Seawitch

Chapter 4

Worth, enjoying a very early morning cup of tea, was in his living room with Larsen and Palermo when the radio operator knocked and entered, a message sheet in his hand. He handed it to Lord Worth and said: «For you, sir. But it's hi some sort of code. Do you have a code book?»

«No need.» Lord Worth smiled with some self-satisfaction, his first smile of any kind for quite some tune. «I invented this code myself.» He tapped his head. «Here's my code book.»

The operator left. The other two watched in mild anticipation as Lord Worth began to decode. The anticipation turned into apprehension as the smile disappeared from Lord Worth's face, and the apprehension gave way hi turn to deep concern as reddish-purple spots the size of pennies touched either cheekbone. He laid down the message sheet, took a deep breath, then proceeded to give a repeat performance—though this time more deeply felt, more impassioned— of the unparliamentary language he had used at the news of the loss of the Crusader. After some time he desisted, less because he had nothing fresh to say than from sheer loss of breath.

Larsen had more wit than to ask Lord Worth ft something were the matter. Instead he said in a quiet voice: «Suppose you tell us, Lord Worth?»

Lord Worth, with no little effort, composed himself and said: «It seems that Cor—» He broke off and corrected himself: it was one of his many axioms that the right hand shouldn't know what the left hand doeth. «I was informed—all too reliably, as it now appears— that a couple of countries hostile to us might well be prepared to use naval force against us. One, it appears, is already prepared to do so. A destroyer has just cleared its Venezuelan home port and is heading in what is approximately our direction.»

«They wouldn't dare,'* Palermo said.

«When people are power- and money-mad they'll stop at nothing.» It apparently never occurred to Lord Worth that his description of people applied, in excelsis, to himself.

«Who's the other power?» said Larsen.

«The Soviet Union.»

«Is it now?» Larsen seemed quite unmoved. «I don't know if I like the sound of that.»

«We could do without them.» Lord Worth was back on balance again. He flipped out a notebook and consulted it. «I think Til have a talk with Washington.» His hand was just reaching out for the phone when it rang. He lifted the instrument, at the same time turning the switch that cut the incoming call into the bulkhead speaker.

«Worth.»

A vaguely disembodied voice came through the speaker. «You know who I am?» Disembodied or not, the voice was known to Worth. Corral.

«Yes.»

Tve checked my contact, sir. Tm afraid our guesses were only too accurate. Both X and Y are willing to commit themselves to naval support.»

«I know. One of them has just moved out and appears to be heading in our general direction.»

«Which one?»

«The one to the south. Any talk of air commitment?»

«None that I've heard, sir. But I don't have to tell you that that doesn't rule out its use.»

Seawitch

«Let me know if there is any more good news.»

«Naturally. Goodbye, sir.»

Lord Worth replaced the instrument, then lifted it again.

«I want a number in Washington.»

«Can you hold a moment, sir?»

«Why?»

«There's another code message coming through. Looks like the same code as the last one, sir.»

«I shouldn't be surprised.» Lord Worth's tone was somber. «Bring it across as soon as possible.»

He replaced the phone, pressed a button on the small console before him, lifting the phone again as he did.

«Chambers?» Chambers was his senior pilot

«Sir?»

«Your chopper refueled?»

«Ready to go when you are, sir.»

«May be any second now. Stand by your phone.» He replaced the receiver.

Larsen said: «Washington beckons, sir?»

«I have the odd feeling that it's about to. There are things that one can achieve in person that one can't over the phone. Depends upon this next message.»

«If you go, anything to be done in your absence?»

«There'll be dual-purpose antiaircraft guns arriving aboard the Roamer this afternoon. Secure them to the platform.»

«To the north, south, east but not west?»

«As you wish.»

«We don't want to start blowing holes in our own oil tank.»

«There's that. There'll -eAso be mines. Three piles, each halfway between a pair of legs.»

«An underwater explosion from a mine wouldn't damage the legs?»

«I shouldn't think so. We'll just have to find out, won't we? Keep in constant half-hourly touch with both the Torbetto and the Jupiter. Keep the radar and sonar stations constantly manned. Eternal vigilance, if you will. Hell, Commander, I don't have to tell you what to do.» He wrote some figures on a piece of paper. «If I do have to go, contact this number in Washington. Tell them that Tm coming. Five hours or so.»

«This is the State Department?»

