John Creasey - Send Superintendent West

PC Maidment was ready with his answer.

“Well, sir, in a way I did. In a way I didn’t.”

“What happened ?”

“It was about two o’clock, sir, or a little after. A car turned out of Wavertree Road and came towards me down Wick-ham Avenue. Don’t often see a car I don’t know at that hour, and it certainly wasn’t any of the local doctors.” Roger recognized the officer who would tell a story better than he would answer questions, and gave him his head. “Funny thing was the way I didn’t hear the engine one minute, and the next I did. Very quiet around Wavertree Road at that hour, you can hear a cat move. Suddenly the engine started up and the head-lights went on, and the car was at the corner quick as snap.”

“Now what have you got up your sleeve?” demanded Roger.

Maidment beamed.

“Wavertree Road’s on a hill, sir. Anyone starting from the top of the hill could switch off and then switch on again near the corner. So I took particular notice last night, and was extra careful trying front doors and back. I couldn’t find anything wrong, sir. The car was a big Austin A70, one of those new jobs, very nice, and there aren’t many about.”

“Sure of that?”

“Positive. Black. Might have been dark blue, only I don’t think they do a blue one. Three men were in it, two at the front, one at the back — I saw them as they passed beneath a lamp. It wasn’t going fast, not really fast. The man at the back looked round after me, I could see his face when it went under the lamp.” Caution tempered his eagerness. “Not that I could recognize it again, sir.”

“And this was about two o’clock?”

“Near as dammit, sir.”

“Anything else?”

“Everything was quiet and normal,” answered PC Maidment, and actually looked uneasy. “I hope nothing went wrong I didn’t catch on to, sir.”

“Nothing you could be blamed for. Are you sure there were only three men in the car?”

“I only saw three.”

“Good,” said Roger. “Is all of this in your report?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, keep it all under your hat, Maidment. There may have been a bit of funny business last night, if there was we don’t want the people involved to know we’re suspicious. All clear?”

“Quite clear, sir.”

“Now make up on your beauty sleep.” Roger nodded and smiled, and opened the door for Lissa to precede him into the passage. He led the way to the Superintendent’s office, which was empty. “Sit down a minute,” he said, and went across to the Superintendent’s wooden armchair, sat at the tidy desk, was careful not to disturb four piles of papers, and lifted the telephone.

“Chief Inspector Sloan, please . . . Hallo, Bill. A black Austin A70, one of the new models, left Wavertree Road, Ealing, about two o’clock this morning. Check its movements where you can, will you?”

“Right.”

“There’s a possibility that it was heading for London Airport,” Roger went on. “Check that first Check what aircraft left London Airport after three o’clock, and find out whether a ten-year-old boy was on board any of them.”

“Heading where?”

“America, probably, but that’s a guess. Even if you don’t get a line at London, try Gatwick and the smaller airfields. Give this absolute priority.”

“Right I What does the boy look like?”

“I haven’t a description yet, but probably small for his age. And Bill, if you get anything, call me at the American Embassy. Ask for Mr Marino, and if I’m not with him, I’ll call you as soon as I get there.”

“What is all this?” demanded Sloan.

“When I know I’ll tell you,” Roger said.”

“Bye.”

Lissa had a half-smoked Pall Mall between her lips, and as Roger opened his case, she leaned forward with a lighter. She looked at him above the flame, and it went out as he saw the smile in her eyes.

“So you think he’s been flown back home.”

“It could be.”

“How is that machine you call a mind working?”

“You want David Shawn in England on a special assignment, on work he can’t do in the States. His wife wants to be there anyhow, and he doesn’t want an estrangement with his wife. So already he has plenty of reason for thinking that he would be happier back home. If some third party wants to stop him working, and that’s what you and Marino have implied, a good way of doing this would be to tell him that his son is safe in the States. That would be one means of stopping him staying in England.” Roger glanced at his watch. “Now it’s nearly one o’clock. If we really want to work fast, we ought to telephone Kennedy Airport, and find out whether a boy passenger reaches there from England. It’s about a twelve-hour flight, they couldn’t have left before three o’clock, so we’ve an hour or so in hand. Care to telephone Marino?”

“You call him,” Lissa said.

“Will he be at lunch?”

“He doesn’t go out to lunch, he has a sandwich in the office.”

Marino was a careful listener, and did not ask for anything to be repeated. The name of Ricky Shawn wasn’t mentioned, but Marino promised to call Kennedy Airport at once, and rang off.

“And now what?” Lissa asked; there was a hint of mockery in her voice.

“Do you think the Embassy could find a sandwich for us, too?”

“It could run to a good lunch, after you’ve talked to Tony again, and you and I could discuss the weather.”

“Wonderful idea,” said Roger dryly. “But I’m just a working man, and probably there was some other crime in London last night. Another time.”

“There may not be another time. If David goes back to New York, I shall be sent after him.”

