Mission: Earth Death Quest

by Ron L. Hubbard

  "Well, we're on our way," said Heller. And he shot the red cab into motion up onto the recently completed West Side Elevated Highway, and was shortly speeding north at a high rate.

  I had my destination.

  I phoned Grafferty's office. "Your man is heading north to the 79th Street Boat Basin!"

  "Well, I sure as hell hope you're right. Grafferty just this minute got through chewing my (bleep) out. He wasn't at that statue place, he wasn't in the Stockbroker Bar and the (bleeped) bartender wouldn't even give him the time of day. You sure this is on the level this time?"

  "Tall blond man, blue eyes. You tell Grafferty you got this tip from a Fed and tell him to get a move on!

  You're dealing with Federal satellite surveillance, buster!"

  "That's different," said the office man. "Yes, sir. Right away! But what's the Federal interest? He'll want to know."

  "Secret Federal New York Grand Jury indictment," I lied. "We want Grafferty to make the public pinch so we don't show our hand."

  "Ah, a standard Federal operation! Get the man for anything at any cost. And Grafferty gets the credit?"

  "Tell him TO GET MOVING!" I half screamed. I hung up. I turned anxiously to the viewer. Heller must not be left to get away, the criminal. He was the cause of all my troubles after all! And he must pay for it!

  Chapter 4

  The 79th Street Boat Basin was in the throes of spring. The long lines of small pleasure craft, winter-landed on the dock in chocks, lay like a forest of leafless trees. Other assorted yachts bobbed around the landing stages. Many workmen swarmed around, apparently readying these millionaire toys for the joys of a boating summer.

  This was the view that met Heller as he slid the red cab along the ranks at low speed, avoiding piles of this and that and people.

  A sign said Dockmaster and Heller stopped. He went in the hut. A small, round man looked up from a desk.

  Heller gave the probable time and date. "Five Smeller cabs," he concluded. "Did you see them?"

  "Matey," said the dockmaster, "they come and go and I don't pay much attention."

  "It's quite important," said Heller. "I have to find out where they went from here."

  "Wait a minute," said the dockmaster. "The looker! Would the woman have been a real tomato?"

  "I suppose you could say so."

  The dockmaster looked at his log. "Yeah, I remember now. They rented a service boat to take out the baggage. Too much for their speedboats. They used a Squeeza credit card, Sultan Bey and Concubine. I remember the boys saying, 'Jesus, look at that God (bleeped) concubine, those foreign (bleepards) sure are taking over.' What a looker! She sure was sad, though, but I guess anybody would be sad being sold off to some God (bleeped) Turk."

  He got up from the desk and walked outside and looked out at the river. Then he yelled over the side of the dock to a man working with some rope on the deck of a miniature tug. "Remember that looker the other day? What yacht was that you took the baggage to?"

  "The Morgan yacht," the man called back. "The Golden Sunset."

  "Oh, well, that figgers," said the dockmaster. "She's got too much draft to come in here. Too big."

  "How do you find out where yachts go?" said Heller.

  "Oh, I dunno," said the dockmaster. "Nobody keeps much track of documented yachts. They don't have to clear in and out unless they've been foreign. You could try Boyd's of London, the insurance people. They keep track of ships."

  "Thank you," said Heller.

  "Glad to be of help. That sure was some sad tomato."

  A far-off wail of police screamers was audible, getting louder. Aha!"Bulldog" Grafferty was on the trail!

  Heller went to a phone kiosk near the dockmaster office. He called to Mortie, sitting in the red cab, "I think we've got it."

  He ruffled through the book and got the number. He got a British hello. Heller said, "I want to know where the Morgan yacht, the Golden Sunset, is."

  "Put you onto Shipping Intelligence, old boy."

  Another came on and Heller repeated his question.

  "The Morgan yacht?" Shipping Intelligence said. "We have only one Golden Sunset in the American Yacht Registry but it's crossed out. Oh, yes. It was the Morgan yacht but I'm afraid, old boy, that she is no more."

  "You mean it's been LOST?"

  "Let me check with legal, old fellow. Just hold on."

  Police screamers penetrated the glass of the phone kiosk. Heller glanced down the dock. Three police cars were racing up, full blast, toward the dockmaster office. I hugged myself in glee.

