Delta Factor, The by Mickey Spillane Page A

black hair was lightly touched with gray that almost matched eyes of the same color, a betrayal of nationality he must have hated because he deliberately shaded them with their lids to seem almost sleepy.
    Danger was there in both of them. Overt in the one standing, impending in the other. But the edge was mine because I encompassed both types and let it show when I pulled Kim in behind me and closed the door with my foot. ,
    â€œThis is a private suite,” I said.
    The one in the chair didn’t change his expression a bit. “Not exactly, Mr. Morgan. It is so only when we wish it to be.”
    â€œAnd who is that ‘we’ you’re speaking of, Mr. Ortega?”
    His eyes opened a fraction. “Ah, you know who I am then?”
    â€œDon’t play games with me,” I said. “I’m no damn amateur.” Kim’s hand tightened on my arm. “What are you doing here?”
    â€œThat’s what I came to ask you, Mr. Morgan. You see, I have investigated and find no record of your entry into our country. In fact, you have used an alias on your registration here.”
    I looked at him casually and shrugged as unconcernedly as I could. “So throw us out. I couldn’t care less.”
    The tall guy behind Ortega frowned and stiffened. Carlos Ortega let his smile go a little wider and shook his head. “Oh, that won’t be necessary. Naturally, an inquiry is in order since your entry is illegal.”
    â€œYou have some fine sources of information.”
    â€œYes, we do have that. My people are trained to recognize ... ah, certain important persons.” He waved indolently at the man behind him. “Major Turez here identified you immediately at one of the casinos.”
    â€œNice of him. I understand you have a ship leaving for Rio tomorrow. We’ll be glad to hop it.”
    Carlos Ortega spread his hands in amazement. “But why, Mr. Morgan? That is not the purpose of my visit. If I wished, I could detain you and hand you over to the American authorities. I am sure they would be happy to have you back there.”
    â€œWhy, then?” I asked with a grin. My eyes flicked between the both of them and the major looked like a cat had scratched him.
    Ortega said, “Our country has welcomed many people seeking ... shall we say, political asylum? We are not concerned with your past, only that you are satisfied here and conform to our laws. That is not too much to ask, is it?”
    â€œSuits me, but if you don’t like the situation, I’ll be glad to ship out.”
    â€œPerhaps you would be happier if you stayed. Your, er ... wife would enjoy her honeymoon here.”
    My grin spread clear across my face and there wasn’t any humor in it at all. The major’s hand went to the gun at his belt and his fingers fumbled for the leather catch. One day all that rigging was going to get him killed. I said, “Ease off, you. You’re looking at my wife, understand. We’re legally married and anybody ...”
    And this time Carlos Ortega managed an expression. An apologetic one. “Please, Mr. Morgan. I know this, I know this. Georgia, it was, duly registered. I’m surprised you even took the chance, but legality I approve of. I am sorry if I offended, but in the nature of my work—”
    I cut him short. “Okay, forget it.”
    â€œCertainly. Now that we’ve had our understanding, I may add that there are certain services this country might be able to offer you ...”
    â€œLike converting hot money into clean stuff at a discount?” I put in.
    His nod was a generous one. “To be frank, it can be arranged,” he said.
    â€œI’ll think about it.”
    Carlos Ortega stood up and I got a good look at him. In the chair his size had been deceptive; now I saw the brutal strength in him and knew the way he had forced himself into power. He wasn’t the type many men could come against and live. He