by James Grady
Kevin shook his head. "I doubt it. Unless he had a contact there. But with him, you never know."
The driver grunted as he reached for the thermos of coffee. Kevin took another bite from his sandwich. He remembered that the last time he had been in Cincinnati was to reactivate Malcolm. He briefly wondered bow Malcolm was doing, then swallowed and thought about a secretary with the CIA's New York office.
The bus driver delayed announcing his first boarding call until five minutes before departure. He liked the proprietor of the truck stop, and he knew the longer he let the passengers stay, the more they might buy. It never hurt to do a friend a favor was the driver's way of thinking. About half his passengers immediately boarded the bus, including the two agents who had eaten in booths. Within the next two minutes all but five passengers were seated: the young male agent, the-female agent, one old lady, a sailor and Rose.
The old lady loudly finished her coffee, burped and counted out pennies to pay her check. She climbed aboard less than three minutes before departure time. That left the sailor, two American agents and their quarry. Rose seemed in no hurry. The two American agents grew nervous.
The sailor provided the woman agent with a lucky break.. All during the trip he had ogled her. Elaine was not particularly attractive, but then he was not a discriminating lover. She was the only single woman above eighteen and below fifty traveling alone on the bus. Elaine had noticed the sailor's attention with some amusement, fantasizing his reaction if he learned she carried a gun and a radio in her purse and a flat, thinly sheathed razor-sharp knife taped to her stomach. As the old lady paid her check, the sailor decided it was time to make his move. He leaned over and with no attempt to avoid bathing Elaine with his rancid breath, asked if she would walk back to the bus and share his seat with him. Elaine quickly seized her opportunity. She loudly, firmly declined his offer and told him to go away and leave her alone or she would call the driver. The rebuffed sailor uttered a very explicit suggestion before swaggering away. The incident gave Elaine an excuse to delay boarding until the last possible minute, allowing her to stay with Rose.
Nurich stood. He bad paid when the waitress brought his food, so he had no need to give any money to the cashier. One minute remained until boarding time. Elaine carefully avoided looking at his face, but both she and her companion agent, who was also preparing to leave, noticed Rose bad left his suitcase next to his counter stool. Neither of the agents said a word. No one else in the restaurant seemed to have noticed. The waitresses were behind the counter filling sugar dispensers, the cashier couldn't see the bag from her position and the cook was in the kitchen. The only other customers were three truckers on the other side of the counter well. I
The male agent preceded Rose to the bus. Nurich’s seat was toward the front of the vehicle. The three male agents all bad seats behind him. Elaine sat one row ahead of him. The young male agent and Nurich boarded the bus less than thirty seconds before departure.
Elaine was frantic. She had to choose between watching the bag and following the quarry. She had no time to consider her options carefully or call for help. The Russian might have left the bag for a pickup or he might actually have forgotten it. If she pulled out her radio to report to Kevin, the contact would be warned or Rose might see her and the whole operation would be blown. If, she ran to the rest room, the bag would be out of her sight. She might miss the bus, possibly forfeiting everything: If she didn't board the bus, Rose might realize someone, stayed behind to watch his bag. She didn't want to risk upsetting any of Rose's plans by playing the dumb, helpful female and returning his bag. She bit her lip, then unconsciously used a variation of the same expletive as the sailor and ran for the bus, boarding just ahead of the driver.
Slowly, ponderously, the bus backed away from the truck stop. The two agents inside the bus who had boarded with the first call did not know about the bag, but they knew something might be wrong. The frenzy in boarding had never happened before. Anything inexplicable or out of the ordinary automatically meant trouble. But, like their two colleagues who knew about the bag, they were helpless. They could communicate with no one. Rose sat calmly in his seat.
The bus pulled abreast of the, gas pumps, then turned to drive off the concrete slab and onto the access road. Nurich moved just as the driver stopped to check the road for traffic.
Somehow he gracefully managed to dart to the front and speak to the driver. The girl overheard him say, "Please, let me out here. I've left my bag and anyway I've decided I'll catch another bus into the city. I'll straighten things out with your office in Cincinnati."
