Chapter Six Virgil Adams awoke me at six A.M. with his call, a brief message to make contact with Dave Elroy at a roominghouse so far downtown the river was in the back yard. He coded it urgent and didnÒt give me any more details, so I knew Dave had buzzed him from an open phone somewhere and didnÒt want to lay any explanations on the line at that point. RondineÒs eyes came open, still hazy with sleep, saw me perched on the edge of the bed and smiled in that pleased way women have after a perfect night and she squirmed under the covers so that the sheet outlined the full sweep of her hips and the lazy curve of her legs. ÓWho was it, darling?Ô ÓBusiness, kid.Ô The hazy look faded and her eyes became bright with sudden anxiety. ÓSomething wrong?Ô ÓI donÒt know.Ô I climbed into my clothes as quickly as I could, looked at myself in the mirror before deciding I could do without a shave for a while, then dropped the .45 into the speed rig on my belt and pulled on my coat. ÓWill you be long?Ô I bent over and kissed her lightly. Anything else and it would be too hard to tear myself away from her. ÓIÒll make it quickly as I can. You just stay put, baby. DonÒt answer the door unless you get a ÑVÒ rap. If I call IÒll let it ring once, hang up, then ring again. Anything else, ignore. Got it?Ô She half sat up in the bed, the covers clutched at her throat. ÓBe careful, Tiger.Ô ÓYou know me.Ô ÓThatÒs what I mean.Ô Downstairs, the city was beginning to come back to life again. The early morning smells from the restaurants had seeped out into the canyons between the buildings to lure in the sidewalk marchers going to work. Two city trucks had already disgorged a dozen men near the corner where they were ready to finish a huge excavation in the street. New York, I thought, a self-perpetuating machine that never stopped. No matter where you looked, skeletal steel towered into the sky and gigantic troughs were gouged into the bedrock below. No place to build but up, and up they were going. I wondered what theyÒd do if they thought it could all come tumbling down in a single second. Rather than take a cab, I let myself be fed into the maw of a subway entrance and boarded a downtown local. When I got off I spotted the house numbers, turned east and walked two blocks to the last remaining brownstones that had once lined the street and went up the steps to the vestibule and pushed the door open. The greasy smell of cooking cut through the musty odor that was part of the building, coming from the apartment on the far end of the hall. Underfoot were a half dozen empty whiskey bottles, and the stairway to one side was packed with empty cartons and accumulated debris that would make a fire inspector turn green. When my eyes were adjusted to the semi-gloom I snaked the gun out and went down the hall, staying close to the wall so the floorboards wouldnÒt creak under my weight. The signal I tapped on the door had been prearranged, but I still didnÒt take any chances. I stayed to one side ready to cut loose if anything was wrong at all. Dave didnÒt forget his manners either. He tapped back the right answer to get me at ease, opened the door on a chain, made sure of the identification, then swung it open all the way. ÓGreetings, Tiger.Ô ÓYeah, sure.Ô ÓCome on in. We have a little party going.Ô I stepped in with the .45 still ready, cut to one side as I swept the room with my eyes, then stuck the rod back in my belt when I got the picture. There was only one other in the room aside from Dave, a scrawny little guy with a scared face who kept gulping rapidly even though he was dry as a bone. ÓCouldnÒt you pick a better hotel?Ô Dave grinned at me as he double locked the door. ÓHis digs,Ô he said. ÓMeet Earl Mossky. They call him The Creeper. That right, Earl?Ô The guyÒs head bobbed and in a surprisingly deep voice he said, ÓYeah, thatÒs me.Ô Dave waved a thumb at me. ÓHeÒs the one I told you about, Earl. Tiger Mann.Ô Earl MosskyÒs eyes narrowed and he gulped again. ÓI know about him.Ô ÓHow?Ô I asked. ÓWord gets around.Ô He fidgeted in his chair and picked up the stump of a chewed cigar and lit it, never taking his eyes off me. ÓWhatÒs the pitch, Dave?Ô ÓEarl here is a pusher. Small time, but heÒs been at it a long: time.