roman." The charade continued.
    "You will see him in a short time."
    "I understand you ski," I said as we neared the marina.
    "I love it." She smiled. "Do you?"
    "Moderately," I said. "Mostly in the United States. Aspen. Stowe.*
    "I want to go to America some day," said Tina Bergson, her blue eyes warm and intent on mine.
    "Perhaps Mister — uh, Roman — will have something to say about that."
    She laughed. Her teeth were perfect. "Perhaps, indeed." She stared at me intently. "I think you and he will get along fine."
    Then we were on the quay and a young man at the end of it stood at attention, directing his attitude toward Tina Bergson. He was fairly thin, but he looked wiry and strong. He had curly black hair and a fine pencil-line mustache.
    "Señorita," he said. He reached out to help her down into a small sleek powerboat tied to the quay.
    "Thank you, Bertillo," she said sweetly. "This is Mister Peabody," she told him, gesturing to me.
    "Señor," said Bertillo. His eyes were dark and intelligent.
    I jumped down after Tina Bergson and then Bertillo cast off, got the inboard moving, and we made an arc toward the yacht some three hundred yards away.
    The bay sparkled in the sunshine, the gulls picked waste out of the sea, and as we cut through the water, they fluttered into the sky angrily, splashing us with seasuds.
    In minutes we were tied up to the yacht. I could see the name now,
Lysistrata.
Above us two deckhands looked down and dropped a ladder.