The Good Deed

by Doug Walker

  “Of course. Until Dick’s breakthrough. You know nobody wants to be eaten by a crocodile.”

  “For the love of God, man. The two kids were fed to crocodiles?” Chet was screaming. “Where could such a thing happen?”

  “Calm down, Chet. It’s just a horrible way to die. You’d have to go to maybe north Australia or some place for that to happen. What I’ve heard is the kidnappers may have chopped their heads off. It’s quick, but unpleasant.”

  “You’re shittin’ me.” Chet seemed to be breathing heavily. He and Dick would pay for their indiscretions.

  “It may not be true. But if you want the two of us to follow up we can recruit some handlers with cadaver dogs, enlist a group of diggers and search for the bodies.”

  “Search where?”

  “We have clues. That’s why you hired us, isn’t it? We figured the bodies and the heads will be in the same grave. After recovery, a clever mortician can stitch the heads to the bodies, use a little pancake make up, and no one will be the wiser.”

  “Holy Christ,” Chet sighed.

  “Yes, there are problems. One thing, the degree of deterioration might make restoration difficult. Then, I believe Eloise was Jewish. I believe they like to bury their dead quickly, possibly without embalming. I’m not certain of that.”

  “Holy Christ,” Chet said again. “We have an ambassador and a prince of commerce waiting to be told their children have been beheaded. What could be worse?”

  “Don’t jump the gun, Chet,” said I quickly. “This is only a rumor. Sylvia and I quit working on the case when DuPray said Dick was bringing the two in. I assumed that’s what you would have wanted.”

  “Did I say that?” Chet asked grimly.

  “But Dick had the case wrapped up? True?”

  “It didn’t work out as planned.”

  “Really? What was the plan?”

  “We’ll have to ask Dick. By the way, he’s been reassigned to Washington.”

  “A promotion? Your right-hand man?”

  “Why do I think you’re putting me on?”

  “I haven’t a clue.”

  “And where in the hell are you? Dick doesn’t seem to know.”

  “Dick doesn’t seem to know dick. Why was he reassigned?”

  “The Ambassador has a pipeline to the White House. He got fed up when Dick didn’t produce the children, and the White House called in the CIA director, who in turn questioned Dick. Dick had to talk, but he had nothing to talk about.”

  “You know, Chet, we had a deal. You were supposed to get with the Commerce and Transportation secretaries to give my monorail project a boost. In turn I was to do your bidding. Have you held up your end?”

  “A lot’s been coming down.”

  “Then why should I help you?”

  “I’m beginning to wonder who the true kidnappers are. But I’ll start doing my part. Remember, we’re dealing with human lives here.”

  Was this man joking? The CIA was in the business of snuffing out lives, not saving them. “When I hear from my project manager, Betty Morgan, that Washington cares, you may see some action.”

  “Andy, if you think you can blackmail me, you’re totally correct. I’ll get right on it. And please stay in touch. What should I tell the Ambassador?”

  “Tell him we’re back on the case after we stood aside for Dick to work his magic.”

  “And the beheading and crocodile stuff, I’d just as leave not mention that.”

  “Use your own judgment.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  Days slipped by, the four of us in a beach house on St. George Island, just off Apalachicola, noted for its oyster beds. We steamed oysters, we had them raw, we had them on beds of greens, in stew and chowder.

  Betty called from Kingman to say that Washington was showing a large interest in the monorail project. Bingo! Time to make our move. We took the rental car to Tallahassee and boarded a pane for Washington where a suite was waiting.

  That night we dined in our rooms, roast turkey and gravy with French green beans and cranberry sauce. Nothing elaborate, something like Thanksgiving, but really a last supper for the four of us. We had gotten along famously, Eloise and Mark had traveled right along with our scheme to discredit Dick and motivate Chet to help the monorail.

  The next morning I called Chet and asked him to meet me in front of the Willard at ten.

  “In Washington?” Was he flabbergasted? Maybe.

  “Certainly in Washington. I miss the monuments and the hall of winds up on the Hill.”

  “I’ll be there,” he said curtly. And so he was.

  “Mark and Eloise are staying here,” I explained as we waited for the elevator.

  “I’m not surprised at anything you do,” said Chet. “Did you capture the kidnappers?”

  “That wasn’t my job. I was supposed to locate and free the kidnappees and did so.”

  “But the kidnappers?”

  “There was a London address, the place the letters from the kids were sent to be resent to the Embassy. I gave that address to Inspector Cameron.”

  Chet nodded.

  In the room, it was something like a standing down ceremony. Mark and Eloise were transferred from our care to the jurisdiction of the CIA to be handled with care and judiciously returned to their respective parents.

  We hugged and said good-bye as Chet led them with their few possessions out of the room.

  So there we were, just Sylvia and myself with Washington at our feet, so to speak, in as much as were on the ninth floor of the Willard. Both of us were tired, and we slept most of the day, took turns soaking in the tub, watched CNN, ordered ham sandwiches, cocktails at five, dinner at six-thirty washed down with Pinot Grigio.

  The following day, I had a private luncheon with Chet. He had put the kids on a plane to London the previous evening.

  “Now the assignment I originally had planned for you,” he began just after the soup.

  “I don’t know if I want to play this game anymore, Chet.”

  “I’ve done my part for the monorail. You want to take charge of your western project?” He knew I didn’t.

  “That’s on automatic pilot. Betty’s in overall charge. She knows only real estate, yet she’s a sharp cookie and well qualified for an overview. Our city planners are laying things out. The Japanese joint venture is moving ahead. Betty’s talking to European monorail developers and working with Washington.”

  “So things are under control?”

  “Sure, but I should fly out there for a couple of days to show the flag.”

  “What I have in mind would involve both you and Sylvia. You would begin in Istanbul and maybe hang out there for some time.”

  Halfway through my prime rib, I mulled his suggestion and could find no good reason to refuse. Retirement can be quite the bore.

  I replied, “OK. But first to Kingman for a couple of days.”

  “You’ll want to take Sylvia with you, of course.”

  Of course he was playing games with my head. Did I pale? “Not necessarily. It might be best if you kept her here as a guest of the CIA. A series of briefings at Langley to get her up to speed.”

  Chet smiled and nodded and dug into his mashed potatoes. And so it was agreed.

  ###

  About the Author

  Doug Walker is an Ohio University, Athens, Ohio, journalism graduate. He served on metropolitan newspapers, mostly in Ohio, for twenty years, as political reporter, both local and statehouse, along with stints as city editor and Washington correspondent. Teaching English in Japan, China and Eastern Europe were retirement activities.

  His first novel was “Murder on the French Broad,” available only in a print edition published in 2010.

  Now occupying an old house in Asheville, NC, with his wife, he enjoys reading, tennis, short walks, TV and writing.

  Connect with Me Online

  Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=1693524088

  u for reading books on Archive.