Джон Болл - The First Team

“I worked for him, I think you know that.” Scott looked around for a moment as a couple got up to leave; he waited until they were out of the lounge. “If you find out who replaces him, don’t tell me — but pass the word that I’d like to know, will you?”

Hewlitt nodded. ‘*Of course, if you want me to. But considering that I work directly for Zalinsky, I’ll be poison — you know that.”

“Maybe yes, maybe no.”

It was the time, Hewlitt knew, to make his move. Exactly as he had been told. “Thanks for the confidence, Phil. I don’t know what I can do, but I’ll try. I hear some things occasionally.” He hunched himself over the table so that his voice would have minimum range. The piano player started a Marc Orberg tune, but switched after a few bars and picked up the verse of “Black Moonlight” instead. “Do you want to know a wild one? There’s a lot of enemy traffic on U.S. i, mostly from Andrews going north. They’ve all but closed the Baltimore Bay Tunnel to civilian traffic.”

“I’ve heard that.”

“Well, they may not be using it much longer.”

Scott lifted his eyebrows. “So?”

“That’s what I heard. I don’t see how anyone could do it, not and get away with it, but somebody thought of it, anyway.”

Scott shook his head. “It wouldn’t be a smart thing to do; we need the tunnel more than they do, but I still wish them luck. Cheers.”

The phone rang in Hewlitt’s apartment less than five minutes after he had closed the door behind him. He picked it up and was surprised to hear an inviting female voice on the line. “Hello, Rog.” “I think you have the wrong number,” Hewlitt responded. It was definitely not Barbara, and he was almost certain it was not Mary either.

“Isn’t this Mr. Samuels?”

“I’m sorry.”

“Oh, excuse me. I know it’s late.”

“That’s quite all right. You didn’t disturb me.”

Hewlitt did not allow himself to think what the words might mean. Instead he carefully looked at his watch and waited until precisely ten minutes had passed, then he went out quietly through the rear exit, made his way to the street, and started walking toward the corner. He held himself carefully, well aware that he was literally taking the first steps in a new direction for his life. Steps which could conceivably also bring it to a sudden end. He was not afraid; if that was the way that things were slated to go, so be it. He was out of the groove, and he felt it almost physically with every part of his being.

He heard the sound of a car behind him, but he did not turn to look. He was aware that it was slowing down, but his intelligence quickly told him that so far he had said and done nothing since leaving Davy Jones’ house that could be challenged. He had a valid excuse for being where he was in the event he was to be questioned.

The car went past, slowed up, and stopped three hundred feet ahead, close to the curb. It was a battered black taxi, an anonymous member of the Washington fleet. Hewlitt did not hurry; when he was opposite the cab he hesitated for a moment as though he were making up his mind. Then he walked over, bent down, and spoke to the driver. “Are you free?”

“Where do you want to go?”

He could not see the man in the shadows; he was a Caucasian of fairly small stature, but that was all that was visible. “The Hot Shoppe on the Virginia side.”

“O.K., hop in.”

As the taxi pulled away, Hewlitt realized that he had no real idea where he was going or what would be expected of him. He had two things in his mind: his recent conversation with Scott and the fact that the cab had appeared at the appointed place exactly on time.

The cab passed what would have been a logical turning point for the Fourteenth Street Bridge and headed instead toward a somewhat rundown residential area. Hewlitt sat back and relaxed; if he were questioned now he would claim that he had been deep in his own thoughts and had not even noticed where the cab was going.

He rode on for another twelve minutes, then the driver interrupted his thoughts. “I’m gonna drop you beside a house, understand? Don’t go in, go down the side to the rear yard. You’ll meet someone there.”

Before Hewlitt could answer he felt the pull of the brakes as the car swung close to the curb. He got out and remembered to hand the driver a bill from his wallet. Without comment he turned his back, glanced at the unpromising structure before him, and then went as he had been directed. Uncertainty returned to him for a moment when he found that the backyard was almost totally shrouded in darkness. At first he could not see whether anyone was there to meet him or not. Then he was aware of a man before him whose face he could not see. He heard the words, “Come with me, please,” and followed as directed. Behind his guide he went through a gate in a board fence, crossed another yard, and went into the back door of what appeared to be a totally dark house.

For the second time that evening he followed someone up a set of back stairs, then down a side corridor to the front room. Not a light showed anywhere, but enough illumination came in through the large front-facing window to allow him to pick out three more figures who were gathered silently in the darkness. One of them stepped forward and allowed what light there was to outline his features for a moment; Hewlitt recognized Percival.

“We received your message,” he said softly. “Are you absolutely sure of your information?”

“Totally,” Hewlitt answered.

“Then come over here.”

Set back from the window there was a stubby telescope on a tripod; the instrument itself appeared to have an unusually large aperture for its short length. “Take a look,” Percival invited.

When Hewlitt bent over slightly to peer into the eyepiece he was startled to find that he was apparently viewing his objective in close to broad daylight. “If you don’t know it, it’s a sniperscope,” he heard Percival saying. “It has a light amplifying system.”

“I’ve heard about them,” Hewlitt said. “They really work.”

“The Viet Cong found that out. Now, do you see the steps of the house in the lower left of the image?”

“Yes.”

“That’s the entrance to the enemy’s safe house that I told you about. We’ve been watching their people for some time and they invariably come from the direction that you’re watching. Can you see clearly?”

“Quite.”

“Then stay right where you are. Don’t touch anything else in the room. Keep your eye glued to that telescope. If you see someone coming, observe him closely. If you can make a positive identification of Scott, tell me. Don’t hesitate, but be sure. Got that?”

“Yes.”

“One more thing. If you identify Scott absolutely, and if he turns into that house, we will take action. Never mind the equipment; that will be taken care of. Your job will be to go out as you came in as quickly as you can and still be careful. Someone will be with you, follow his instructions. That’s all.”

Hewlitt did not answer; he felt no need. He fixed his eye to the scope as he had been directed.

At the end of the first half hour he began to feel cramped. He turned his neck the other way and used his left eye to maintain his vigil. During his momentary shift of position he glanced around the room and saw that the other figures were clearer now. One of them, almost motionless like himself, held the butt end of a rifle which was resting on a tripod.

For a moment he felt a strong revulsion; he did not want to give the word that would cause a man to be killed. A man with whom he had shared drinks a short time ago. Then he fixed his mind on the unforgettable picture of Bob Landers’ body lying on the South Lawn, and remembered something Scott had told him in the bar.