The startled driver automatically hit the air release to open the doors. Nurich was off the bus before the driver thought. of anything to say. He shrugged his shoulders, shut the door and pointed the bus down the access road.
Elaine shuddered when the bus doors slammed behind Rose's - departing back. She briefly closed her eyes, then turned to her colleagues. Looking at their faces, she realized they felt the same helplessness. They couldn't stop the bus and charge after Rose or he would know for sure and the mission was blown. He might already know, but then again this might have been a precautionary move. The bus .slowed slightly as the driver prepared to ease through the stop sign, over to the freeway ramp, then onto the interstate.
Elaine looked out to the highway. Both sets ' of scout cars were too far away to pick up Rose at the truck stop in time to learn if he made a contact there, even assuming she could radio them immediately. She had to risk it, for while the odds she would blow the mission were good if she acted, they were definite if she did nothing.
She ran to the front, half mumbling, half yelling to the bus driver, "Please, please stop and let me out here! I'm pregnant and I have morning sickness and I'm going to throw up. I'll go back to the truck stop and call my husband in Cincinnati and have him meet the bus to get my luggage and then come pick me up."
Not waiting for the bus driver to respond, she hit the door-release lever and scurried from the bus while it was still moving. She stumbled, but managed not to fall.
The confused bus driver looked through the window at his second passenger to desert him in less than a minute. 'His mouth opened in amazement, then he shook his head philosophically and slowly pushed the door lever to close. You just never know what some days will bring. Elaine stood still as the bus pulled away. When it passed by her, nothing screened her from the truck stop. If Rose were still watching his rear, he would see her standing there. If he were armed with a gun, he could kill her before she saw him. She unconsciously braced herself for the bullet's shock.
It never came.
Slowly, very slowly, she walked toward the truck stop, her purse clenched tightly to her chest. One of the attendants wiping the windows of a car at the pumps glanced at her curiously, but he said nothing. She looked in the car. It was empty.
Cautiously, very cautiously, she walked to the side door of the restaurant. Behind her she beard the woosh as a departing truck released its air brakes, but a quick glance over her shoulder showed her little more than its blue form heading toward the interstate. She, peered, around the corner, through the caf6's window, past her reflection in the glass. Rose wasn't inside the building. She quickly entered, her heels nervously tapping on the dirty tile floor as she walked through the restaurant, searching, searching. She passed a booth where two truckers talked to the plump waitress. They stopped talking to stare at her, but she paid no attention to them. She passed from the restaurant into the filling station. Another attendant stood behind the counter filling out order forms.
The door clicked behind her and she almost screamed. Her hand darted, into her purse and she whirled in a half crouch. The owner of the car parked at the service station's pumps, a fat, balding economist from Kent State University, looked up to find a strange woman staring at him with what he considered a crazy expression on her face. Knowing nothing was wrong with him, he glanced, over his shoulder. He glanced back at her and saw she had followed his g
aze. Watch out for crazy ladies, he said to himself.
Elaine closed her eyes briefly with relief. Control yourself, she thought, think about it. She quickly walked outside and circled the truck stop. No sign of him. She reached in her bag for her radio, then thought again. She ran back inside, all pretense of maintaining a quiet cover abandoned.
"Excuse me," she blurted to the waitress and the truck drivers, "I'm a policewoman. There was a man on that bus that just left here. We were following him. He got off the bus and came back here. Where did he go?"
The two men in the booth and the waitress exchanged wary, puzzled looks. The agent wanted to hit them and scream at them for taking so long to reply.
"You say you're a policewoman?" ventured one of the drivers.
"Yes, and this is very important Please, quickly tell me, did you see anyone come back from the bus?"
The first truck driver frowned, but the waitress said, "Yeah, I seen him. He walked right through here and out through the filling station."
"But where did he go?" Elaine's voice rose almost to a scream. "Did you see where he went?"