«Yes. Tell them that at least the Under Secretary must be there. Remind him, tactfully, of future campaign contributions. Then contact my aircraft pilot, Dawson. Tell him to be standing by with a filed flight plan for Washington.»

The radio operator knocked, entered, handed Lord Worth a message sheet and left. Lord Worth, hands steady and face now untroubled, decoded the message, reached for the phone and told Chambers to get to the helicopter at once.

He said to the two men: «A Russian-built Cuban submarine is on its way from Havana. It's being followed by a Russian guided-missile destroyer. Both are heading this way.»

«A visit to the State Department or the Pentagon would appear to be indicated,» Larsen said. «There isn't too much we can do about guided missiles. Looks like there might be quite some activity hereabouts. That makes five vessels arrowing in on us—three naval vessels, the Jupiter and the Roomer.» Larsen might have been even more concerned had he known that the number of vessels was seven, not five: but, then, Larsen was not to know that the Tiburon and the Starlight were heading that way also.

Lord Worth rose. «Well, keep an eye on the shop. Back this evening sometime. I'll be in frequent radio contact.»

Lord Worth was to fly four legs that day: by helicopter to the mainland, by his private Boeing to Washington, the return flight to Florida, and the final leg by helicopter out to the Seawitch. On each of those four legs something very unpleasant was going to happen—unpleasant for Lord Worth, that is. Fortunately for Lord Worth, he was not blessed with the alleged Scottish second sight—the ability to look into the future.

The first of those unpleasantnesses happened when Lord Worth was en route to the mainland. A large station wagon swept up to the front door of Lord Worth's mansion, carrying five rather large men who would have been difficult later to identify, for aU five wore stocking masks. One of them carried what appeared to be a large coil of clothesline rope, another a roll of adhesive tape. All carried guns.

MacPherson, the elderly head gardener, was taking his customary prework dawn patrol to see what damage the fauna had wreaked on his flora during the night, when the men emerged from the station wagon. Even allowing for the fact that shock had temporarily paralyzed his vocal cords, he never had a chance. In just over a minute, bound hand and foot and with his lips sealed with adhesive tape, he had been dumped unceremoniously into a clump of bushes.

The leader of the group, a man by the name of Durand, pressed the front-door bell. Durand, a man who had a powerful affinity with banks and who was a three-time ex-convict, was by definition a man of dubious reputation, a reputation confirmed by the fact that he was a close and longtime term associate of Cronkite. Half a minute passed, then he rang again. By and by the door opened to reveal a robe-wrapped Jen-kins, tousle-haired and blinking the sleep from his eyes—it was still very early in the morning. His eyes stopped blinking and opened wide when he saw the pistol in Durand's hand.

Durand touched the cylinder screwed onto the muzzle of Ms gun. As hooked a TV addict as the next man, Jenkins recognized a silencer when he saw one.

«You know what this is?»

A fully awake Jenkins nodded silently.

«We don't want to harm anyone in the house. Especially, no harm will come to you if you do what you are told. Doing what you are told includes not telling lies. Understood?»

Jenkins understood.

«How many staff do you have here?»

There was a noticeable quaver in Jenkins's voice. «Well, there's me—I'm the butler—»

Durand was patient. «You we can see.»

«Two footmen, a chauffeur, a radio operator, a secretary, a cook and two housemaids. There's a cleaning lady, but she doesn't come until eight.»

«Tape him,» Durand said. Jenkins's lips were taped. «Sorry about that, but people can be silly at times. Take us to those eight bedrooms.»

Jenkins reluctantly led the way. Ten minutes later, all eight of the staff were securely bound and silenced. Durand said: «And now, the two young ladies.»

Jenkins led them to a door. Durand picked out three of his men and said softly: «The butler will take you to the other girl. Check what she packs and especially her purse.»

Durand, followed by his men, entered the room, his gun in its concealed holster so as not to arouse too much alarm. That the bed was occupied was beyond doubt, although all that could be seen was a mop of black hair on the pillow. Durand said in a conversational voice: «I think you better get up, ma'am.» Durand was not normally given to gentleness, but he did not want a case of screaming hysterics on his hands.

A case of hysterics he did not have. Marina turned round in bed and looked at him with drowsy eyes. The drowsiness did not last long. The eyes opened wide, either in fear or shock, then returned to normal. She reached for a robe, arranged it strategically on the bed cover, then sat bolt upright, wrapping the robe round her.