  "Are you there?" said the British voice. "I'm afraid you caught us with the panties half off, old boy. The yacht fell between registries. She should now be in the Foreign Yacht Registry. Been bought by some barbarian Turk and transferred to the Turkish flag. We simply hadn't reentered it."

  "Could you tell me where she is now?" begged Heller.

  "Oh, really. We can't possibly give out information like that. Confidential, doncha know."

  "I'm trying to collect something," said Heller.

  "Oh, a bill collector. That's different. Haifa mo'. I'll see if we have it on the board."

  Heller looked out. Haifa dozen cops had off-loaded and were racing around grabbing people, demanding answers.

  Cops raced by the phone kiosk.

  I blinked! They hadn't looked into the kiosk!

  Heller cracked the door slightly. A cop had the dockmaster at bay. "We're looking for the Whiz Kid! If you've seen him, you better (bleep) well report it or we'll run you in as an accomplice!"

  The dockmaster was shaking his head. The cop gave him a shove and went off to grab somebody else.

  "Are you there? Yes, we have the Golden Sunset. She's at anchor off Gardner's Basin, Atlantic City."

  Heller thanked him and hung up. And then I blinked!

  Heller walked out of the kiosk and up to the dock-master. He indicated the rows of dry-landed vessels in their chocks. "Are any of those for sale?"

  "Usually," said the dockmaster. "With the price of fuel, the amount of use is cut down. It's spring, though, and a lot of owners think that's the time to get a high price. You know boats?"

  "Well, not too well," said Heller, "though I was in the Fleet."

  "Yeah, well, then you don't want no sailboat. Get you in trouble if you're not experienced." He started to walk down the line of small craft. "There's a trawler type there I know for a fact is for sale. Diesel. Good sea boat. Patterned after the fishermen." They were looking up at a forty-foot cabin cruiser.

  "Is it fast?" said Heller.

  "Oh, hell no," said the dockmaster. "Who wants a fast boat? Reason you buy them is to get away from things. But you don't look like you're a yacht buyer. You interested for somebody else?"

  "A company," said Heller.

  "Oh, well. Why fast?"

  A cop rushed by.

  "Let's just say I like to get away from things fast," said Heller. "What's that one?"

  "Why that's a Sea Skiff."

  "Skiff?" said Heller. "I thought a 'skiff' was just a little rowboat."

  "Oh, well, hell, I don't know why Chriscraft called them that. Most speedboats, you see, do all right on lakes and smooth water. But that one is an oceangoing speedboat. It's thirty-six feet, heavy built to take the pounding of the waves. But look at it. No cabin, just an open cockpit. The bunks, if you can call them that, are up under the foredeck."

  "Is it fast?" said Heller.

  "Oh, hell, yes. Does forty knots in heavy ocean waves if you can stand the pounding. But your company wouldn't want that."

  Heller was looking up at the dry-landed craft. It was heavily tarpaulined but you could see the sleek, almost vicious, lines of it. "Why not?" said Heller, as a cop raced by in front of him.

  "Why not? Listen, she's powered with gasoline engines, that's why not. Two Chryster Crowns, huge things. They make her just stand up on her rudders and rocket. Costs a fortune to run."

  "I think my company would be interested," sa
id Heller.

  "One is born every minute," said the dockmaster. "Hey, Barney! Is this Sea Skiff for sale?"

  A rugged-looking sea dog came over. "That Sea Skiff? Hell, yes, it's for sale. The Faustino mob has been trying to offload it since last year. The Corleones sort of drove them off the sea, you know. They used to use it to race out beyond the continental shelf and pick up dope cargos off freighters in it. Has radar, autopilot and even radio controls."

  A cop was looking under tarpaulins and into the cockpits of the beached craft.

  "How much?" said Heller.

  "Oh, Jesus. I don't know," said Barney. "They carry it on their books for twenty thousand, they said. But I think five would take it."

  "Could you get it in the water and get it gassed up and running?"

  "You buying it?" said Barney, incredulous.

  Heller was peeling off thousand-dollar bills.

  "Jesus," said Barney. He turned and yelled at a workman, "Hey, Fitz! Run the travelift over here and get this Sea Skiff in the water before this guy changes his mind!"

