I’m still with you, Sergeant.
(Laughter) Okay, I’ll try to keep it simple. We flew across town at about the level of Ninety-sixth Street, and we hovered at sixteen hundred feet directly above the Central Park Reservoir.
At what time did you reach that point?
Four forty. Craycroft was doing his little ballet over Brooklyn at that point. We could see him quite clearly—the air wasn’t very hazy. Of course, that meant he could see us, too.
Go on. What happened next?
We’d timed his circuits, of course, we knew it took him about three minutes from the time he crossed the East River into Manhattan to the time he made his turn at the top of Central Park. I started the stopwatch when he was crossing over above the Williamsburg Bridge.
That gave you a three-minute countdown to attack him?
Right. The jets were throttled down to three hundred miles art hour. They started in from a point fifteen miles due west of that point.
“That point” being his turn over Central Park?
Yes. In other words, starting from where they were, the jets would intercept Craycroft at a point roughly above Ninety-sixth Street and Amsterdam Avenue. Their run was timed to coincide with his.
I’ve got that. Proceed, please.
In the meantime the crop duster had a maximum airspeed of about a hundred and sixty miles an hour. It was a converted Piper Apache, by the way. Anyhow, it started from a point above Queens, some eight miles due west of that same interception point. The crop duster had to intercept him just ahead of the jets.
Of course.
Harris and I had our hands on the radio transmitters, ready to broadcast our jammer signals. Of course, we could see what was happening, and we’d push the buttons at the exact second when the crop duster went into action.
Now, let’s establish the exact purpose of this complicated maneuver, shall we?
The purpose was simple. To blind him and confuse him as to his location and bearings. The execution wasn’t so simple, of course.
And the jets were to deflect him from his course, is that right?
Two of them were. The third one was waiting to pounce on him.
All right. Go on with your narrative, Sergeant.
It all happened simultaneously, as I said. That’s what makes it hard to describe clearly. But I’ll do my best. Craycroft came up the East Side. He started his leftward turn, cutting across the Germantown area, slicing off a northeast corner of the park, reaching the apex of the turn right over the northern tip of the park at Lenox Avenue. At that point the crop duster had also crossed the East River and was about fifty feet above the bomber. The crop duster was flying parallel to him, a bit to his left. The crop duster passed him and was perhaps thirty feet ahead of him when the bomber, making its leftward turn, passed under the tail of the crop duster.
Meanwhile the jets were where?
Just crossing the Hudson River, a bit south of the bomber and a mile to the west.
The bomber flew under the tail of the crop duster. Then?
The crop duster dumped its load. Eighty gallons of thick white paint in a high-pressure spray.
The spray hit the nose of Craycroft’s bomber?
It covered it completely. Painted the nose of the plane white and dappled the fuselage halfway back its length. The paint completely covered Craycroft’s windshield and side windows—
Windows which were sealed, so that he couldn’t open them to look out.
That’s right. Our intention was to blind him. We succeeded. Now, as soon as we saw the paint spray issue from the tanks of the crop duster, Harris and I hit every button in sight. This activated the three transmitters and the electromagnet. The transmitters jammed his radiocompass and his LORAN navigation system. The electromagnet deflected his magnetic compass.
So the effect on Craycroft was—
He abruptly found himself blinded. His instruments were going haywire—needles spinning all over the place. He no longer knew where he was or what direction he was heading.
Then the jets—
The two Starfighters hit him in tandem. They swept directly over the bomber, about twenty feet above his tail, and as they crossed above him they made steep banking turns to the left.
What was the effect of that maneuver?
The jet exhausts from both planes struck Cray-croft’s bomber at point-blank range. The bomber was pushed—literally pushed—nearly half a mile off its course.
Straight out over the Hudson River.
Yes, sir. That was where the third Starfighter hit him. Slammed him full of twenty-millimeter cannon fire. Knocked him straight down into the river. The B-17 came apart in several pieces before it hit the river.
And the bombs?
Well, that was the crux, wasn’t it? He’d reacted the way you’d expect. He pushed the bomb-release lever.
When?
A lot faster than we’d expected. Incredibly fast reaction. I mean he had to absorb what was happening to him, and then he had to understand he was being attacked, and then he had to decide what to do about it, and then he had to hit the bomb-release lever. He got all that done in not more than three seconds flat. It was fantastic. There was no way to have predicted he’d have reacted so fast.
Give us your eyewitness recollection, please.
The bombs seemed to fall from the plane just a split second after he’d been hit by the jet exhausts from the fighters. Long before he was over the river. Of course the bombs arched outward. He’d been in a steep turnfl when we hit him, and his forward momentum had been accelerated by the crashing blow of the jet exhausts. But just the same, he was still over Manhattan when he released the bombs. That was what we hadn’t anticipated. It was my fault. Mine and Harris’. We just hadn’t counted on him being so goddamned fast.
Go on.
We could see the bombs weren’t going to hit anywhere near the middle of Harlem. But at first—as the bombs fell away, for several seconds that were real agony—we couldn’t be sure they wouldn’t hit those high-rise buildings west of Broadway. The angle of our viewpoint was flat and we couldn’t really make out the trajectory. It looked like half of the Upper West Side was going to blow up, though.
And in the end.…
They’re building a new sewage-treatment plant on the river side of the Henry Hudson Parkway. There are dozens of very tall cranes there. Construction machinery. The parkway itself has been closed for repairs, so there was no traffic on it. The bombs dropped in sticks on the highway overpass and about four of them crashed into that high tangle of construction cranes and booms. It was earsplitting. The shock wave knocked us around-in the air like a kite. A good deal of shrapnel went up, but because of the slant of the bomb fall, it all went out toward the river. It was a hell of an explosion—series of explosions. Incredible wreckage up there, as you know. The highway’s been buckled for nearly a quarter of a mile, and that sewage plant’s a complete ruin. But there were no casualties. That was the miracle. A watchman was stunned on the construction site, but he was inside the shack and it saved him. He’s recovered. There wasn’t anybody else there—they’re union workers, they’d quit work at four thirty.