Ô ÓNever picked up neither,Ô the guy added. ÓDeals strictly in H,Ô Dave told me. ÓPoolroom trade, mostly, but it keeps him in bread and he doesnÒt have any big ideas about expanding.Ô ÓIt ainÒt healthy,Ô Earl muttered. ÓSo heÒs got a story to tell.Ô ÓLetÒs hear yours first,Ô I said to Dave. He pointed to a sway backed chair and pulled one up for himself. ÓIÒll skip the details, but I picked up word of the buy Vito Salvi made. What Don Lavois found in the crapper in the guyÒs room wasnÒt the whole catch. That was only part of it. That right, Earl?Ô ÓHell, he went for a kilo. ThatÒs two-point-two pounds of junk and he got in at base rates. Paid five hundred an ounce off the ship.Ô I sat back and stared at the guy. ÓHow do you know?Ô The little guy puffed on the cigar, took it out of his mouth with distaste and stubbed it out under his foot. ÓYou stick in this racket long enough and you get to know everything. Those guys transporting the stuff are like friends of mine, see? So theyÒre footing the bill one night for a smash down at PeckyÒs Place and they let me in on this laugh how I should be on their side of the fence. They got two grand apiece for bringing the stuff in while IÒm still hustling pennies.Ô Dave said, ÓPure stuff. By the time they make the final cut a kilo of H is worth a few million.Ô ÓThis guy who bought it,Ô I said. Earl shrugged. ÓI keep my nose long, buddy. I wanted a look at this character because he wasnÒt local. It was some kind of a special deal set up ahead of time. It was the same one this guy showed me the picture of.Ô ÓSalvi,Ô Dave added. ÓGo on.Ô ÑThatÒs all. He took the can and bugged out. You think IÒm gonna poke around?Ô ÓHowÒd he pay for it?Ô ÓClean cash, buddy. Ninety GÒs and no arguing.Ô ÓWhere did the split go?Ô Earl Mossky shrugged again and squirmed in the chair. ÓI donÒt ask that either. The boys already left on another trip to the Persian Gulf and if you want you can find out from them. You wonÒt get nothing though. The big ones donÒt leave no holes to look through. Someplace they just passed over the dough, got theirs and forgot about it.Ô ÓOne more question, Earl,Ô I said. ÓGo ahead, youÒre giving the party.Ô ÓWhere do you fit in?Ô ÓI hear somebodyÒs paying off big for some nice quiet talk, the kind that donÒt backfire. I want a trip to Miami for my health.Ô Dave said, ÓIf youÒre satisfied, GradyÒs authorized a bundle for him.Ô ÓLet him have it then,Ô I told him. ÓMake any sense?Ô I stood up and reached for my hat. ÓIt will. ThereÒs a new dimension added now. I can think of only two reasons why they would want to make a buy as big as that and in so much of a hurry theyÒd have to take a chance and get it direct from an importer.Ô ÓOh?Ô Dave was looking at me quizzically. ÓYou figure it out,Ô I said. I started for the door. Behind me Earl Mossky said, ÓWhat about my dough?Ô Dave took a key out of his pocket and handed it to him. ÓIn a locker at the bus terminal waiting for you. My advice to you is not to blow it around here or somebody else will be asking questions. Catch?Ô ÓBuddy,Ô he nodded, fingering the key with a hungry look, ÓI lived a long time and I figure to live a little while longer. I know the answers.Ô We waited until we got to the Times Square station before calling in our report to Newark Control. Virgil Adams was calling in another team to probe the area to see if any of the Salvi buy had been peddled off and putting through an overseas query to try and run down the reason for the direct contact. Dave Elroy was to stay on DonÒs original assignment of backtracking Salvi, and if possible, to pick up his source of financing. The Soviet network was tight enough to make it a tough job, but someplace there was always a hole you could sneak through if you found it. At ten oÒclock I angled over to Ernie BentleyÒs lab and went upstairs to where he was buried among his reports and poured myself a steaming mug of coffee. When I gave him the rundown he nodded as if I were reading off the ball scores and finished what he was doing before deciding to answer me. ÓGot yourself a lot of pieces, havenÒt you?Ô ÑToo damn many.Ô ÓNothing leading to Louis Agrounsky?Ô ÓNo.Ô ÓMaybe I got something,Ô he said. He walked to his desk, pawed through some mail and came up with a dye-smeared envelope and pulled out the letter inside. ÓOne of the suppliers of sub-mini parts Agrounsky corresponded with. A few years ago he submitted several pieces for inspection and the manufacturer was pretty interested. Agrounsky came up with a few unhear
