"Was it really just one guy?"
"One guy. With a strong suicidal tendency he has trouble keeping to himself."
"Can I go home now?"
"Of course, lad. Where have you been?"
"Oh, I fell into a sex expansion group."
" 'Sex expansion.' What does that mean?"
"It means what it says, Da."
"I'm not sure what it says."
"People."
"I've got that bit."
"They mean to expand one's sexual awareness."
"Yes? And how do they do that?"
"By expanding one's sexual experience, Da."
"Oh? Of fifteen-year-olds?"
"Everybody, Da. One lady there must have been near eighty."
"Bless my left elbow! Was your sexual experience expanded?"
"Yes, sir."
"And did you enjoy it?"
"Yes, sir."
"My right elbow, too! Did you learn anything?"
"Yes, sir."
"And what happened to your pursuit of the HSL?"
"I got distracted, Da."
"It sounds it."
"Da, I'm too pooped to pop."
"I should think so. Would I be guessing right to suspect you need a shot of penicillin?"
"Yes, sir. That would be a good guess."
"Before you go home* stop at the office of Doctor Moore, Ted Moore. I think he's out of his office this morning, but I suggest you go there and wait for him."
"Will you call him?"
"Embarrassed, are you?"
"I might be."
"I'll explain the matter to him. I'll tell him you were infected in the line of duty."
"Thanks, Da."
"Think nothing of it. Are you all right otherwise?"
"Oh, yeah. It was wonderful, Da."
"But all good things come to an end, eh?"
"I'm exhausted."
"Too much of a good thing?"
"I was very popular there."
"Delighted to hear it. Say, I forgot to tell Randy I found his violin."
"Where?"
"In a pawnshop. Would you tell him for me, please?"
"Do you know who stole it?"
"Now, how would I know a thing like that?"
"You're a cop."
Flynn said, "I've been distracted. Now hie yourself to Doctor Moore and his needle. I'll explain to your mother."
"Okay."
"The violin is in the back of the police car. I'll bring it home, next time I come. I trust your new sexual sophistication hasn't damaged your ability to play the violin?"
"I don't think so." * "That's good," Flynn said. "See you soon."
As Flynn was looking up the telephone number of the Hotel Royale, Cocky sorted through a pile of notes he had left on the desk.
With his left hand, he picked up one and handed it to Flynn.
"What's this?"
"Insp.—Paul Levitt, sportswriter for the Herald-American called. Said he read in his own paper that Percy Leeper, according to witnesses, kept saying 'Peppermint' before he boarded the plane. Paul thought we'd like the solution to this. The next contender for the middleweight crown—the next guy Leeper would fight—is the Puerto Rican boxer, Jose Tepe' Mintz. Funny, uh?"
"It is, indeed," said Flynn. "And did Mister Levitt
happen to say if Senor Pepe Mintz wears candy-striped trunks?"
Half of Cocky's face grinned.
Flynn reached for the telephone.
"Now let's put a little pressure on His Excellency, Rashin al Khatid, the Ifadi Minister of the Exchequer."
Cocky's right arm twitched.
"He's alive?"
Flynn said, "I hope so."
"Yes?"
The voice was quiet, almost a whisper. It sounded afraid.
"Excellency?"
There was a hesitation. "Yes?"
"This is Francis Xavier Flynn."
"Good morning, Mister Xavier Flynn. Your guard is still at the door."
"Excellency, from where you are in the suite, can you see Nazim Salem Zoyad and Mihson Taha?"
"No. I am in the bedroom. They are in the living room. The door is closed."
"I wish to talk to you privately. I do not want them listening in."
"It's all right, Mister Xavier Flynn. I have noticed that the telephone extension number in this bedroom is different from the numbers in the living room and the other bedroom."
"Good. Did they hear the phone ring, do you think?"
