One Bright Summer Morning

Chapter Seven

Kramer sat in a lounging chair, a cigar gripped between his teeth. Behind him stood Moe Zegetti. Opposite him, in another lounging chair, sat Vic Dermott.

From where he sat, Vic could see through the window across the patio to the garage. The garage doors were open. Riff was working on Vic’s Cadillac. He had already replaced the sparking plugs. He was now removing the licence plates and replacing them with plates Kramer had brought with him.

The time was some minutes after nine o’clock.

Kramer said, “You’ll reach Van Wylie’s place around eleven o’clock. You know what to say. You have to convince him that if he doesn’t pay up without fuss he’ll never see his daughter again. I’m not fooling. If something turns sour, I’ll bow out and leave you all to the Cranes. Understand?”

“I understand,” Vic said.

“He’ll try to find out who you are,” Kramer went on. “If he does find out and traces you here, there’ll be a massacre.” He leaned forward and pointed a thick finger at Vic. “The Cranes don’t surrender. They’ll kill your wife, your baby and the Van Wylie girl and then they’ll fight it out to a finish.”

Vic didn’t say anything.

“So it is up to you to convince Van Wylie to give you the cheques. When you have them, you will drive to San Bernadino. You’ll go to the Chase National Bank and cash the first one. You will then drive to Los Angeles and go to the Merchant Fidelity Bank and cash the second cheque. You’ll put up for the night at the Mount Crescent Hotel. I’ve reserved a room for you in the name of Jack Howard. At eleven o’clock, I’ll telephone you. If there are no snags you will go to the Chase National Bank in L.A. and cash the third cheque. From then on you’ll drive up the coast, cashing cheques from the list you have. You will finally arrive at Frisco. I’ll be waiting for you at the Rose Arms Hotel. You’ll hand over the money to me and then you are free to return here. By the time you get back, Miss Van Wylie will have been released and the rest of my people will have gone. From then on, you say and do nothing. To you, this has never happened. But if you start acting smart and imagine you can give us away to the Feds, one day someone will arrive at your home and he will wipe you, your wife and baby out. That’s a promise. Understand?”

“Yes, I understand,” Vic said woodenly.

“Well, that’s it... don’t say you haven’t been warned.” Kramer got to his feet. “The car’s ready. It’s time you got off.”

Vic stood up.

“My wife is afraid of being alone. What guarantee have I that nothing happens to her while I am away and while you’re not here?”

“My dear fella,” Kramer said with his expansive insincere smile, “you have nothing to worry about. He’s here.” He waved to Moe. “The Cranes may be a little wild, but our friend here can control them. Anyway, so long as you do as you’re told and Mrs. Dermott doesn’t attempt to run away, there is no possible danger to her or your baby.”

Vic had to be content with that.

His bag was packed and he was ready to go. He dreaded saying goodbye to Carrie but when he walked into the bedroom, he found her calm and she even managed a smile.

“It’s all right, Vic,” she said putting her arms around him. “I’m over my fright now. I know it’s the only thing for you to do. Don’t worry about me. I’ll manage.”

“I’ll get back as soon as I can,” Vic said, fondling her. “It’ll work out all right. This is something we’ll talk about for the rest of our days.”

Kramer came to the door.

“Ready to go, Mr. Dermott?”

Vic kissed his son, kissed Carrie, looked long and earnestly at her, then pulling away from her and picking up his bag, he followed Kramer to the front door.

Lifting Junior from his cot, Carrie sat on the bed, her heart cold and frightened, and hugged the baby to her.

On the highway leading to Arrow Lake, Kramer, who had been following Vic’s Cadillac in his hired car, tapped his horn button, waved his hand, then branched off on to the secondary road that led to his hotel. Vic saw him go in the driving mirror and continued on his way until in his turn, he turned off the highway and headed for the Van Wylies’ estate.

Ten minutes later, he pulled up the electrified gate, got out of the car and went across to the telephone box. A man’s voice answered as soon as he had lifted the receiver.

“A caller here for Mr. Van Wylie,” Vic said. “He’s expecting me. It is to do with Miss Van Wylie.”

“Come right on up,” the man said curtly.

As Vic replaced the receiver, he heard a click and saw the gate swing back. He got in his car and drove up the twisting drive until he finally reached the main entrance to the big house.