d of ideas that had a big potential. He wrote several times and got no answer until I contacted him. Right now heÒs pretty interested in re-establishing contact himself. In view of the new space developments AgrounskyÒs ideas can come in handy.Ô ÓNo address?Ô I asked him. ÓJust his Eau Gallie house.Ô ÓDamn!Ô ÓBut thereÒs a lead. He apparently wrote his last letter on his friendÒs stationery. Guy named Vincent Small, address, 37 Meadow Lane, Eau Gallie, Florida.Ô ÓWeÒre back to there again.Ô ÓIt started down there, didnÒt it?Ô Ernie said simply. ÓTheyÒve gone all over that route, Ernie. I.A.T.S., the other bureaus, our own teams. We have to pick it up closer than thatÔ ÓBut you havenÒt, Tiger buddy,Ô he reminded me. I looked across the room at him, sipping at the coffee. ÓOkay,Ô I finally said, Óit might be worth a try. IÒll clean up the loose ends here first and see what I can pick up in that section.Ô ÓThen keep the plane up here. If you need special equipment IÒll send it down.Ô ÓKeep your toys to yourself,Ô I said. ÓThey saved your tail a few times.Ô ÓI donÒt like the instability factors involved.Ô ÓSo we all make mistakes. Besides, those details have been smoothed over. I have a new gadget here. . . .Ô ÓSave it,Ô I grinned at him. ÓIÒll stick with the old fashioned way.Ô ÓYou and that damn gun,Ô he said. At noon I met Charlie Corbinet at the Blue Ribbon, took a table upstairs and waited until our order was taken before I gave him the latest developments. Charlie let me finish and said, ÓIÒll get with the Treasury Department on that heroin buy this afternoon.Ô ÓLay off my sources.Ô ÓDonÒt sweat it. You know me better than thatÔ ÓWhat did you hear from Washington?Ô Charlie reached down and laid a manila envelope on the table between us. ÓThereÒs all the URÒs from the security department. Doug Hamilton turned in thirty-f our and half of them checked out with unsatisfactory reports from prior investigations. Several were known or suspected Commie agents and the rest weÒre working on.Ô ÓAny description fit Agrounsky?Ô ÓNone. But then, we havenÒt checked them all out yet. A batch are itinerant workers who showed up for simple laboring jobs, but their associations were listed as n.g., so they were disqualified. All this went through Belt-Aire Electronics before it was submitted to Washington anyway.Ô ÑThatÒs what Camille Hunt told me.Ô Our waiter came along then, laid the lunch down with a flourish and went to get coffee. Charlie watched me across his plate, his eyes bright. ÓYou two got along pretty well, didnÒt you?Ô ÓWhy not?Ô ÓHal Randolph dug into Belt-Aire pretty thoroughly.Ô ÓSo?Ô ÓYou know they have top priority in the new space project?Ô ÓUh-huh.Ô ÑTo what extent?Ô ÓThatÒs Martin GradyÒs business.Ô ÓThen let me fill you in. ... What theyÒre proposing can put the balance of power on our side. Mention Belt-Aire in Washington and youÒre in for a security check no matter who you are. They want nobody poking around. This is getting pretty damn touchy. Even we donÒt know the full extent of the operation. ThatÒs a highly sensitive area and if anything goes haywire there will be hell to pay.Ô ÓIt canÒt be any worse than it is,Ô I said. ÓNo, but now everybody is running scared. We havenÒt got much time to break something loose. I get the feeling the Reds are closer than we are and if they let the cat out of the bag this is going to be one shook up country.Ô ÓI donÒt need any reminding, Charlie. I was there at the beginning, remember?Ô ÓThen keep your memory refreshed. What do you plan to do with this information?Ô ÓExactly the same as you×check it out step by step, only from a different direction. Can I have these names?Ô ÓTheyÒre yours ... all copies of the original.Ô I took the folder and put it beside me. ÓHow does Hal Randolph like me being dead?