«Who are you and what do you want?» Her voice was not quite as steady as she might have wished.

«Well, would you look at that, now?» Durand said admiringly. «You'd think she was used to being kidnaped every morning of her life.»

«This is a kidnap?»

'Tin afraid so.» Durand sounded genuinely apologetic.

«Where are you taking me?»

«Vacation. Little island hi the sun.» Durand smiled. «You won't be needing any swimsuit though. Please get up and get dressed.»

«And if I refuse?»

«We'll dress you.»

«I'm not going to get dressed with you two watching me.»

Durand was soothing. «My friend will stand out in the corridor. I'll go into the bathroom there and leave the door open just a crack—not to watch you, but to watch the window, to make sure that you don't leave by it. Call me when you're ready and be quick about it.»

She was quick about it. She called him within three minutes. Blue blouse, blue slacks and her hair combed. Durand nodded his approval.

«Pack a traveling bag. Enough for a few days.»

He watched her while she packed. She zipped the bag shut and picked up her purse. «I'm ready.»

He took the purse from her, undid the clasp and upended the contents on the bed. From the jumble on the bed he selected a small pearl-handled pistol, which he slipped into his pocket

«Let's pack the purse again, shall we?»

Marina did so, her face flushed with mortification.

A somewhat similar scene had just taken place in Melinda's bedroom.

Twenty-five minutes had elapsed since the arrival of Durand and his men and their departure with the two girls. No one had been hurt, except in pride, and the intruders had even been considerate to the extent of seating Jenkins in a deep armchair in the front hall. Jenkins, as he was now securely bound hand and foot, did not appreciate this courtesy as much as he might have done.

About ten minutes after their departure, Lord Worth's helicopter touched down beside his Boeing in the city airport. There were no customs, no clearance formalities. Lord Worth had made it plain some years previously that he did not much care for that sort of thing, and when Lord Worth made things plain they tended to remain that way.

It was during the second leg of this flight that the second unfortunate occurrence happened. Again, Lord Worth was happily unaware of what was taking place.

The Tiburon's (now the Georgia's) helicopter had located the Torbello. The pilot reported that he had sighted the vessel two minutes previously and gave her latitude and longitude as accurately as he could judge. More importantly, he gave her course as approximately 315 degrees, which was virtually on a collision course with the Georgia. They were approximately forty-five miles apart. Cronkite gave his congratulations to the pilot and asked him to return to the Georgia.

On the bridge of the Georgia Cronkite and Mulhooney looked at each other with satisfaction. Between planning and execution there often exists an unbridgeable gap. In this case, however, things appeared to be going exactly according to plan.

Cronkite said to Mulhooney: «Time, I think, to change into more respectable clothes. And don't forget to powder your nose.»

Mulhooney smiled and left the bridge. Cronkite paused only to give a few instructions to the helmsman, then left the bridge also.

Less than an hour later the Torbello stood clear over the horizon. The Georgia headed straight for it, then at about three miles distance made a thirty-degree alteration to starboard, judged the timing to a nicety and came round in a wide sweeping turn to port. Two minutes later the Georgia was on a parallel course to the Torbello, alongside its port quarter—the bridge of a tanker lies very far aft—paralleling its course at the same speed and not more than thirty yards away. Cronkite moved out onto the wing of the Georgia's bridge and lifted his loud-hailer.

«Coast Guard. Please stop. This is a request, not an order. We think your vessel's in great danger. Your permission, please, to bring a trained research party aboard. For the safety of your men and the ship, don't break radio silence on any account!»

Captain Thompson, an honest sailor with no criminal propensities whatsoever, used his own loud-hailer.

«What's wrong? Why is this boarding necessary?»

«It's not a boarding. I am making a request for your own good. Believe me, I'd rather not be within five miles of you. It is necessary. I'd rather come aboard with my lieutenant and explain privately. Don't forget what happened to your sister ship, the Crusader, in Galveston harbor last night.»

Captain Thompson, clearly, had not forgotten and was, of course, completely unaware that Cronkite was the man responsible for what had happened to his sister ship: a ringing of bells from the bridge was indication enough of that. Three minutes later the Torbello lay stopped in the calm waters. The Georgia edged up alongside the Torbello until its midships were just ahead of the bulk of the tanker's superstructure. At this point it was possible to step from the Georgia's deck straight onto the deck of the deep-laden tanker, which was what Cronkite and Mulhooney proceeded to do. They paused there until they had made sure that the Georgia was securely moored fore and aft to the tanker, then climbed a series of companionways and ladders up to the bridge.

