Free Twisted Path by Don Pendleton

sure that you handle your end properly. I want all of this forwarded to Lima and stored in a warehouse. I've left written instructions with the invoices. Handle the paperwork and leave the rest to me. McIntyre won't get away with anything. I'll see to it personally." Bolan grinned, a tight humorless smile that reminded Kline of the toothy snarl of some feral cat.
    Kline didn't ask any more questions.

7
    Cameron McIntyre was beginning to wonder if he might have made a fatal blunder.
    He sat alone in a paneled library in the heart of his sprawling estate. It was a warm room, lined floor to ceiling with hundreds of books representing the best of modern writing and the classics. McIntyre had read none of them, and had no interest in doing so. His father had told him that every civilized man owned a well-stocked library.
    Consequently he had a standing order with a bookseller for every book on the New York Times bestseller lists, which the butler rearranged as required.
    McIntyre was in the library for a reason unconnected with books. A cherry corner cabinet held the private stock of Scotch, imported directly from a small Highland distillery, that he reserved exclusively for himself.
    The businessman had canceled a previously arranged rendezvous with one of his girlfriends.
    He wanted the evening to think, something that would be impossible with the woman's vacant chattering.
    Not that she would miss him terribly, he acknowledged in a rare moment of self-honesty. He recognized that all the heaving and moaning during their couplings had more to do with the expensive, glittering baubles he brought than any genuine feeling she had for him.
    Her rival was no different, and both were exactly the same as the three grasping, avaricious harpies he had married. All of them wanted a piece of the McIntyre fortune rather than a piece of McIntyre himself. Neither of them was any better than a well-paid hooker.
    McIntyre realized that he was verging on self-pity. Much better to think about his problems the quarter-million he owed Davis from his incredible run of bad luck at poker last weekend; his second wife's petition for an increase in alimony payments; that puzzling call from Peru.
    The more McIntyre thought about the telephone call, the less he liked it, and the more afraid he became that he had said too much. He should have waited to speak to Carrillo after all, but the assistant had been quite convincing.
    As McIntyre stewed, he decided that he could easily dispel any doubts. He refreshed his drink and strolled to the end of the left bookcase.
    He withdrew a thick history book from the end of the second shelf and depressed a knot in the paneling. A six-inch piece of the bookcase upright popped out from a seemingly solid panel and swung back on a hinge. McIntyre reached in and withdrew a thin black book.
    The first page contained a list of numbers. Moving to an antique model telephone on a low table, McIntyre dialed Peru.
    "Buenas noches." The telephone was answered on the third ring.
    McIntyre took a moment to compose himself. He had been counting on Carrillo being absent.
    "Senor Carrillo, what a pleasure. I thought that you were out of town."
    "No. I have not been out of town for some weeks. But why are you calling me?" Carrillo sounded puzzled at the arms dealer's call.
    McIntyre's stomach sank. Now he was almost afraid to hear the answers to his other questions, although there was no doubt he had to get to the bottom of whatever scheme was being played out. "I spoke with your assistant this afternoon. I merely wanted to confirm that you now have all the information you need."
    "My assistant? Do you mean Senorita Vincenzo?" The Peruvian's voice revealed a tremulous note, and it was obvious that McIntyre's inquiries were making him nervous.
    "No, the gentleman. The one who speaks such good English. I don't know his name."
    "I have no such assistant. There is only myself and Senorita de Vincenzo. Is something wrong, Senor