Merrill Andrews was waiting at the top of the steps. He and Vic regarded each other as Vic came up the steps. Andrews was startled to see such a man as Vic. He was expecting some thug: not only surprised, but puzzled as he had a sudden idea he had seen this man somewhere before.

“My business is with Mr. Van Wylie,” Vic said.

“This way,” Andrews said and strode across a big lobby, through a room lined with books and out on to a paved patio where John Van Wylie was waiting.

As Vic came into the strong sunlight, Van Wylie, dressed in a white shirt, black riding breeches and polished knee-high boots, turned to stare at him. With a flick of his hand, Van Wylie dismissed Andrews, then walking to the garden table, he took from a box a cigar which he lit before saying, “Well? Who are you and what do you want?”

“You and I, Mr. Van Wylie,” Vic said quietly, “are in the same position. We both have people we love in danger. My wife and baby are in the hands of the men who have kidnapped your daughter. I am more concerned with their safety than I am with your daughter’s.”

Van Wylie studied Vic for a long moment, then he waved to a basket chair. “Sit down... you talk. I’ll listen.”

“These people have picked on me to persuade you to part with four million dollars,” Vic said, sitting down. “Yesterday, they arrived at my house with your daughter and took over. If I don’t get the money from you, they intend to murder your daughter, my wife and baby. These people don’t bluff. I have seen them... you haven’t. There’s a young thug with them who could be capable of any cruelty. I think he has already murdered my servant.”

“Where is your house?” Van Wylie asked.

“I have been warned that if I tell you who I am and where I live, my wife and baby will suffer,” Vic said. “This is no idle threat. I can tell you nothing about myself: all I can tell you is that if you want your daughter back unharmed, you must give me ten certified cheques for four hundred thousand dollars each cheque.”

Van Wylie turned away and walked to the end of the patio, blowing a stream of cigar smoke through his nostrils. Vic waited. After a few moments, Van Wylie turned and came back.

“I guess you realize you’re making yourself an accessory to a capital crime?” he asked, standing over Vic and glaring at him. “When this is over and the police move in, you could land up in the gas chamber.”

“I don’t give a damn if I land up the middle of the Pacific,” Vic said quietly. “All I’m concerned about is keeping my wife and kid safe.”

Van Wylie was now staring at the livid bruise down the side of Vic’s face.

“How did you get that?” he demanded, pointing.

“From the young thug I told you about,” Vic said. “He wraps a bicycle chain around his fist and then he hits you... it’s some sock.”

Van Wylie took the cigar from his lips, stared at it in disgust and then dropped it into the ashtray.

“This thug,” Vic went on, “is capable of driving his chained fist into my baby’s face or into my wife’s face or even into your daughter’s face. You have plenty of money. So let’s have it! Ten certified cheques for four hundred thousand. I don’t see any reason, except pride, why you are hesitating. If your daughter gets a punch in the face from this thug, she won’t have much face left. I’m not just talking, Mr. Van Wylie, I am giving you the stark facts.”

“How do I know, if I give you the money, I’ll get my daughter back?” Van Wylie asked, putting his blunt, powerful hands on the table and leaning forward to stare at Vic.

“You don’t know: as I don’t know when I get back, I won’t find my wife and baby dead,” Vic said, “but that’s the way it is. You have plenty of money. If you want to gamble on getting your daughter back, you have the answer.”

“I haven’t the answer,” Van Wylie said and sat down in a basket chair opposite Vic’s. “I can give you the money, but I still don’t know what I’m buying.”

Vic made an impatient movement. He didn’t say anything.

After a pause, Van Wylie said, “You have seen my daughter? She’s all right?”

“Yes, I’ve seen her, and as far as I know right now she is all right.”

“Tell me about these people who have kidnapped her. How many are there?”

“My business with you is to persuade you to give me the ransom money,” Vic said. “I have been warned to give you no information. All you have to do is to decide whether you are paying up or whether you are going to leave your daughter in the hands of these people. That’s all.”

Van Wylie stared at him, his hard eyes probing, then he nodded and got to his feet.

“Wait here. I’ll fix it.”

He walked quickly across the patio and into the study where Andrews was waiting.

Van Wylie issued his orders and Andrews got busy on the telephone. He spoke to the manager of the California and Merchant Bank. The manager, sounding a little startled, said he would have the certified cheques ready in an hour.

