Donald Westlake - The Hot Rock

The first two rooms they went through, making quick searches, were empty, but the third contained two typewriters and two black female typists. They were quickly tucked away in a closet with a bolt lock, and Dortmunder and Chefwick went on.

In Major Iko's office they found a note pad on the desk, with a pencil notation on the top sheet: "Kennedy - Flight 301 - 7:15." Chefwick said, "That must be where they're going."

"But what airline?"

Chefwick looked surprised. He studied the note again. "It doesn't say."

"Phone book," Dortmunder said. "Yellow pages."

They both opened drawers, and the Manhattan yellow pages were in the bottom desk drawer on the left. Chefwick said, "Are you going to call every airline?"

"I hope not. Let's try PanAm." He looked up the number, dialed, and after fourteen rings a pleasant but plastic female voice answered. Dortmunder said, "I have what may sound like a stupid question, but I'm trying to prevent an elopement."

"An elopement, sir?"

"I hate to stand in the way of young love," Dortmunder said, "but we've just found out the man is already married. We know they're taking a flight out of Kennedy tonight at seven-fifteen. It's flight three-o-one."

"Is that a PanAm flight, sir?"

"We don't know. We don't know which airline, and we don't know where they're headed."

The office door opened, and the ebony man walked in, white light glinting from his glasses. Dortmunder said into the phone, "Hold on a second." He put the mouthpiece against his chest and showed Greenwood's revolver to the ebony man. "Stand over there," he said, pointing to a bare stretch of wall far from the doorway.

The ebony man put his hands up and walked over to the bare stretch of wall.

Dortmunder kept his eyes and gun on the ebony man, and spoke into the phone again. "I'm sorry. The girl's mother is hysterical."

"Sir, all you have is the flight number and time of departure?"

"And that it's out of Kennedy, yes."

"This may take a little while, sir."

"I'm willing to wait."

"I'll be as fast as I can, sir. Will you hold on?"

"Of course."

There was a click, and Dortmunder said to Chefwick, "Search him."

"Certainly." Chefwick searched the ebony man, and came up with a Beretta Jetfire .25-caliber automatic, a small nasty gun Kelp had already seen a little earlier in the day.

"Tie him up," Dortmunder said.

"My idea exactly," Chefwick said. He said to the ebony man, "Give me your tie and your shoelaces."

"You will fail," the ebony man said.

Dortmunder said, "If he prefers to be shot, stick your gun in his belly to muffle the sound."

"Naturally," Chefwick said.

"I will cooperate," the ebony man said, starting to remove his tie. "But it doesn't matter. You will fail."

Dortmunder held the phone to his ear and the gun pointed at the ebony man, who gave his tie and shoelaces to Chefwick, who said, "Now remove your shoes and socks and lie face down on the floor."

"It does not matter what you do to me," the ebony man said. "I am unimportant, and you will fail."

"If you don't hurry," Dortmunder said, "you'll get even more unimportant."

The ebony man sat down on the floor and took off his shoes and socks, then turned to lie face down. Chefwick used one shoelace to tie his thumbs behind his back, the other to tie his big toes together, and stuffed the tie into the ebony man's mouth.

Chefwick was just finishing up when Dortmunder heard another click, and the female voice said, "Phew. Well, I found it, sir."

"I really appreciate this," Dortmunder said.

"It's an Air France flight to Paris," she said. "That's the only flight with that number leaving at that time."

"Thank you very much," Dortmunder said.

"It's really very romantic, isn't it, sir?" she said. "Eloping to Paris."

"I guess it is," Dortmunder said.

"It's really too bad he's already married."

"These things happen," Dortmunder said. "Thanks again."

"Any time we can be of service, sir."

Dortmunder hung up and said to Chefwick, "Air France to Paris." He got to his feet. "Help me drag that bird around here behind the desk. We don't want anybody finding him and letting him go so he can call the Major at Kennedy."

They toted the ebony man around behind the desk and left the embassy without seeing anyone else. Greenwood was still loafing around out front, leaning against the iron railing. He fell in with them, and Dortmunder told him what they'd learned as they walked back to the corner and across the street to where Murch was sitting in the phone booth. There Dortmunder said, "Chefwick, you stay here. When Kelp calls, tell him we're on our way and he can leave a message for us at Air France. If they've gone someplace other than Kennedy, you wait here, and when we don't get any message at Air France we'll call you."

Chefwick nodded. "That's fine," he said.

"We'll all meet at the O. J. when this is over," Dortmunder said. "In case we get separated, that's where we'll meet."

"This may be a late night," Chefwick said. "I'd best call Maude."

"Don't tie up that phone."

"Oh, I won't. Good luck."

"Wouldn't that be nice," Dortmunder said. "Come on, Murch, let's see how fast you can get us to Kennedy Airport."

"Well, from here," Murch said, as they trotted across the street toward his car, "I'm going to go straight up FDR Drive to the Triborough ..."

The girl at the Air France counter had a French accent. "Mister Dortmun-dair?" she said. "Yes, I have a message for you." She handed over a small envelope.

"Thank you," Dortmunder said, and he and Greenwood moved away from the counter. Murch was out parking the car. Dortmunder opened the envelope and inside was a small piece of paper containing the scrawled words "Golden Door."

Dortmunder turned the paper over, and the other side was blank. He turned it back and it still said "Golden Door." That's all, just "Golden Door." "I needed this," Dortmunder said.

"Just a minute," Greenwood said and walked over to the nearest passing stewardess, a pretty short-haired blonde in a dark blue uniform. "Excuse me," Greenwood said, "will you marry me?"

"I'd love to," she said, "but my plane leaves in twenty minutes."

"When you come back," Greenwood said. "In the meantime, could you tell me what and where is the Golden Door?"

"Oh, that's the restaurant in the International Arrivals Building."

"Lovely. When can we have dinner there?"

"Oh, the next time you're in town," she said.

"Wonderful," he said. "When will that be?"

"Don't you know?"

"Not yet. When do you get back?"

"Monday," she said, smiling. "We come in at three-thirty in the afternoon."

"A perfect time for dinner. Shall we make it four?"

"Make it four-thirty."

"Four-thirty Monday, at the Golden Door. I'll reserve the table immediately. Under the name of Grofield," he said, giving his most recent name.

"I'll be there," she said. She had a lovely smile and lovely teeth.

"See you then," Greenwood said and went back over to Dortmunder. "It's a restaurant, in the International Arrivals Building."

"Come on."

They went outside, and met Murch on his way in. They brought him up to date, asked a luggage handler to point out the International Arrivals Building, and took the bus over.

The Golden Door is upstairs, at the head of a long broad escalator. At the foot of it stood Kelp. Dortmunder and the other two went over, and Kelp said, "They're up there feeding their faces."

"They're taking the seven-fifteen Air France flight to Paris," Dortmunder said.

Kelp blinked at him. "How'd you do that?"

"Telepathy," Greenwood said. "My stunt is, I guess your weight."

"Let's go up," Dortmunder said.

"I'm not dressed to go up to a place like that," Murch said. He was in a leather jacket and work pants, while the other three were all in suits or sport jackets and ties.