"He went into the gas station, like I said," the waitress replied. She was getting a bit nervous. Three weeks before, a drunken woman tourist had somehow acquired a butcher knife and slashed up a good deal of the restaurant before the state police arrived. The manager partially blamed the waitress. Lord knows why, she thought. She didn't want a repeat of that scene.
"But he's not there now!" shouted Elaine.
"Well, I can't help that!" screamed the waitress in reply.
"Look," said the second trucker, nervously trying to calm everyone down, "why don't you just sit here for a minute and well talk about it and then we'll go look for him?"
"There's isn't time," replied Elaine, her voice growing quite cold. "Did any other vehicles leave here after the bus?" The waitress, somewhat mollified by Elaine's shift in tone, shrugged her shoulders. "Just that Pulaski rig, but he comes through here all the time.
"Say," interjected the first truck driver, "now that you mention it, I saw old Fritz himself driving that rig. And when he Pulled out of here, he had a partner with him."
"Where were they going? Do you know where they were going?"
"Well, no, but Fritz runs out of Chicago, so---"
"Stay here!" commanded Elaine. She rushed outside and looked down the interstate. She saw nothing, but by the time she had glanced both ways she had her radio out.
"Dove Three [her code name] to Central, Dove Three to Central. We have a fire. Repeat, we have a fire. Come
Two miles away Kevin jerked his thumb, directing his driver to the side of the road. The car behind them followed suit. Kevin looked down the road as be grabbed for the microphone. The exit to the truck stop where Rose had last been reported was just visible.
"Dove Three, this is Central. Where are you and what the hell is happening?"
"Rose took a dive, dropped off the bus just before it left the truck stop. I followed, but I was too late. I think Rose is in a truck which just left. I saw one pull out headed toward Cincinnati about that time. A citizen reports that it might have had an extra passenger. It's blue and is probably a few minutes behind the bus. I'll need help to hold the locals until we've cleared them."
Kevin's mouth was dry as he nervously asked, "Dove. Three, did Rose make the surveillance?"
"I don't know, I don't see how. I think he's just being careful and he's damn good."
"Obviously. Stand by.
"Central to all units. Did you read the preceding transmission?" One by one of the three other road units and the Cincinnati teams affirmed that they knew the bad news. "Okay, this is what happens. Unit Four [the car trailing the bus with Kevin] will go to the truck stop and help Dove Three secure and build a cover there." The car behind Kevin pulled out and headed toward the truck stop. "Unit One, stick with the bus. Unit Two, drop behind the bus and slow, down. With any luck the truck should pass you within a few minutes. Try to see if Rose is riding it. At any rate, get the license, description, everything. Then consider yourself blown. I'll pick up the tail on it solo until units from Cincinnati help us. I may pull Unit One onto it too. But until Unit Two makes Rose, consider us in trouble. Big trouble."
Kevin didn't bother to sign off. He hung up the microphone so vigorously he almost broke the retaining hook. "Son of a bitch," he muttered as the car pulled away, "son of a bitch."
His driver said nothing for over a mile. As they passed the truck stop, he asked quietly, "Sir? Should we check in with headquarters and let them know the bad news?"
Kevin stared out the window -in silence, watching the rolling hills pass by. Finally he replied, "What for? We might not know it all yet."
They rode in silence. for five minutes before the radio crackled. "Unit Two to Central, Unit Two to Central. The truck passed us thirty seconds ago and is now just out of sight. I didn't call in for fear they might use the mirrors and see me talking on a radio. We're ninety percent sure the passenger is Rose. Repeat, we think it is Rose. We have all the ID numbers shown on the truck, description too. Standing by."
"Okay," radioed Kevin, tension easing from his voice, "radio it to Washington a clear channel. I want to know everything they can tell me about that truck, and I want to know it now. Buck them to the old man if they need authorization. We'll pick up the trail. Cincinnati, have units ready to relieve us as soon as possible. T, don't want to be blown. Unit One, drop off the bus. We'll keep the truck in a box until Cincinnati relieves us. Central clear."