“This guy isn’t one of them,” Van Wylie said as Andrews replaced the receiver. “They are using him as their stooge... smart. He has a wife and baby. They’ve moved into his house with Zelda. He has to collect the money. If there is a slip up, they’ll take it out of his family.”

“I’ve seen him before,” Andrews said. “I’m trying to remember who he is... someone: a personality. I think he’s to do with the theatre.”

Van Wylie sat on the edge of the desk. His small hard eyes were bleak as he looked at Andrews.

“They’ve knocked him around. Did you see the bruise on his face? These punks aren’t made of custard.” He leaned forward. “Where have you seen him before?”

“I don’t know,” Andrews said. “But I’m sure I have seen him. He’s someone who’s been in the news.”

“That helps a lot, doesn’t it?” Van Wylie said, a snarl in his voice. “You think! I want to know who he is!”

Andrews walked over to the window and stared out.

Where had he seen this man before? Why did he connect him with the theatre? Was he an actor? He was still standing there, digging into his memory when Van Wylie with a snort of impatience went back to where Vic was waiting.

Moe was like a flea on a hot stove. He couldn’t relax: he couldn’t concentrate: all he could think about was his mother. What was happening to her? he kept asking himself. Was she any better? Was she dying? From time to time, he looked longingly at the telephone, longing to pick up the receiver and call the hospital, but he knew such a call could spell disaster. If by chance Van Wylie had alerted the Feds and they traced the call to Wastelands, his chance of gaining a quarter of a million dollars would go up in gun-smoke.

But he had to know!

Zelda and Carrie were together with the baby in the bedroom. He could hear them talking. The Cranes were lolling in the sun, drinking Cokes and looking through the comics Riff had found in the ranch house. The setup seemed peaceful enough. Moe struggled with the temptation. He knew he would be going against Kramer’s orders, but he had to get to a telephone where he could talk to the hospital and find out how his mother was. He just couldn’t go on waiting and hoping. He had to know!

The nearest call booth was at Boston Creek, a twenty-mile drive. If he drove fast, he could go and return in just, over the hour. What could happen in that time? Sweating, nervous and anxious, he got to his feet. He had to go!

The Cranes looked up as Moe came out of the ranch house and headed towards them.

As Moe reached them, he said. “I’ve a little business to fix. I’ll be right back. You two stick around. There’s to be no trouble. Just see the two girls remain right where they are.” He looked at his watch. “I’ll be back in an hour.”

“Sure,” Riff said and grinned. “We’ll be here when you get back. We have no place to go.”

Moe stared suspiciously at him.

“You stay right here,” he said. “I’m not having any trouble.”

“Who’s talking about trouble?” Riff said, stretching his powerful frame lazily. “Me... I’m enjoying myself. You shove off. We can take care of everything.”

Moe, suddenly uneasy as he saw the sneering expression in Riff’s eyes, hesitated, but when the Cranes picked up their comics and seemed to forget him, he turned and walked to the garage. He got into the car he had come in, gunned the engine and drove down the dusty drive to the highway.

As his car disappeared in a cloud of dust, Riff dropped his comic, stretched elaborately and then got to his feet. Chita looked at him.

“Where do you think you’re going?” she asked, her eyes suspicious

“Belt up!” Riff snarled. “I’m going to stretch my legs. What’s it to you where I go?”

“Skip it, Riff! Sit down! I know what you’re planning to do! You cut it out! We’re in this racket for ten thousand dollars! You’re not going to foul it up!”

Riff grinned at her. “You dope! Can’t you see it’s fouled up already? I’m going to get me a little fun. You stick here. I won’t tell you twice.”

“Leave the girl alone!” Chita said, but she didn’t move. Her brother’s vicious expression warned her that if she stood up, he would hit her.

“Screw you!” Riff said and hitching up his leather trousers, he swaggered towards the ranch house.

If there was one thing Zelda disliked more than another, it was babies. To her, babies were noisy at one end and wet at the other. To her, they were revolting little animals who always attracted more attention than she ever received, even though she was the third richest girl in the world. Bring a baby on the scene and everyone seemed to forget about her. She hated babies!