"I picked it up right away. Also, I hear the television going. Mihson Taha is very fond of these American television programs which give away prizes to the various contestants who—"
"Excellency, I have three or four pieces of information to give you which I think, in your wisdom, should incline you to come clean."
" 'Come clean'?"
"Be honest with me."
"But of course, Mister Xavier Flynn. I—"
"I can't quite put the pieces together myself, but perhaps you can."
"I'm sure I have nothing to say other than what I said to you the other day. My government—"
"—is one of the things I want to talk to you about."
"My government—"
"—is screwing you, Excellency. Will you listen a moment?"
"Of course, Mister Xavier Flynn, but—"
"First, Excellency, your government has canceled the arms deal with the United States."
"Oh? But why should that be? Our mission was entirely successful, the documents are—"
"Second, we have unofficially understood that your government has entered into an arms agreement with the People's Republic of China."
"With Red China? That is highly unlikely, Mister Xavier Flynn. Ideologically, our governments are—"
"Third, your government has issued a statement that you died, of a heart attack, two nights ago, in Ainslee."
"Oh?"
"Were you aware of that?"
"No."
"Sometimes we're the last to know the biggest news concerning ourselves," said Flynn. "You're dead."
"But, obviously, Mister Xavier Flynn—"
"You're taking sustenance."
"—I am alive. My government, in its wisdom—"
"Fourth—the item I think you'll find of most personal significance is that, according to Zephyr Airways Passenger Services Manager, Paul Kirkman, your seats in Row 17 were not assigned seats."
"Oh?"
"They were reserved seats. Who made your travel arrangements for you?"
"Why, Mihson Taha—"
"And when you boarded Flight 80 to London, who pointed out to you that your seats were in Row 17?"
"Mihson Taha."
"Precisely."
"My head swims—?
"In fact, Excellency, I think the only reason you haven't been murdered already is because I happened to discover you alive and well at the Hotel Royale two days ago. Think about that a moment."
"I don't need to think about that. How soon can you get here, Mister Xavier Flynn?"
"Are you ready?" Flynn said to Grover, who was just coming in.
"Where are we going?"
"Hotel Royale."
"Inspector, I heard on the car radio the FBI has a big break concerning the 707 explosion. We should go to the airport."
"Want to be in for the kill, eh?" Flynn was putting on his overcoat. "We're going to the Hotel Royale."
Cocky handed Flynn another note from the desk.
"What's this, now? More news about Fucker Henry and Pepe Mintz?"
"Insp.—The lab called concerning that human hand you found in your backyard. The report is that the severed hand could not be a result of the aircraft explosion, Tuesday morning. They say that the hand was severed from its body no later than last Saturday noon."
"YE GODS!" said Flynn. "Slapped by my own severed hand!" He screwed on his hat. "Well, there's nothing I can do about that, now. Off we go, Grover. Hotel Royale."
Thirty-five
"Gro
ver, arrest these men!"
Using the key of the policeman guarding the door of the hotel suite, Flynn had stomped into the living room.
Mihson Taha and Nazim Salem Zoyad jumped up from their chairs. They had been sprawled, one on the divan, the other in an armchair, watching, "Win! Win! Win!" on television.
Grover stood inside the open door, looking confused.
"Who?"
"You!"
"Arrest who?"
"These men. Known as Abbott, Carson, or Desmond, Edwards, however you want to book them."
"What for?"
"What for?"
"That's what I said, Inspector! What for?"
"I don't care what for! For watching television in the daytime! For mass murder! It makes no difference to me."
"Inspector, we can't just arrest people."
"Arrest them for carrying a gun without a permit."
"Are they carrying a gun without a permit?"
"If not, give them yours."
"Inspector—"
"Arrest them for obstructing justice."
Mihson Taha and Nazim Salem Zoyad were standing in the room innocently enough, arms at their sides, eyes going back and forth from Grover to Flynn.
"They're not obstructing anything. In fact, we're in their room without a warrant."
The bedroom door opened.