Ô ÓHeÒd like it better if it were true. My advice is to stay in touch, Tiger. Daily reportsÅthe works. HeÒs scared stiff you might do something that will trigger the works and I canÒt blame him. Right now we canÒt take any chances.Ô ÓThe chance was taken when they hired Agrounsky,Ô I said. ÓIf he decides to use that by-pass control then weÒve had itÔ ÓHasnÒt everybody?Ô Charlie told me softly. When we left I gave him a five minute start before I cleared out through the bar entrance. On Sixth Avenue I picked up a cab that was discharging a passenger on the corner, had the driver let me off a block away from my quarters, and walked the rest of the way. I gave the bell the V signal, did the same thing with a tap on the door and let Rondine throw off the locks. Even then she was being careful, the little automatic in her hand being on full cock until she was certain it was me. She shut the door, locked it securely and followed me inside. ÓI was beginning to get worried,Ô she said. I grinned and pushed a chair up for her at the table. ÓDonÒt waste time doing that,Ô I told her. ÓIt takes away from other things.Ô ÓThere was an item in TV about the incident at my place again. The police are supposedly still investigating.Ô ÓEyewash. TheyÒll keep it up a couple of days and let it quiet down.Ô ÓWerenÒt you taking a chance going out in the daylight?Ô I shook my head. ÓNot in this town, kid. People are like ants. You canÒt tell one from the other unless an army is searching for you. I played it cool.Ô ÓAnd your . . . meeting?Ô Briefly, I gave her the details, then dumped the contents of the envelope out on the table. ÓI want you to do something for me. For a while youÒll be free to move around and since youÒre not generally known it might work.Ô ÓOh?Ô I looked up at her, knowing my face had that tight expression again. ÓYouÒve been well trained for this work, baby. You have the background and experience and I need your help.Ô She didnÒt hesitate. She knew the implications as well as I did and her own future was involved with everyone elseÒs. ÓJust ask, Tiger.Ô ÓHere is a list of people I want you to run down. I.A.T.S. ran a check already with no results, but thereÒs a lot of difference when they ask questions and a dame does. Even if these people arenÒt available, I want background material on them, their associations, and angle for any possible Commie affiliations. You have people attached to your British Embassy you can call in if you need help.... TheyÒll know how to proceed × and IÒll keep a constant contact with you here.Ô ÓAnd where will you be?Ô ÓEau Gallie, Florida. IÒm picking it up from there.Ô I wrote down two phone numbers, Ernie BentleyÒs and that of Newark Control with an identification name that meant she was clear to use our lines of communication and be given limited information. I let her study the numbers until she had them memorized, then burned the slip they were written on. ÓDave Elroy will be available and if anything turns tough, you duck out and let him take over. Just make sure you donÒt stick your neck out. The ones weÒre bucking play for keeps and being a woman wonÒt keep you alive. Understand?Ô ÓI understand.Ô I slid a sheaf of bills across the table and said, ÓThis will keep you going until I get back. If you have to pay off for any information, contact the Newark number and it will be arranged. And donÒt hesitate to buy what is up for sale. Money is the cheapest thing we have in our business.Ô ÓTiger . . .Ô ÓWhat?Ô Something had changed in her face. There was a seriousness there I hadnÒt seen before and her eyes were those of others I had known before in bomb shelters, scanning the ceilings above them as though they could see through them to the hordes of death dealers flying high in the night above. ÓDo you . . . really think you should have such a part in all this? IsnÒt it better left to those . . . equipped to handle a ... a situation of this sort?Ô My teeth were together so hard they almost cracked. ÓLike who, baby?Ô ÓOur governments. They . . .