She sat sulkily in an armchair and watched Carrie change Junior’s nappy. Her nose wrinkled with disgust. Babies! But to be in Vic Dermott’s house gave her a tremendous thrill. She had seen every one of his plays. She thought it was frantically romantic that Dermott of all people should be the man to collect her ransom. Vic Dermott! What an endless source of conversation she would have when she finally returned home!

She liked Carrie. It was a pity such an attractive girl should be so obsessed with this fat, dreary baby. She wanted to relax and talk to Carrie about clothes. She was sure Carrie could help her. She had so little confidence in herself in choosing the right things to wear. If only Carrie would quit fussing over this fat little horror, put him away somewhere and concentrate on her, Zelda would be happy.

With relief, she watched Carrie put the baby back in his cot and arrange the small toys hanging above the cot to keep him amused.

“Well, he’s fixed for the moment,” Carrie said. “Now I guess I’d better straighten this room or maybe you’ll do it while I see what there’s for lunch.”

Zelda stared at her as if she couldn’t believe what had been said.

“I do it? I don’t know what you mean.”

“Well, someone’s got to keep the place going,” Carrie said patiently. “I’m willing to do the cooking. I thought you might straighten the bedrooms. Those two out there aren’t likely to do anything.”

“I’m not doing anything either!” Zelda said angrily. “I’m not a servant! In a day or so, my father will pay the ransom and I’ll return home. What happens here doesn’t concern me in the slightest!”

Carrie regarded her thoughtfully.

“Well, of course, if that’s how you feel about it,” she said, “then I’ll do it. I suppose you want to eat?”

“Of course I want to eat!”

The two girls stared at each other, then Carrie shrugged.

“All right, if you just want to sit around, I’ll handle it,” she said.

“I’m certainly not turning myself into a servant,” Zelda exclaimed crossly and looked out of the window.

At this moment, the bedroom door swung open and Riff appeared in the doorway.

Both Carrie and Zelda stiffened as they stared at him. Riff’s scarred face was glistening with sweat. Carrie was nearer to him than Zelda. She could smell the dirt from him and she backed away. He wasn’t looking at her. He was staring at Zelda who seemed frozen in her chair.

“Come on, baby,” Riff said, beckoning to her. “You and me are going to have a jazz session. Get out of that chair!”

Carrie moved in front of Zelda and faced Riff.

“Get out of here!” she said fiercely. “You’re not to touch her!”

Riff grinned evilly.

“Out of the way or I’ll start on you first!”

Carrie didn’t move. She was terrified, but something in her forced her to face this scarred-faced thug.

“Get out!”

Riff’s long looping left with his fist half closed caught Carrie on the side of her face. It was as if she had been struck by a tremendous blast of wind. She went reeling across the room, thudded against the bed and fell across it, stunned and only half conscious.

She was vaguely aware that Zelda was screaming. She made a desperate effort to get to her feet, but her legs buckled and she slid from the bed to the floor. Dazed, trying to get up, she watched Zelda struggling with Riff. Zelda was helpless in his savage grip. He swung her off her feet and carried her out of the room. Her screams echoed through the house. Her fists pounded uselessly on the shabby leather uniform. Riff rushed her down the short passage and into the bedroom she occupied. Brutally, he flung her on the bed, then turning, he locked the door. As she scrambled off the bed, her eyes wide with terror, Riff moved in on her. As his hands grabbed her, she began to scream again.

Chita sat motionless in the hot sunshine while she listened to the high-pitched screams coming from the ranch house. She didn’t move. She just sat still, her face wooden, her hands clenched between her knees.

After a while the screaming stopped.

Moe Zegetti stood in the telephone booth waiting. Sweat ran down his fat face. Through the glass panel of the booth he watched two girls in tight-fitting, washed-out jeans, sitting on stools, sucking at straws in Coke bottles. A boy with a crew-cut and with freckles across his nose, leaned his elbows on the soda counter and talked to them. He too had a Coke bottle with a straw in it in his hand.

Moe wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. How much longer did he have to wait? He could hear the hum over the open line and every now and then, faint voices. He had got through to the hospital. They had told him to hold on. Minutes dragged by. One of the girls at the counter slid off the stool and went over to the jukebox. She inserted a coin. As the juke box began to blare jazz, she began to swing her small, childish hips and snap her fingers while her companion and the boy watched her, grinning.