  Heller handed five thousand-dollar bills to Barney with another thousand for service, gas and water.

  In a casual way, Heller walked over to the phone kiosk. He dialled a number. A girl answered. Heller said, "Tell Izzy she's in Atlantic City aboard the yacht Golden Sunset. I'm handling." He hung up. He was about to leave the kiosk when he stopped, door partly open. He put his hand back on the phone.

  A cop was walking up to the red cab. He glared at Mortie in the front seat. "We're looking for Wister," snarled the cop, "and you're a lead! You tell me who

  your fare up here was or I'll have your hack license with one short call to city hall! You told us nobody. It must have been somebody!"

  "All right, all right," said Mortie. "That kid over there is driving for me today. He brought us up here hoping for a fare. Known him for years. Taught him how to hack, in fact."

  "What's his name?" snarled the cop, glancing toward the kiosk.

  "Clyde Barrow."

  The cop took quick steps to a cop car and made a call. He came back. "He used to be on the most-wanted list but you're lucky there's no outstanding warrants. Now you listen to me carefully: we're after Wister. You keep your eyes open. You see anything of him, you report it!"

  "You mean the Whiz Kid?" said Mortie. "Jesus, what's he done now?"

  "Bigamy, that's what!" said the cop. "Stealin' cities, robbin' trains. But now he's really done it. Married TWO women!"

  "Jesus," said Mortie. "That IS asking for trouble. That Whiz Kid don't care WHAT he takes on!"

  "Shows he's crazy," said the cop. "We also got a commitment order. So you keep your eyes open!"

  Grafferty came up. "You and Sloan," he said to the cop, "stay here in case he shows up. We coulda been ahead of him." He walked off and got in his car.

  I was the one who thought he was crazy. What were all these cops doing practically WALKING on Heller?

  I phoned Grafferty's office. "You God (bleeped) fools!" I said. "He's right there in the phone kiosk!"

  The office man hung up on me.

  In an agony of suspense, I stuck to the viewer.

  Heller was watching the launch of the Sea Skiff. The travelift was a big contraption on wheels that lifted the large craft up into its belly and then rolled over to the dock edge and lowered the vessel into the water.

  Workmen swarmed down into the oceangoing speedboat. They opened its engine covers and did things. They lowered in some new batteries. They got the engines going and checked to see if the cooling water was pumping. Then they ran it over to the Octopus Marine fuel float and gave it gas and oil and water.

  Heller walked over to Mortie. "How much do you owe in bills?"

  "Two G's. I'll never be able to pay off."

  "Here's two G's," said Heller, "and another big one for your help today."

  "Jesus! You been robbing banks?"

  "They think so," said Heller. "Now, take some time off and get your eyes well. So long."

  "Wait a minute. I can see well enough to know they put a man-killing boat in the water for you. You're not going out in that, are you?"

  "I think so," said Heller.

  "Jesus," said Mortie. "You wait right here!" He drove away at a mad rate.

  Barney came over. "I checked the safety gear. If the Coast Guard stops you, you got the right foghorns and all that."

  Heller said, "You got some charts?"

  "Oh, there's a lot of old charts in the forward bunk space, up and down the coast. How far you goin'?"

  "Just cruisin' around," said Heller.

  "Well, if you're goin' further than a hundred miles,

  I better yell over to the float and tell 'em to put extra gas aboard."

  "You do that," said Heller.

  A cop walked over, eyeing Heller, the same cop who had talked to Mortie. "Come over here," he said, gesturing.

  Heller walked over to him.

  "Did you know there was a reward out for the Whiz Kid?" said the cop. "Ten big ones."

  "That's not very much," said Heller.

  "Well, I agree," said the cop, "considering that he's a notorious outlaw, but it is money. Now look, these (bleepards) around here are playing it dumb. Level with me. You was here when we arrived. Did you see anybody arrive or leave?"

  "Not a soul," said Heller.

  The cop shook his head in bafflement and looked up and down the dock.

  Mortie screeched his cab to a halt in front of the dockmaster office. Heller went over.

  "Here," said Mortie. "From me to you. Ten pastrami sandwiches and a special submarine with lots of garlic. And a six-pack of nonalcoholic beer. But that ain't what I went for. Man, will you need this!" He shoved a package into Heller's hands. "Dramamine. Seasick pills, kid. You're a hacker and you don't know what you're getting into. Let me tell you, that sea is dangerous! Waves as tall as the Empire State Building!"