Both men were quite unrecognizable. Cronkite had acquired a splendidly bushy black beard, a neatly trimmed mustache and dark glasses and, with his smartly tailored uniform and slightly rakish peaked cap, looked the epitome of the competent and dashing coast-guard-cutter captain which he was not. Mulhooney was similarly disguised.

There was only Captain Thompson and an idle helmsman on the bridge. Cronkite shook the captain's hand.

«Good morning. Sorry to disturb you when you are proceeding about your lawful business and all that, but you may be glad we stopped you. First, where is your radio room?» Captain Thompson nodded to a door set in back of the bridge. «Fd like my lieutenant to check on the radio silence. This is imperative.» Again, Captain Thompson, now feeling distinctly uneasy, nodded. Cronkite looked at Mulhooney. «Go check, Dixon, will you?»

Mulhooney passed through into the radio room, closing the door behind him. The radio operator looked up from his transceiver with an air of mild surprise.

«Sorry to disturb.» Mulhooney sounded almost genial, a remarkable feat for a man totally devoid of geniality. «I'm from the Coast Guard cutter alongside. The captain told you to keep radio silence?»

«That's just what I'm doing.»

«Made any radio calls since leaving the Sea-witch?»

«Only the routine half-hourly on-course, on-time calls.'*

«Do they acknowledge those? I have my reasons for asking.» Mulhooney carefully refrained from saying what his reasons were.

«No. Well, just the usual 'roger and out' business.»

Allstair

«What's the call-up frequency?»

The operator pointed to the console. «Preset.»

Mulhooney nodded and walked casually behind the operator. Just to make sure that the operator kept on maintaining radio silence, Mulhooney clipped him over the right ear with his pistol. He then returned to the bridge, where he found Captain Thompson in a state of considerable and understandable perturbation.

Captain Thompson, a deep anxiety compounded by a self-defensive disbelief, said: «What you're telling me in effect is that the Torbello is a floating time bomb.»

«A bomb, certainly. Maybe lots of bombs. Not only possible but almost certain. Our sources of information—sorry, Fm not at liberty to divulge those—are as nearly perfect as can be.»

«God's sake, man, no one would be so crazy as to cause a huge oil slick in the Gulf.»

Cronkite said: «It's your assumption, not mine, that we're dealing with sane minds. Who but a crazy man would have endangered Galveston by blowing up your sister tanker there?»

The captain fell silent and pondered the question gloomily.

Cronkite went on: «Anyway, it's my intention—with your consent, of course—to search the engine room, living accommodations and every storage space on the ship. With the kind of search crew I have it shouldn't take more than half an hour.»

Seawitch

«What kind of preset time bomb do you think it might be?»

«I don't think it's a time bomb—or bombs— at all. I think that the detonator—or detonators —will be a certain radioactivated device that can be triggered by any nearby craft, plane or helicopter. But I don't think it's fixing to happen till you're close to the U.S. coast.»

«Why?»

«So we'll have maximum pollution along the shores. There'll be a national holler against Lord Worth and the safety standards aboard Ms— ah—rather superannuated tankers, maybe resulting in closing down the Seawitch or the seizing of any of Worth's tankers that might enter American territorial waters.» In addition to his many other specialized qualifications, Cronkite was a consummate liar. «Okay if I call my men?» Captain Thompson nodded without any noticeable enthusiasm.

Cronkite lifted the loud-hailer and ordered the search party aboard. They came immediately, fourteen of them, all of them wearing stocking masks, all of them carrying machine pistols. Captain Thompson stared at them in stupefaction, then turned and stared some more at Cronkite and Mulhooney, both of whom had pistols leveled at him. Cronkite may have been looking satisfied or even triumphant, but such was the abundance of his ersatz facial foliage that it was impossible to tell.

Captain Thompson, in a stupefaction that was slowly turning into a slow burn, said: «What the hell goes?»

«You can see what goes. Hijack. A very popular pastime nowadays. I agree that nobody's ever hijacked a tanker before, but there always has to be a first time. Besides, it's not really something new. Piracy on the high seas. They've been at it for thousands of years. Don't try anything rash, Captain, and please don't try to be a hero. If you all behave, no harm will come to you. Anyway, what could you possibly do with fourteen submachine guns lined up against you?»