A voice said, “Mr. Zegetti? This is Nurse Hardisty. I’m sorry to tell you your mother passed away peacefully last night”

The strident sound from the jukebox came through the glass panel of the booth and swamped Moe’s isolation. He found it impossible to hear what the woman was saying. He pressed the receiver to his ear, his heart thumping. He couldn’t really have heard aright... his mother... passed away... that meant she was dead!

“What was that?” he demanded. “Hold on a moment.” He opened the booth door and bawled, “Turn that goddam thing off!”

The girl stopped dancing and stared at him. The other girl and the boy turned and stared too. Then the girl started dancing again, giggling and rotating her hips at Moe and went hip swinging down to the entrance door, snapping her fingers and singing.

In despair, Moe slammed the booth door shut.

“How’s my mother?” he shouted frantically above the noise of the music.

“I told you.” The nurse sounded impatient. “She passed peacefully...”

“You mean she’s dead?”

“Why, yes, of course. I’m telling you... she died last night.”

Slowly, Moe replaced the receiver. He leaned against the wall of the booth and closed his eyes. A bluebottle fly buzzed busily around and about him. The girl wriggled her slight body as her companion and the boy began to clap their hands in time with the music.

Moe suddenly had no further wish to own a quarter of a million dollars. What use would the money be to him now? He was alone. He’d always be alone now Doll was dead. With her, it would have been fun to have had money to burn, but without her...

He walked slowly from the cafe, unaware that the barman and the three young people were staring curiously at him and he sat in the car, his hands resting slackly on the driving wheel. Should he go back to Wastelands? Suppose something went wrong? Kramer was old: suppose his planning came adrift? Moe thought of those awful years in prison. What would he do with a quarter of million dollars anyway? But then he thought of the little restaurant and the long hours of slavery. He couldn’t go back there. With money he could buy himself a small house. He could live decently. He might even find some woman with whom he could share his life. Besides, he couldn’t let Kramer down. No... he had to go back. Kramer would never forgive him if he ducked out now.

With a gesture of despair, he drove the car on to the highway and headed back towards Wastelands.

“You still don’t remember where you’ve seen him before?” Van Wylie asked. He was standing at the window watching Vic Dermott as he got into his Cadillac. Vic was on his way down to the California and Merchant Bank to pick up the certified cheques.

“No... but I’m sure I’ve seen him some place,” Andrews returned. “I’m sure of that and I’m sure he’s something to do with the theatre.”

“You got his car number?”

“Sure.”

The Cadillac was now out of sight. For a long moment, Van Wylie stood thinking.

“Okay, now let’s get busy,” he said. “If these punks think they’re going to get away with four millions of my dollars, they’re in for a surprise. They said they’d tapped the telephone here. Could be bluff, but I’m not taking any risk. Jay Dennison is the boy we want. Send him a Telex. Tell him to meet me at the L.A. airport at twelve. Warn him it’s to be a secret meeting. We’ll take the helicopter. They won’t be able to follow us in that. Get moving.”

An hour and a half later, Van Wylie with Andrews at his heels, strode across the tarmac of the airport and into a small office where Jay Dennison had arranged to meet him. With Dennison was Tom Harper.

It was some years since Van Wylie and Dennison had met. Then Dennison had saved Van Wylie a considerable sum of money when he had exposed a bank fraud by a brilliant piece of detective work. Van Wylie hadn’t forgotten Dennison’s work, and every Christmas, Dennison had received a large food hamper with Van Wylie’s compliments.

The two men shook hands and Dennison was quick to see the hard bitter gleam in Van Wylie’s eyes.

“My daughter has been kidnapped,” Van Wylie said abruptly as he sat on the edge of the desk. “The ransom is for four million dollars with the usual threats if I go to the police I won’t get her back. I’m consulting you, Dennison, because as soon as I do get her back, I want you to get these hoodlums. We flew here. They have no means of knowing we have met, and they mustn’t know.” He took from his pocket a small reel of tape. “I recorded the man’s demands. You’d better have this,” and he handed the reel of tape to Dennison.

“When did this happen, Mr. Van Wylie?” Dennison asked, sitting behind the desk. He glanced at Harper who had his notebook ready.

With lucid detail, Van Wylie stated the facts while Dennison listened. Finally, Van Wylie came to Vic Dermott’s part in the kidnapping.

“It’s obvious this fella has nothing to do with the kidnappers,” Van Wylie said. “He’s in as bad a fix as I am. Andrews here thinks he has seen him before.”