Then none of the bombs actually went into the river as you’d intended?
Only two of them. They went in just offshore. The two explosions were still making incredible geysers of water when Craycroft’s plane was shot down.
How did you feel at that moment? Can you recall?
Scared shitless, Mr. Skinner. If those jets had been two seconds later, every last one of those bombs would have blown up an apartment house.
Azzard (Cont’d)
We didn’t tumble to what he was up to until it was almost too late. Don’t forget, we weren’t eyeballing him. I had a surveillance team tracking him by radio—the bleeper in his belt. We thought he’d gone into a hideout. Finally the signal started to move very slowly. When my team reported that to me, I told them to get the hell over there in a hurry. I realized what it was. He�
�d gone aboard a boat.
Your men reached the harbor and he was still in sight?
Yes. They made visual contact, commandeered a launch—a private speedboat, actually—and went after him. This was after the blowup. As they approached, they called out to him. Informed him that his partner had been shot down. I guess he hadn’t heard the explosions, that far out on the island. It’s quite a few miles from where Craycroft went down. Anyhow, they were close enough to see he was shocked by the news. They ordered him to heave to.
Did he comply?
No. He opened his boat up to full speed.
And your men gave pursuit?
Yes. The launch was much faster than Ryterband’s fishing boat. But the way he was zigzagging, they couldn’t get close enough to get aboard his boat. They fired a few revolver rounds overhead.
What did he do then?
You know what he did, of course.
I’d like to hear it from you, Mr. Azzard. We get various versions of all the events from various witnesses. You had the official reports of your own agents, who were eyewitnesses. What did Ryterband do?
He threw two bulky duffel bags overboard into the water. Then he made a sharp turn across the bows of my agents’ boat—almost swamped them—and while they were sorting themselves out, Ryterband jumped overboard.
He disappeared?
Yes. We never found him.
You made attempts to recover his body and the money?
Yes. But Long Island Sound is far too deep and turbulent to be dragged. We never recovered either the money or Ryterband’s body.
How far was that from the nearest land?
About eight miles.
Grofeld (Cont’d)
In the wake of the events, were efforts made to recover portions of the B-17 and Craycroft’s body?
We dragged the river. A lot of the debris had been carried away by the current, but we came up with a substantial portion of the forward fuselage. The cockpit. It was pretty near intact. A few of the windows had blown out, from concussion. The rest were still coated with paint.
You never found his body?
No.
Ryterband’s body hasn’t been recovered either?
Nor the five million dollars ransom, for that matter.
Was either man known to be a strong swimmer?
Ryterband was a pretty good swimmer as a boy. I wasn’t able to find out about Craycroft.
Skinner
Dear Mr. Mayor:
Enclosed are edited, partial transcripts of interviews with some of the participants in the Craycroft affair.
To date the inquiry has produced more questions than answers. By way of a preliminary report to the commission, I prefer to let the witnesses’ testimony speak for itself.
There is evidence of human error and bureaucratic foot-dragging, but there is also evidence of extraordinary competence and initiative. Captain Henry L. Grofeld, NYPD, should be singled out for particular commendation. It may be suggested that certain men of faulty judgment were found to be in dangerous positions of power during the critical moments, but the most deadly thrust of the crisis was averted by decisive men. That such men were called upon and were available may be regarded as lucky coincidence; yet I am inclined to believe it was largely a matter of natural selection. Mr. Jack Harris, Sergeant William J. O’Brien (NYPD), and Mr. David Eastlake of the Federal Reserve Bank may seem at first glance to have been fortuitously placed, but one can also infer that when crises occur, men will appear who are willing and able to confront them.
One cannot be sure that the solutions offered in media res by Brigadier General Michael J. Adler, Jr., or by Joel Azzard, District FBI Director, might not have proved as minimally destructive as the method actually employed. Men of goodwill but of different persuasions often find common ground on which to pool their resources in time of urgent crisis. To coin a cliché, adversity brings out the best in us all.
For those reasons I do not believe any useful purpose would be served by empaneling an additional superagency designed to deal with extraordinary crises which may occur in future. Freak incidents, by definition, cannot be anticipated or prepared for. Adding another layer to the bureaucracy would not contribute usefully to the pool of talent currently available—a pool whose flexibility, as we have seen, is a major virtue. We cannot codify every possible crisis; we can only muddle on.
Sincerely,
Robert Wendell Skinner, Ph.D.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this ebook onscreen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
copyright © 1975 by Drew Mallory
cover design by Mumtaz Mustafa
This edition published in 2011 by MysteriousPress.com/Open Road Integrated Media
180 Varick Street
New York, NY 10014
www.openroadmedia.com
EBOOKS BY BRIAN GARFIELD
FROM MYSTERIOUSPRESS.COM
AND OPEN ROAD MEDIA
Available wherever ebooks are sold
MYSTERIOUSPRESS.COM
FIND OUT MORE AT
WWW.MYSTERIOUSPRESS.COM & WWW.OPENROADMEDIA.COM
FOLLOW US:
@eMysteries and Facebook.com/MysteriousPressCom
@openroadmedia and Facebook.com/OpenRoadMedia
Videos, Archival Documents,
and New Releases
Sign up for the Open Road Media
newsletter and get news delivered
straight to your inbox.
FOLLOW US:
@openroadmedia and
Facebook.com/OpenRoadMedia
SIGN UP NOW at
www.openroadmedia.com/newsletters
Target Manhattan Page 18