Rashin al Khatid stood in the doorway, impeccably dressed. He folded his arms across his chest.
"Resisting arrest," rolled Flynn.
"They're not!"
"But you are! I never thought I'd live to see the day when you'd resist arresting someone."
"Inspector—"
"Get them out of here!" Flynn pointed to the uniformed policeman. "Put your handcuffs on these men. Lead them downstairs. Put them in a police car. Bring them to headquarters. And book them, damn it! I want to speak to His Excellency here."
Grover said, "Excellency?"
"Now, then, Excellency, you were about to say?"
Rashin al Khatid sat on the edge of the bed, his hands folded neatly in his lap.
Flynn had closed the door to the living room.
"Something further about the wisdom of your government?"
"I don't know what to say, Mister Xavier Flynn."
"I expect you'll find words."
"I believe my life to be in danger, as you said; however I know of no reason why it should be. I have fulfilled my mission. It was not my fault an airplane blew up in the sky. However, when your government announces to the world your death—"
"It leaves one feeling a little uncertain, right?"
"Yes."
"A little insecure?"
"Yes."
"Even a little curious, perhaps?"
"Mister Xavier Flynn, I have been a little curious from the beginning."
"Oh?"
"Yes. You see, from the beginning I have been asking myself, why me? I am not an important person. I am not a relative of the President or anyone else in the executive branch of our government. Such jobs, especially the job of Minister of the Exchequer, go to very close relatives of the President."
"I daresay."
"I have no family. No family at all. My parents are dead. I have never married. I had a brother, but he was killed in the most recent overturn of the government. At first, I thought it might be because of him, of his death, that I was chosen for this most exalted position. But, no, he was just a simple farmer who was run over at night by a Jeep. A great many people were killed in the most recent overturn of the government, Mister Xavier Flynn. I did not even take part in the overturn myself. I was at home, with a severe cold."
"I'm sorry to hear that."
"Thank you."
"Are you all better now?"
"Oh, it is completely gone, now."
"Good."
"I am just a simple bookkeeper, Mister Flynn. I am not exalted enough to be an accountant, I trust you understand. It is my function in this life to copy down numbers, which my superior gives me, into books. I copy the numbers down in one book in the morning, and another book in the afternoon."
"I've got the idea."
"You can imagine my surprise one morning when my superior came to me and told me to report to the presidential palace. To the President himself. I said, 'But who will copy the numbers into the books?' I still do not know who is copying my numbers into my books, Mister Xavier Flynn."
"So the President made you the Minister of the Exchequer right then?"
"He did me that honor. He showed me my new office in the palace, called for a car, and sent me home to a new house near the palace. Tailors came in the afternoon to make clothes for me. Ever since that magnificent day, I have been a little curious, you see."
"When was this?"
"Just six or seven weeks ago. It has all been very quick. I told myself that I had been chosen for the job because I had never offended the Fates, not to the slightest infraction, never in my life, and that—"
"Did you ever have time to work at the job of Minister of the Exchequer?"
"There seemed very little to do. Mihson Taha, my secretary, is such an efficient man. He always seemed to know what to do and told me the Minister is never to worry. Within a day or two, the President, in lengthy sessions, began explaining to me the nature of this mission. It was all very difficult to understand, but the President was most patient and kind. Then, of course, too, the American businessman, Mister Frings, of the Kassel-Winton Bank, came to visit us on this matter concerning the International Credits, and it was my honor to be his host—"
"And the next thing you knew, you were off on this mission, with your secretary and your bodyguard—"
"It has always been my desire to see the United States of America, or, in fact, to see anywhere."
"—yet you were still curious as to why you had been chosen for this big job."
"I am still curious, Mister Xavier Flynn."
"You speak English well."
"I have been devoted to the learning of English. It is unknown to anyone but my canary, but it is my pleasure in this life to write poetry in English."
"Your canary?"