Within five minutes all the crew, officers and men, including the recovered radio operator but with one other exception, were herded into the crew's mess under armed guard. Nobody had even as much as contemplated offering resistance. The exception was an unhappy-looking duty engineer in the engine room. There are few people who don't look slightly unhappy when staring at the muzzle of a Schmeisser from a distance of five feet.

Cronkite was on the bridge giving Mulhooney his final instructions.

«Keep on sending the Seawitch its half-hour on-time, on-course reports. Then report a minor breakdown in two or three hours—a fractured fuel line or something of the sort—enough that would keep the Torbello immobilized for a few

Seawitch

hours. You're due in Galveston tonight and I need time and room to maneuver. Rather, you need time and room to maneuver. When it gets dark keep every navigational light extinguished —in fact, every light extinguished. Let's don't underestimate Lord Worth.» Cronkite was speaking with an unaccustomed degree of bitterness, doubtless recalling the day Lord Worth had taken him to the cleaners in court. «He's a very powerful man, and it's quite in the cards that he can have an air-and-sea search mounted for his missing tanker.»

Cronkite rejoined the Georgia, cast off and pulled away. Mulhooney, too, got under way, but altered course ninety degrees to port so that he was heading southwest instead of northwest. On the first half hour he sent the reassuring report to the Seawitch—»on course, on time.»

Cronkite waited for the Starlight to join him, then both vessels proceeded together in a generally southeasterly direction until they were about thirty-five nautical miles from the Seawitch, safely over the horizon and out of reach of the Seawitch's radar and sonar. They stopped their engines and settled down to wait.

The big Boeing had almost halved the distance between Florida and Washington. Lord Worth, in his luxurious stateroom immediately abaft the flight deck, was making up for time lost during the previous night and, blissfully unaware of the slings and arrows that were coming at him from all sides, was soundly asleep.

Mitchell had been unusually but perhaps not unexpectedly late in waking that morning. He showered, shaved and dressed while the coffee percolated, all the time conscious of a peculiar and unaccustomed sense of unease. He paced up and down the kitchen, drinking his coffee, then abruptly decided to put his unease at rest. He lifted the phone and dialed Lord Worth's mansion. The other end rang, rang again and kept on ringing. Mitchell replaced the receiver, then tried again with the same result. He finished his coffee, went across to Roomer's house and let himself in with his passkey. He went into the bedroom to find Roomer still asleep. He woke him up. Roomer regarded him with disfavor.

«What do you mean by waking up a man in the middle of the night?»

«It's not the middle of the night.» He pulled open the drapes and the bright summer sunlight flooded the room. «It's broad daylight, as you will be able to see when you open your eyes.» '

«Your house on fire or something, then?»

«I wish it were something as trivial as that. Fm worried, John. I woke up feeling bugged by something, and the feeling got worse and worse. Five minutes ago I called up Lord Worth's house. I tried twice. There was no reply. Must have been at least eight or ten people in that house, but there was no reply.»

«What do you think—»

«You're supposed to be the man with the intuition. Get ready. Til go make some coffee.»

Long before the coffee was ready, in fact less than ninety seconds later, Roomer was in the kitchen. He had of course neither showered nor shaved but had had time to run a comb through his hair. He was looking the same way the expressionless Mitchell was feeling.

«Never mind the coffee.» Roomer bore an almost savage expression on his face, but Mitchell knew that it wasn't directed at him. «Let's get up to the house/'

They took Roomer's car; it was nearer.

Mitchell said: «God, we're really bright! Hit us over the head often enough and maybe—just maybe—we'll begin to see the obvious.» He held on to his seat as Roomer, tires screeching, rounded a blind corner. «Easy, boy, easy. Too late to lock the stable now.»

With what was a clearly conscious effort of will, Roomer slowed down. He said: «Yeah, we're real clever. Lord Worth used a threat of the girls' abduction as an excuse for his actions. And you told him to offer the threat of the abduction as an excuse for our being there last night. And it never occurred to either of our staggering intellects that their kidnaping would be both logical and inevitable. Worth wasn't exaggerating—he has enemies, and vicious enemies who are out to get him. Two trump cards— and what trumps! He's powerless now. He'll give away half his money to get them back. Just half. He'll use the other half to hunt those people down. Money can buy any co-operation in the world, and the old boy has all the money in the world.»

