Authors: Alistair MacLean
"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."
*Td 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?"
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"Kidnaped, you said?" McGarrity's voice had suddenly developed a certain hoarseness.
"Kidnaped. 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
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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
ill
Alistair Mael^ean
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 switch-
Seawitch
board. 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."
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"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."
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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.
lift
Chapter 5
Worth, a glass of scotch in one hand and an illegal Cuban cigar in the other, was comfortably ensconced in a deep armchair in the very plush office of the Assistant Secretary of State, He should have been contented and relaxed: he was, in fact, highly discontented and completely unrelaxed. He was becoming mad, steadily and far from slowly, at the world in general and at the four other people in that room in particular.
The four consisted of Howell, the Assistant Secretary, a tall, thin, keen-faced man with steel-framed glasses who looked like, and in fact was,
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a Yale professor. The second was his personal assistant, whose name, fittingly enough, Lord Worth had failed to catch, for he had about him the gray anonymity of a top-flight civil servant. The third was Lieutenant-General Zweicker, and all that could be said about him was that he looked every inch a general. The fourth was a middle-aged stenographer who appeared to take notes of the discussion whenever the mood struck her, which didn't appear to be very often: most likely, long experience had taught her that most of what was said at any conference wasn't worth noting anyway.
Lord Worth said: *Tm a very tired man who has just flown up from the Gulf of Mexico. I have spent twenty-five minutes here and appear to have wasted my time. Well, gentlemen, I have no intention of wasting my time. My time is as important as yours. Correction. It's a damn sight more important. 'The big brush-off,' I believe it's called."
"How can you call it a brush-off? You're sitting in my office and General Zweicker is here. How many other citizens rate that kind of treatment?"
"The bigger the facade, the bigger the brush-off. I am not accustomed to dealing with underlings. I am accustomed to dealing with the very top, which I haven't quite reached yet, but will. The cool, diplomatic, deep-freeze treatment will not work. I am no troublemaker, but Til go any
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Seawitch
lengths to secure justice. You can't sweep me under your diplomatic carpet, Mr. Howell. I told you recently that there were international threats against the Seawitch, and you chose either to disbelieve me or ignore me. I come to you now with additional proof that I am threatened—three naval vessels heading for the Seawitch—and still you propose to take no action. And I would point out, incidentally, if you still don't know independently of the movements of those vessels, then it's time you got yourselves a new intelligence service."
General Zweicker said: "We are aware of those movements. But as yet we see no justification for taking any kind of action. You have no proof that what you claim is true. Suspicions, no more. Do you seriously expect us to alert naval units and a squadron of fighter-bombers on the unproven and what may well be the unfounded suspicions of a private citizen?"
"That's it in a nutshell," Howell said. "And I would remind you, Lord Worth, that you're not even an American citizen."
" 'Not even an American citizen.' " He turned to the stenographer. "I trust you made a note of that." He lifted his hand as Howell made to speak. "Too late, Howell. Too late to retrieve your blunder—a blunder, I may say, of classical proportions. Not an American citizen? I would point out that I paid more taxes last year than all your precious oil companies in the States
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combined—this apart from supplying the cheapest oil to the United States. If the level of competence of the State Department is typical of the way this country is run, then I can only rejoice in the fact that I still retain a British passport. One law for Americans, another for the heathen beyond the pale. Even-handed justice. 'Not an American citizen.' This should make a particularly juicy tidbit for the news conference I" intend to hold immediately after I leave."
"A news conference?" HoweU- betrayed unmistakable signs of agitation,
"Certainly." Lord Worth's tone was as grim as his face. "If you people won't protect me, then, by God, Til protect myself."
Howell looked at the general, then back to Lord Worth. He strove to inject an official and intimidating note into his voice. "I would remind you that any discussions that take place here are strictly confidential."
Lord Worth eyed him coldly. "It's always sad to see a man who has missed his true vocation. You should have been a comedian, Howell, not a senior member of government. Confidential. That's good. How can you remind me of something you never even mentioned before? Confidential. If there wasn't a lady present Fd tell you what I really think of your asinine remark. God, it's rich, a statement like that coming from the number two in a government department with so splendid a record of leaking state secrets to