"I tell you, I am alone in this life. My canary is the only one who has ever heard my poetry in English. I believe it makes her happy. She always sleeps better after hearing my poetry in English. If, in life, one can make even a little bird happy—"
"Thank you."
"A great many people speak English well in my country. My father was a houseman, you see, for—"
"Yes. Do you yet know why you were made Minister of the Exchequer?"
"I am not yet a relative of the President, Mister Xavier Flynn. However, Mihson Taha is."
"Mihson Taha is a relative of the President?"
"Yes. My secretary. He is a third cousin of the President, if I understood correctly. However, he is also a very able man—"
"I'll bet he is."
Flynn opened the door to the living room. Grover, the uniformed policeman, the secretary, and the bodyguard were gone.
"Get your passport," Flynn said to Rashin al Khatid.
"Where are we going, Mister Xavier Flynn?"
"Montreal, Canada. To see a friend. A Chinese friend. A Mister Tsin. But first I need to make a few phone calls."
Thirty-six
"Don't worry." Flynn steered His Excellency, Rashin al Khatid, the Minister of the Exchequer for the Republic of Ifad, by the elbow through the glass doors of Air Canada. "You won't see a Row 17 on this airplane. I'll see to it."
"Even returning to this airport fills me with trepidation, Mister Xavier Flynn. If someone is blowing up airplanes today, I fear I will return to my state of woe. I shall look very carefully for the portents the Fates always leave out for those who wish to be observant."
"See?" Flynn said. "We're boarding through Gate 6. What could be jollier than that?"
The Minister shrugged. "Gate 4."
"Flynn!"
Hess, with two acolytes, was leaving the coffee shop.
<
br /> "Nice of you to drop by," Hess said. "You must have heard about our break. Who's this?"
"George Harris," Flynn said, quickly calculating his alphabet and coming up with a G-H. "A fishing buddy."
"It is excellent to make your acquaintance, sir." Rashin al Khatid bowed slightly, then extended his hand, which Hess, in amazement at such formality, took. "Although I offend no living creature, be it fowl of the air or fish in the sea, I have heard most seemly things about your fish in the United States of America, in that—"
"Shut up," said Flynn. "He's drunk," Flynn said to Hess. "A bit too much of the airport chowder."
"A drinking buddy, eh, Flynn? You need another one."
"Oh, no, sir—" Rashin al Khatid began, until Flynn stepped in front of him.
"Now, then, Fibby Hess," Flynn said, "what's this big break of yours? Did you finally find a hotel room in Boston?"
The two acolytes smiled at each other over the eccentric Boston policeman.
"The thing may be wrapped up," Hess said.
" 'Thing'?"
"The blowing up of the airplane."
"Oh, that 'thing.' " Flynn nodded sagely. "And what was 'the break' that 'wrapped up' the 'thing'?"
"Fleming."
"Fleming?"
"Fleming."
"Fleming!"
"Charles Fleming, Junior, committed suicide last night. In his rooms. On what-was-it street?" Hess asked an acolyte.
"Forster Street."
"Forster Street. It was in our report that we would interview him today. So we were pretty close."
"Close as a hound's tooth to a rabbit's ass," said Flynn. "Chicky did himself in, did he?"
"You knew him?"
"I'd never seen him."
"Have to step lively, in this game, Flynn."
"And how does Chicky's committing suicide 'wrap up' the murder of over a hundred people?"
"He was pretty heavily in debt. Gambling. We knew that."
"Everybody knew that," said Flynn, "except those of us who had to find out."
"He was in way over his head. His father, the Judge, had always helped him out before. This time he was in debt for more than he could ever pay. I guess his father knew it."
"Yes?" Flynn urged the crowing Hess.
"Well, Flynn, no father takes easily to the idea of his son's knees and elbows being cracked. His spine being broken."
"Entirely understandable," said Flynn. "But you're talking about a Justice of the United States Federal Court. Don't you G-men stick together at all?"
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