Mitchell now seemed relaxed, comfortable, even calm. He said: «But we'll get to them first, won't we, John?»

Roomer stirred uncomfortably in his seat as they swung into the mansion's driveway. He said: 'Tm just as sore as you are. But I don't like it when you start talking that way. You know that.»

«I'm expressing an intention—or at least a hope.» He smiled. «We'll see.»

Roomer stopped his car in a fashion that did little good to Lord Worth's immaculately raked gravel. The first thing that caught Mitchell's eye as he left the car was an odd movement by the side of the driveway hi a clump of bushes. He took out his gun and went to investigate, then put his gun away, opened his clasp knife and sliced through MacPherson's bonds. The head gardener, after forty years in Florida, had never lost a trace of a very pronounced Scottish accent, an accent that tended to thicken according to the degree of mental stress he was undergoing.-On this occasion, with the adhesive removed, his language was wholly indecipherable—which, in view of what he was almost certainly trying to say, was probably just as well.

They went through the front doorway. Jen-kins, apparently taking his ease in a comfortable armchair, greeted them with a baleful glare. The glare was in no way intended for them; Jenkins was just in a baleful mood, a mood scarcely bettered by Mitchell's swift and painful yanking away of the adhesive from his lips. Jenkins took a deep breath, preparatory to. lodging some form of protest, but Mitchell cut in before he could speak.

«Where does Jim sleep?» Jim was the radio operator.

Jenkins stared at him in astonishment. Was this the way to greet a man who had been through a living hell—snatched, one might almost say, from the jaws of death? Where was the sympathy, the condolence, the anxious questioning? Mitchell put his hands on his shoulders and shook him violently.

«Are you deaf? Jim's room?»

Jenkins looked at the grim face less than a foot from his own and decided against remonstrating. «In back, first floor, first right.»

Mitchell left. So, after a second or two, did Roomer. Jenkins called after him in a plaintive voice: «You aren't leaving me too, Mr. Roomer?»

Roomer turned and said patiently: 'Tm going to the kitchen to get a nice sharp carver. Mr. Mitchell has taken the only knife we have between us.»

Jim Robertson was young, fresh-faced and just out of college, a graduate in electrical engineering in no hurry to proceed with his profession. He sat on the bed massaging his now unbound wrists, wincing slightly as the circulation began to return. As tiers of knots, Durand's henchmen had been nothing if not enthusiastic.

Mitchell said: «How do you feel?'*

«Mad.»

«I don't blame you. Are you okay to operate your set?»

«I'm okay for anything if it means getting hold of those bastards.»

«That's the general idea. Did you get a good look at the kidnapers?»

«I can give you a general description.» He broke off and stared at Mitchell. «Kidnapers?»

«Looks as though Lord Worth's daughters have been abducted.»

«Holy Christ!» The assimilation of this news took some little time. «There'll be all hell to pay for this.»

«It should cause a considerable flap. Do you know where Marina's room is?»

'Til show you.»

Her room showed all signs of a hasty and unpremeditated departure. Cupboard doors were open, drawers the same, and some spilled clothing lay on the floor, Mitchell was interested in none of this. He quickly riffled through drawers in the room until he found what he had hoped to find—her States passport. He opened it and it was valid. He made a mental note that she had lied about her age—she was two years older than she claimed to be—returned the passport and hurried down to the radio room with Robertson, who unlocked the door to let them in. Robertson looked questioningly at Mitchell.

«The county police chief. His name is McGar-rity. I don't want anyone else. Tell him you're speaking for Lord Worth, That should work wonders. Then let me take over.»

Roomer entered while Robertson was trying to make contact. «Seven more of the staff, all suitably immobilized. Makes nine in all. I've left Jenkins to cut them loose. His hands are shaking so bad he'll probably slice an artery or two, but for me freeing elderly cooks and young housemaids is above and beyond the call of duty.»

«They must have been carrying a mile of rope,» Mitchell said absently. He was figuring out how much not to tell the police chief.

Roomer nodded to the operator. «Who's he trying to contact?»

«McGarrity.»

«That hypocritical old brown-noser!»

«Most people would regard that as a charitable description. But he has his uses.»

Robertson looked up. «On the line, Mr. Mitchell. That phone.» He made discreetly to replace his own, but Roomer took it from him and listened in.

«Chief McGarrity?»

«Speaking.»