Dennison looked sharply at Andrews.

“I’m trying to remember just where, but I can’t place him,” Andrews said in his slow drawl. “I’m sure he’s something to do with the theatre... maybe an actor. I’m quite sure he isn’t a movie actor... he’s to do with the theatre.”

“Well, that’s something to go on,” Dennison said and reached for the telephone. He got through to the Field Office at Paradise City and spoke to Abe Mason. “I’m sending along a Mr. Merrill Andrews. He’ll be with you within an hour. He’ll explain. I want you to call up Simons and Ley, the theatrical agents. Get them to let you have photographs of every actor around thirty-eight years of age, around six foot tall, dark, they have on their books. This is a rush job.” He hung up and looked at Andrews. “Mr. Andrews? There’s a chance you’ll spot the guy from the photographs my man will show you.”

Andrews looked inquiringly at Van Wylie. At his nod, he hurried from the office.

“The kidnappers are dangerous,” Van Wylie said. “I don’t want Zelda to run any risk. You understand?”

“Of course,” Dennison said quietly. “We know how to handle this. Let’s have some more facts about her routine. You say she always went to the hairdresser’s at the same time and on the same day?”

An hour later, Van Wylie got to his feet.

“That’s about it,” he said. “I’ll leave it to you, but you don’t make any moves without first consulting me.”

“That’s understood,” Dennison returned, getting to his feet and shaking hands.

Van Wylie stared at him for a long moment.

“I’d rather lose four million dollars than Zelda,” he said, “She’s all I’ve got to live for now.”

When he had gone, Dennison reached for the telephone.

At the Field Office, Merrill Andrews tossed the last photograph on Abe Mason’s desk with an exclamation of disgust.

“No... he’s not among this lot,” he said.

“Maybe he’s a movie actor,” Mason said. “I can get...”

“He’s not a movie actor,” Andrews broke in. “I’m as sure as I sit here, he’s to do with the theatre and well known at that.”

“Okay,” Mason said, getting to his feet. “We’ll go over to the Herald’s office and look through their photographs. They have a library of famous people. Maybe we’ll spot him there.”

As they were leaving the building, they ran into Dennison who had driven fast from the airport.

“Any luck?” Dennison asked, pausing.

Mason explained where they were going, and Dennison nodded. He went up to his office and put through a call to the San Bernadino police. He asked if any patrol officer on the highway leading from the Van Wylie estate to San Bernadino had seen Miss Van Wylie around nine o’clock the previous day. The sergeant in charge said he would call back.

Dennison then asked the sergeant to alert every patrol officer to look out for a Jaguar E-type car and gave Zelda’s licence number.

That done, he got Harper to check on the licence number of the Cadillac that Andrews had given him.

“No such number,” Harper said as he hung up the telephone receiver.

Dennison grunted. He pulled a tape recorder towards him and wound on the reel of tape that Van Wylie had given him.

The two men listened to the voice. After playing the tape back three times, Dennison turned the machine off. He reached for a cigar, lit it and relaxed back in his chair.

“Know anyone who binds his fist with a bicycle chain as a weapon?” he asked suddenly.

“About a couple of hundred by name,” Harper said cynically. “There are probably twenty or thirty thousand who I don’t know. It’s the latest fad with these beats.”

“Yeah, but this isn’t small-time, Tom. Four million dollars! That was an old man’s voice.” Dennison blew smoke up to the ceiling. “It takes my mind back to the old days when gangsters really asked big money for a ransom. You know, it’s the kind of job that Jim Kramer might pull if he was crazy enough to come out of retirement. Knowing Kramer the way I do, I can’t believe he would try a kidnapping. Send a Telex to every bank in the state, telling them to report when someone cashes a bearer cheque, signed by John Van Wylie for four hundred thousand dollars. We may be a little late, but we might just possibly catch up with this guy, cashing the cheques.”

Harper nodded and left the room.

Dennison smoked on, his eyes blank, his face expressionless. Kramer! Could just possibly be. He had vanished. Moe Zegetti who always worked with him had also vanished. Dennison’s face suddenly twisted in to a grim smile. If it was Kramer and they caught him, he would have the satisfaction of seeing Kramer go to the gas chamber. No Federal Officer could wish for a nicer retiring present than that!