  "Gee, thanks," said Heller.

  "So long, kid. But get back to something healthy like hacking." Mortie sped away, caroming offa cop car.

  Barney was there again. "Who do we make the bill of sale to? The Coast Guard will want to see it."

  "Close Shaves, Incorporated," said Heller.

  I was going absolutely crazy! These dumb cops had him right in their hands! The whole situation was insane!

  Heller was shoving papers in his pocket and climbing down into the oceangoing speedboat, which bobbed as he boarded it. He studied out the controls. A dock-hand cast him off.

  Heller was standing behind the windshield, sun blazing down upon the chrome controls. One hand was on the wheel. With the other he waved at Barney and the dockmaster and they waved back.

  Heller fed some throttle and the Sea Skiff leaped like it was spurred.

  Throwing two gigantic plumes of spray, it sped out into the Hudson and banked as it curved away to the south!

  The mighty roar of pounding engines lifted the vessel high in the water. It was picking up speed, planing.

  HE WAS GETTING AWAY!

  Chapter 5

  The Coast Guard!

  They had mentioned it twice.

  Ah, yes! I had the exact way to stop him now. But I needed just a little more data.

  Viewed from the speeding craft, seen through a white fan of spray, the skyscrapers were going by like a picket fence.

  There was no wind this bright spring day aside

  from an occasional cat's paw. The clouds were actually reflected in the blue Hudson!

  Heller was fiddling with a control attached by cord to a gyrocompass. He was evidently figuring out what it was and how it worked. It did not take him long.

  He put his eye on a centerline behind the windshield, sighted past the chock on the foredeck and spotted the Statue of Liberty several miles ahead. He pressed a switch on the autopilot control and, utterly ignoring the crowds of traffic on the river, opened the companionway door that led down under the foredeck.

  There were two narrow bunks, a
toilet and a minuscule stove and water tap, an area so small you could not stand up in it. He opened a drawer and found a stack of charts. He sorted quickly through them, took two that he wanted and came back to the cockpit.

  He checked the autopilot. The Sea Skiff was streaking straight toward the Statue of Liberty, still miles away. He went close under the stern of a big container ship without a second glance.

  Typically Heller, he perched himself sideways on the edge of the pilot seat, hooked a foot under a rung and without the least concern for the absolutely jammed traffic on the river, sat comfortably in the warm sun and began to examine the chart.

  He was giving me the data I needed.

  His finger went close to the Jersey shore, past the Verrazano Narrows Bridge, changed course to Fort Hancock and Sandy Hook, followed the dots of the Intracoastal Waterway as they went through the expanse, wide open to the Atlantic, found the point where it entered sheltered waters at Manasquan Inlet, went down past Silver Bay, traced south through the wide, long waters of Barnegat Bay, past Barnegat

  Light, then the rest of the wide inland waterway past Beach Haven Inlet and then, curving round, to Atlantic City.

  "Well, well," he said. "There we go. About a hundred and eight nautical miles, give or take a few. Right to Gardner's Basin. And lady love, like it or not, here I come!"

  And here you don't! I said grimly. I had everything I needed to know. On that chart I had seen-right across from the Statue of Liberty-Fort Jay, the Coast Guard station! He would be going close to it!

  I called the United States Coast Guard. To the reception telephonist who answered, I snarled, "Give me the man who polices New York Harbor, fast!"

  Switches clicked. Then a cheerful voice, "Harbor Traffic Control Tower, Fort Jay. Seaman Second Class Dicey Bergsom, U. S. C. G., on watch. And what can we do for you today?"

  "You can apprehend a criminal!" I snapped, offended by his cheery tone. "You see that speedboat coming down the Hudson?"

  "I'll take a look. Oh, yes. I've got it now. It just changed course a bit, went under the bow of a cruise liner. Yes, I see the one you mean. Let me get a telescope on it.... Petey, you got a speedboat out there, about two-eight-four true on your radar. Clock it.... I'm trying to read its numbers, mister. She's moving so fast she's hard to keep in my field.... Got it! Sea Skiff 329-478A? Is that the one, mister?"