«Please listen very carefully. This is extremely important and urgent, and the biggest thing that's ever come your way. Are you alone?»

«Yes. I'm all alone.» McGarrity's tone held an odd mixture of suspicion and aroused interest.

«Nobody listening in, no recorder?»

«Goddam it, no. Get to the point.»

«We're speaking from Lord Worth's house. You know of him?»

«Don't be a damned fool. Who's 'we'?»

«My name is Michael Mitchell. My partner is John Roomer. We're licensed private investigators.»

'Tve heard of you. You're the guys who give the local law so much trouble.»

“I’d put it the other way around, but that's beside the point. What is to the point is that Lord Worth's two daughters have been kidnaped.»

«Merciful God in heaven!» There ensued what could fairly have been described as a stunned silence at the other end of the line.

Roomer smiled sardonically and covered the mouthpiece. «Can't you see the old phony grabbing his seat, with his eyes popping and big signs saying 'Promotion' flashing in front of him?»

«Kidnapped, you said?» McGarrity's voice had suddenly developed a certain hoarseness.

«Kidnapped. Abducted. Snatched.»

«Sure of this?»

«Sure as can be. The girls' rooms have all the signs of hurried and unplanned departure. Nine of the staff were bound and gagged. What would you conclude from that?»

«Kidnap.» McGarrity made it sound as if he'd made the discovery all by himself.

«Can you put a block on all escape routes? They haven't taken the girls' passports, so that rules out international flights. I hardly think the kidnapers would have taken any commercial domestic flight. Can you see Lord Worth's daughters going through any airline terminal without being recognized? I'd put a stop order and guard at every private airfield and helicopter pad in the southern part of the state. And likewise at every port, big and small, in the same area.»

McGarrity sounded bemused, befuddled. «That'd call for hundreds of policemen.»

The tone of anguished protest was unmistakable. Mitchell sighed, cupped the mouthpiece, looked at Roomer and said: «Man's out of his depth. Can I call him lunkhead?» He removed his hand. «Look, Chief McGarrity, I don't think you realize what you're sitting on. We're talking about the daughters of Lord Worth. You could pick up your phone and get a thousand cops for the asking. You could call out the National Guard if you wanted to—I'm sure Lord Worth would pick up the tab for every cent of expenses. Good God, man, there's been nothing like this since the Lindbergh kidnaping!»

«That's so, that's so.» It wasn't difficult to visualize McGarrity licking his lips. «Descriptions?»

«Not much help there, I'm afraid. They all wore stocking masks. The leader wore gloves, which may or may not indicate a criminal record. All were big, well-built men and all wore dark business suits. I don't have to give you a description of the girls, I guess.»

«Marina and Melinda?» McGarrity was a classic snob of awesome proportions, who followed with avid interest the comings and goings of alleged society, of the internationally famous and infamous. «Hell, no. Of course not. They're probably the most photographed pair in the state.»

«You'll keep this under wraps, tight as possible, for the moment?»

«I will, I will.» McGarrity had his baby clutched close to his heart, and nobody, but nobody was going to take it away from him.

«Lord Worth will have to be informed first of all. Til refer him to you.»

«You mean you haven't told him yet?» McGarrity could hardly believe his good fortune.

«No.»

«Tell him to take it easy—well, as easy as he

Scan itch

can, that is. Tell him Tm taking complete and personal charge of the investigation.»

«I'll do that, Chief.»

Roomer winced and screwed his eyes shut.

McGarrity sounded positively brisk. «Now, about the local law.»

«I suppose I've got to call them in. I'm not too happy about it: they don't exactly like us. What if they refuse to keep this under wraps . . . ?»

«In which case,» McGarrity said ominously, «just put the person concerned directly on the line to me. Anyone else know about this yet?»

«Of course not. You're the only man with the power to authorize the closing of the «escape routes. Naturally we contacted you first.»

«And you were perfectly right, Mr. Mitchell.» McGarrity was warm and appreciative, as well he might have been, for he had a very shaky re-election coming up and the massive publicity the kidnaping was bound to generate would guarantee him a virtual shoo-in. «FU get the wheels turning at this end. Keep me posted.»

«Of course, Chief.» Mitchell hung up. , Roomer looked at him admiringly. «You are an even bigger and stickier hypocrite than McGarrity.»

«Practice. Anyway, we got what we wanted.'* Mitchell's face was somber. «Has it occurred to you that the birds may have flown?»

