Джон Макдональд - Flight of the Tiger

Ben saw her get out and he saw the hesitancy on the part of the trooper. The trooper solved it by saying, “Come around here and take your coat off. Put your hands over your head and turn all the way around slow.” Helen’s face was chalky and her lips were trembling.

“What’s this all about?” Ben demanded, but his voice sounded too thin for anger.

“Just stay where you are.” The trooper holstered his revolver, reached into the car, got Helen’s purse, snapped it open, fingered the contents, handed it to her.

“Where’s the gun?” the trooper said.

Ben glanced around. Passing cars were slowing down to look curiously at them, then speeding up again. If the man knew there was a gun, he was going to find it. “In one of the suitcases in the back end. In the brown one.”

Helen hadn’t spoken. The trooper opened the luggage trunk and took out both suitcases. He opened Ben’s and took out the .38. He spun the cylinder, then shoved the weapon into his coat pocket, shoved the wide-brimmed hat back a bit, his forehead wrinkled in thought.

“You picked a poor car to lift, friend. There aren’t many of those around.”

“It was lent to us,” Helen said.

“Sure, lady. You can straighten up now, friend. Stick your hands out.”

“Look, I—”

“Out!” He clapped the handcuffs on Ben’s wrists, and the ratchets clicked. He took the keys out of the MG and put them in his pocket. “Okay. Into the car. Get in the back, lady. You get up here with me, friend.”

Before he started the car, he placed his call. He gave some meaningless code numbers, called himself Lockman, said somebody would have to come out and get the car when he got in with the keys, and gave the location.

Ben turned in the seat and looked back at Helen. Her eyes were wide. She looked right through him, and her lips moved, but he did not understand the words she formed.

The trooper started up and made another U turn. He said in a conversational tone, “I don’t know how far you expected to get. No pro would ever get that stupid.”

“The car was lent to us.”

“Sure it was. There was this guy and he said take my keys and take this gun and drive off, kids, because I like your looks.”

“I know how it sounds, but it was lent to us. By John Cassidy. He lives in Rhinebeck.”

“You’ll get a chance to prove it.”

In ten minutes they turned into the wide driveway of the trooper station. He drove around and parked in back with some other sedans. Two troopers glanced incuriously at Ben and Helen and one of them said, “Jimmy detailed us to pick that car up, Al. I never drove one of those foreign jobs. We matched and I won.”

Lockman tossed him the keys. Then he turned and unlocked Ben’s handcuffs and took them off. He said, “Go on ahead of me, both of you. Up those steps and through that door.”

There was a hallway, with a big kitchen off to the right; a smell of coffee came out of it. Lockman walked behind them. They went through a room where several men worked at desks; one end of the room was enclosed in glass, and the man inside was wearing earphones.

“In here,” Lockman said, motioning them into a small room. A man in shirt sleeves sat at a small desk, typing. There were oak chairs against the wall. They sat side by side. Lockman went out. Ten minutes passed. A small-boned man with gray hair came in. He had a quick, trim way of moving. He put one foot up on the chair next to Ben, leaned his arm on his knee.

“What’s the story?” he asked.

Ben handed over his papers. The man examined them, gave Ben a shrewd glance, and handed them back. “So, Lieutenant?”

“I’m on leave. John Cassidy, of Rhinebeck, loaned us the car. I don’t understand all this.”

“And this girl?”

“I’m his sister,” Helen said.

“You don’t have any license for the gun, Lieutenant.”

“Do I need one?” Ben asked. “I’m not in uniform, but I’m technically on active duty.”

“It isn’t a military-issue weapon.”

“Does it have to be?”

“I don’t know about that. I’ll have to check that, Lieutenant. We just got the description of the car and the license number over the teletype. I’ve placed a call to this Mr. Cassidy. I told them to route it in here.”

The telephone rang, as though on signal. The man stepped to the desk. He asked to speak to Mr. Cassidy. He waited a few moments and then said, “Cassidy? Captain Walther, New York State Police. Yes. We picked up the MG. A couple in it. Lieutenant Morrow and his sister. They claim you loaned them the car and the gun. What about it?”

He listened for about thirty seconds, watching the wall over Ben’s head as he did. “I see. Yes, of course. No, no trouble.”

He hung up and came toward them, smiling. “Semiapologies are in order, I guess. He says it was a misunderstanding. He wants to check with you, so he asked me to hold you until he can get here. He’ll be here in a couple of hours. Flying up. Just make yourselves comfortable. There’s some magazines there on the table.” He smiled again and went out.

A few moments later the man who had been typing collected his papers and left the room.

Helen turned to Ben. “That wasn’t John he talked to.”

“I know.”

“John thought he could take care of himself. I’m responsible for whatever happened, Ben. I should never have gone there. I—”

“Take it easy. They didn’t trace you. They traced me. It was my fault. Somebody is going to come here and they’re going to be carrying John Cassidy’s identification, and they’re going to try to take us away from here. We’ve got to get out of here before they arrive.”

“I... can’t do it that way, Ben. I’ve involved you too much. I’m going to tell that man who I am. I’m going to tell him everything.”

“In some weird way I want you to do that, Helen. But not for me, or because I’m involved. I know I can’t face up to what I’m supposed to do, and yet I want you to.”

She bit her lip. She said, “There’s another reason now. I don’t know what they’ve done to the Cassidys. They took me in. They helped me. It isn’t right. It isn’t fair. I can’t run out on them now.”

“I know.”

“But I’ve got so used to running that— Oh, Ben, help me go through with it. I’m so scared!”

“We’re safe here. Let them come to us. When they’re inside this station, we can tell everything to Captain Walther. We can trap them here, whoever they are.”

The typist came back in. Ben tried to read the magazines. He and Helen smoked too much. Time dragged...

It was a few minutes before noon when Ben heard the faint waspish buzzing of the light-plane engine. He went over to the window. The noise grew louder. A small cabin job, glinting silver in the sunlight, flashed overhead low, and the sound diminished and then became louder again. He heard the alteration in the sound and then for a time it remained at the same pitch, then coughed and was silent.

“They’ve landed,” he said. “Stay right here. Walther’ll bring them in.”

After a moment they heard footsteps in the hallway, heard Walther say, “That plane lands on a dime. Bumpy, wasn’t it?”

“Not too bad,” a voice said. Helen looked at Ben and her eyes grew wide. And then Walther came into the room with John Cassidy. One day had changed him. He didn’t move with his previous springy strength. He looked beaten and old.

“Are these your friends?” Walther asked.

“Yes, of course. Could I have a few words alone with them, Captain?”

“Certainly.”

The typist got up and left. Ben said, “Just exactly what in the world—”

Cassidy sat down heavily. He looked at the floor. “All the way I figured what situation I’d find here. I figured you’d have told them here who you are, Helen. I didn’t know animals like those men who came to the farm existed. I tried to order them off the place. I should have shot when I had the chance. I only had one chance, and that didn’t last long. They’ve got Mike and Katey, Helen. I can’t force you to go back with me. You know that. But if you don’t, it’s pretty clear to me what they intend to do. And it isn’t a bluff. I think they’d enjoy it. I think they’re the sort of animals that would enjoy every minute of it. They’ve been there ever since about twenty minutes after you left. I didn’t tell them for a long time where you were. But the first time Mike screamed I had to tell them. You understand, don’t you?”