“If he’s so important, you can find a way to stop him,” Roger said. “At least until there’s time to look for his son. If you keep Shawn and his wife apart, it might help. Deal with them singly.” He laughed, as a kind of foreboding swept over him, but he didn’t try to put it into words. “I always talked too much.”

He stood up, and they went downstairs, out into the heat of this fierce September day, and drove fast to Grosvenor Square.

Lissa led the way into Marino’s office, where Marino still sat at his huge desk, as if he hadn’t moved since they had left. But his smile had none of the easy amiability of the morning; it was tense enough to make Lissa stand still, halfway across the room.

“What’s happened?” she demanded.

Marino said: “Sit down, Superintendent. If you’d been sitting here when it first started, instead of me, maybe we would have found Ricky by now. I don’t understand why I didn’t guess they would ship him back to the States by air. I can’t think why you didn’t, Lissa. Ricky was on a “plane which left London Airport at three-fifteen this morning. But he didn’t go on to New York, he was taken off at Ganda. He could be anywhere in Canada by now. He could be anywhere,” he repeated. “I’ve got the FBI chasing for news of him, but you know how difficult it will be to find him in Canada or the States. We’ve lost that boy, and we could have saved him. The only hope of quick results is from this end. Can you act as fast as you can think, Superintendent?”

“Let me talk to the Yard,” Roger said.

6

OWNER OF AN AUSTIN

Sloan had already found that a boy, the only child on the TSR 10, had left London in the company of a middle-aged man who had an American passport in the name of McMahon; the boy had travelled with a passport under the name of Sims. The child had seemed sleepy, McMahon had fussed him a great deal, no one had suspected there was anything wrong. Descriptions of McMahon varied, but three different reports from the airport had one thing in common. He had a big head: big that was in proportion to his body.

They had arrived at London Airport in an old Buick, the driver had gone off with the car as soon as he had set down his passengers. Sloan was already trying to trace the Buick. The Austin A70 had been traced as far as Hammersmith, and the Hammersmith police were already checking on all A70S garaged in the district.

Roger told Marino and Lissa Meredith this while they were still in Marino’s office.

“You have to find the owner of that car,” Marino said flatly. “West, you don’t know how important that is.”

Lissa said: “Could it be the time for telling him how important?”

Marino said slowly: “Maybe.”

But he didn’t go on for a long time; it seemed a long time. He watched Roger, steadily, piercingly.

“I guess you’re right,” he said at last. “That’s been agreed with the Ambassador. West, here’s the story. David Shawn has spent a great deal of time in Russia and France during the Test Ban discussions. He is a key man because as a scientist he is believed to have discovered a way of checking even the smaller nuclear explosions. Russia, France and China all want one of two things, if not both; to prevent the United States from having this detector, or to obtain it themselves and so neutralize its value. Either way, they need him. I can tell you that the wires have been humming between here and Washington this morning, it’s that important.”

“I can see how important,” Roger said.

“I’m sure you do. There are other things you should know. When in his Connecticut home last spring, Shawn was shot at He was nearly run down by an auto two months later. Since then, the FBI has been watching him closely, because we’ve expected more trouble, and this is it.” Marino paused, then turned towards Lissa. “Carl Fischer says that David is at his worst.”

He looked like doing a Fig Mayo on Mr West,” Lissa said dryly. “How is Belle?”

“Carl gave her a shot, so there won’t be any trouble with her for the next twenty-four hours. David approved. He doesn’t want trouble any more than the rest of us — not more trouble than he can help, anyway. But we don’t need to hide anything from ourselves. David won’t be any use to us or anyone until the boy’s found. Belle will blame him, and that will make him just a bag of nerves. West —” Marino paused, a smile thawed the bleakness of his face. The hell with West I Roger, David Shawn’s mind has been on a knife edge between sanity and insanity for a long time. It’s partly the strain of his work, and believe me, that’s a strain enough for a dozen men. He lives his part, he’s a man of two distinct personalities — some say schizophrenic. On vacation, or when he’s not working on some new angle, he’s liable to do crazy things — call that a safety valve. When he’s working, the work seems to absorb the spare energy, and he’s near normal — until a crisis arises. And this is a crisis. At a time like this he won’t listen to reason.”

“He might, if you started to get tough with him,” Roger said. “He throws a man out of a window, and it’s all hushed up. He’s doing a vital job over here, and he delivers an ultimatum — bring his wife, or he won’t do it Next time you had to bring his son over. You’ve built him up so that he thinks he’s the only man who can do this job.”

Marino said softly: “I guess he is.”

“Why not try making him think he isn’t?”

“He’d throw his hand in.”

“There’s a risk of that anyhow,” Roger argued. “You can’t seriously think that after this, he’ll be satisfied to stay here. You might get the son back for him, but you’ll never convince him that it won’t happen again. He might say he will stay, hoping it will make you work harder to find the boy, but afterwards —” He shrugged. “He could turn sour on you. But he looks to me like a man with the inevitable weak link — his pride. If his supremacy in his field is threatened, it might change his outlook.”