Kevin slouched in his seat. The driver increased his speed,- passing the few cars on the expressway. In two minutes they caught up to the truck just as they reached Cincinnati's city limits. Carefully keeping the microphone out of sight, Kevin verified with Unit 2 that it was indeed the suspect truck. Then he ordered his driver to drop back.
Kevin glanced into the rearview mirror. He saw his assistant in the backseat nervously looking in-the mirror also. Kevin smiled, shook his head and said, "That was what you call close."
After jumping off the bus, Nurich quickly strode back to the truck stop. He entered the restaurant's side door and walked past the counter, barely stopping his motion to scoop up his bag. Without -a glance at anyone he walked through the restaurant's connecting door to the service station, out the service station side door, and strolled across the pavement to where a semi-truck stood idling. He walked to the passenger's side and jerked the door open. He looked up at the fat, nervous truck driver and said, "Mr. Pulaski? I'm Mr. Jones, and I believe you're waiting for me. Shall we get going? We have a long journey."
Nurich tossed his bag into the compartment and climbed into the passenger's seat. The truck driver swallowed. His jowls shook as he engaged the clutch to move his big rig toward the interstate.
Mr. Pulaski wished he believed in St. Christopher, even if the saint had been busted.
9
"What do you mean by that?" said the Caterpillar sternly. "Explain yourself!"
"I can't explain myself I'm afraid, Sir," said Alice, "because I'm not myself, you see."
"I don't see," said the Caterpillar.
"I'm afraid I can't put it more clearly," Alice replied very politely, "for I can't understand it myself to begin with; and being so many different sizes in a day is very confusing."
"It isn't," said the Caterpillar.
"Well, perhaps you haven't found it so yet," said Alice; "but when you have to turn into a chrysalis-you will some day, you know-and then after that into a butterfly, I should think you'll feel it a little queer, won't you?"
"Not a bit," said the Caterpillar.
"Well, perhaps your feelings may be different," said Alice, "all I know is, it would feel very queer to me."
"You!" said the Caterpillar contemptuously. "Who are you?
He enjoyed puzzles. He always had. It was so interesting to see the way they unraveled, almost with a will of their own. Almost any kind of puzzle fascinated, him, from the standard American
parlor games to the intricacies of history. But then so much of life fascinated him. He looked at Malcolm's unconscious form stretched out on the bed. Fascinating, he thought, simply fascinating. And even more fascinating was the wondrous way the puzzle unraveled. His gaze shifted to Malcolm's exposed forearm. Three red spots showed on Malcolm's light tan. Across the room the girl rearranged her instruments on top of the bureau. He had to admit she was competent. She administered just the right mixtures in just the right amounts. He hadn't needed to challenge her once, which was lucky, for while applied chemotherapy fascinated him, he hadn't devoted much time to learning the intricacies the Center taught the girl. His specialty lay in another area.
The girl turned to face him. She said nothing, but she clearly awaited orders.
"I think," he said slowly, speaking in English, "that the situation has changed enough to warrant a conference with our control."
His words surprised the girl. "Why?" she said. "He'll have no new suggestions. By the time he could get to the director it would be too late for them to formulate a new plan."
"I know," replied her companion. He smiled. "But our control does have the authority to approve a contingency plan I request."
The girl said nothing, but he sensed she wasn't pleased. She's just not interested enough in life, he thought. How very fortunate that he was in charge! He changed his inflection only slightly, but an air of command rang through his words. "You will keep him here until I return. Use the time while I am gone to learn everything you can about him. Not the facts, but his personality, what he likes and doesn't like, what he fears. Above all, what he fears. I don't expect a miracle of psychoanalysis from you, but I want you to know him quite well. It might help to pull a few obnoxious personal secrets from him. They can always be thrown at him in important moments."
"You plan to let him live?"
"More than that, Comrade, much more than that. I plan to use him."
"How? I doubt we can bribe or convert him. We might frighten him long enough to get a little something out of him, but he is almost worthless. He's not even a professional. Why would he want to help us?"