Roomer looked equally unhappy. «Yeah. But first things first. Lord Worth next?» Mitchell nodded. 'Til pass this one up. They say that, under provocation, he has a rich command of the English language, not at all aristocratic. Td be better employed interviewing the staff. Til ply them with strong drink to help them overcome the rigors of their ordeal and to loosen their tongues—Lord Worth's reserve Dom Perignon for choice—and see what I can get out of them, I don't expect much. AH I can do is ask them about descriptions and voices and whether or not they touched anything that might give us fingerprints. Not that that will help if their prints aren't on file.»

«The brandy bit sounds the best part of your program. Ask Jenkins to bring a large one»— he looked at Robertson—»two large ones.»

Roomer was at the door when he turned. «Do you know what happened in ancient times to the bearers of bad news?»

«I know. They got their heads cut off.»

«He'll probably blame us for carelessness and lack of foresight—and he'll be right, too, even though he's just as guilty as we are.» Roomer left.

«Get me Lord Worth, Jim.»

«I would if I knew where he was. He was here last night when I left.»

«He's on the Seawitch.»

Robertson raised an eyebrow, lowered it, said nothing and turned his attention to the switchboard. He raised the Seawitch in fifteen seconds. Mitchell took the phone.

«Lord Worth, please.»

«Hold on.»

Another voice came on, a rasping gravelly voice, not as friendly.

«Whatd'you want?»

«Lord Worth, please.»

«How do you know he's here?»

«How do I—what does that matter? May I speak to him?»

«Look, mister, Tm here to protect Lord Worth's privacy. We get far too many oddball calls from oddball characters. How did you know he was here?»

«Because he told me.»

«When?»

«Last night. About midnight.»

«What's your name?»

«Mitchell. Michael Mitchell.»

«Mitchell.» Larsen's tone changed. «Why didn't you say so in the first place?»

«Because I didn't expect a Gestapo third degree, that's why. You must be Commander Lar-sen.»

«That's me.»

«Not very civil, are you?»

«I've got a job to do.»

«Lord Worth.»

«He's not here.»

«He wouldn't lie to me.» Mitchell thought it impolitic to add that he'd actually seen Lord Worth take off.

«He didn't lie to you. He was here. He left hours ago for Washington.»

Mitchell was silent for a few moments while he considered. «Any number where he can be reached?»

«Yes. Why?»

«I didn't ask you why he'd gone to Washington. It's an urgent, private and personal matter. From what I've heard of you from Lord Worth, and that's quite a bit, you'd react in exactly the same way. Give me the number and Til call back and fill you in just as soon as Lord Worth gives me clearance.»

«Your word on that?»

Mitchell gave his promise and Larsen gave him the number.

Mitchell replaced the receiver. He said to Robertson: «Lord Worth has left the Seawitch and gone to Washington.»

«He does get around. In his Boeing, I presume?»

«I didn't ask. I took that for granted. Do you think you can reach him on the plane?»

Robertson didn't look encouraging. «When did he leave the Seawitch?»

«I don't know. Should have asked, I suppose. Hours ago, Larsen said.»

Robertson looked even more discouraged. «I wouldn't hold out any hope, Mr. Mitchell. With this set I can reach out a couple of thousand miles. Lord Worth's Boeing can reach any airport not quite as far away, just as the airport can reach him. But the receiving equipment aboard the Boeing hasn't been modified to receive long-range transmissions from this set, which is very specialized. Short-range only. Five hundred miles, if that. The Boeing is bound to be well out of range by now.»

«Freak weather conditions?»

«Mighty rare, Mr. Mitchell.»

«Try anyway, Jim.»

He tried and kept on trying for five minutes, during which it became steadily more apparent that Lord Worth would have at least a bit more time before being set up for his coronary. At the end of five minutes Robertson shrugged his shoulders and looked up at Mitchell.

«Thanks for the try, Jim.» He gave Robertson a piece of paper with a number on it. «Washington. Think you can reach that?»

«That I can guarantee.»

«Try for it in half an hour. Ask for Lord Worth. Emphasize the urgency. If you don't contact him, try again every twenty minutes. You have a direct line to the study?»

«Yes.1'

'Til be there. I have to welcome the law.»

Alia*air MaeLean

Lord Worth, still happily unaware of his disintegrating world, slept soundly. The Boeing, at thirty-three thousand feet, was just beginning its descent to Dulles Airport.