Ô ÓTheyÒre composed of great guys,Ô I almost hissed. Ó. . . mainly. But in the ranks are too damn many selling us out through sheer stupidity ... or cupidity ... or avariciousness Å or because they got caught with their pants down and face public exposure through blackmail. No, kitten, guys like me belong here. WeÒve been here a long time and are going to stay. When one goes another takes his place, but somebody is always there to make up for the tacky ones who masquerade under cute government titles. TheyÒre not elected . . . the people can generally see through them if they try. But theyÒre appointed or assigned to critical posts and suddenly we have a new pseudo-government functioning on collegiate political philosophy or the theoretics of some obscure but red-tainted brain hoping that someday heÒll be holding the reins of a one world dictatorship. You want me to mention names? Hell, I can give you fifty offhand fro
m your country and this one. I can make your hair curl with what I know and the public should know, but to protect themselves the biggies upstairs keep these babies under cover with a little pressure and promises here and there. So think it over. YouÒve heard it all before from me. At least weÒre a damned talented bunch in a strange way, but we get things done nobody else can do and weÒre not hamstrung by niceties or afraid of losing our jobs ... and we sure donÒt worry about what anybody else thinks about us, either.Ô Rondine absorbed it all, but the expression never left her face. Age, I thought, she should have been there during the war. She was too young to know what it really meant, and unless you experienced the double dealing and the killing you could never really understand. You had to know the meaning of death and face it time after time before the calluses grew. You had to hold death in your hand and expose an enemy to it to stay alive yourself ... then each time became easier and you became better at living and knowledgeable in the ways of this crazy world so that you became formidable as an opponent and could deal in extremes no matter the cost. It was what I didnÒt say that made the impression. Her eyes seemed to bore inside me and search my mind for the hidden answers and what she saw satisfied her, and very slowly her face relaxed into that classic beauty so much her own. I felt that warm turmoil start in my stomach again. ÓIÒm sorry,Ô she said simply. ÓForget it,Ô I grinned. ÓItÒs a new game to you and IÒm an old soldier.Ô Her teeth showed a flash of white in a terse smile. ÓYouÒre forgetting, Tiger. In a way, IÒm an old soldier too. Twice beforeÅÔ I could see the blinding sear of the explosionÅ remember the gunsÅ picture her face Å all when she was part of the deadly game the last time with me. ÓForget that too,Ô I said. ÓShould I?Ô I studied her face, my eyes going narrow again. ÓNo Å maybe itÒs better you remember it after all. It might keep you on your toes.Ô Mason was at Newark Airport with the converted F-51 gassed and warmed up. While he filed his flight plan I stowed my suitcase in the wells that used to house the .50 calibre guns and climbed into the back seat. Ten minutes later we were airborne and headed south, climbing to eight thousand above the overcast that blanketed New Jersey below. When Mason leveled off he held the ship at maximum cruise, made a gas stop at Charleston, South Carolina and was back in the blue again in twenty minutes. An hour and ten minutes later we let down into the traffic pattern of the field a little south of Eau Gallie, landed and taxied up to the transient hangar. The car I had arranged for earlier was waiting and I got in after telling Mason to be available at any time. He grinned, nodded, and headed off for a cold beer someplace. I didnÒt ask for directions to the motel I was quartered at until I reached town, then found the place not far from the beach and signed in under T. Marvin from New York City. Aside from Newark Control and Ernie Bentley, nobody knew where I was staying and until a break came, I wanted to keep as much of. a cover as I could. At eight fifteen I showered and dressed, grabbed a bite at the adjacent restaurant, got directions to Meadow Lane, and drove off in that direction. Number 37 was a red brick ranch-type house set back from the road, surrounded by a hodge-podge of foliage with huge red blooms that gave off a sickly sweet odor and seemed to attract a horde of pale blue butterflies. I turned in the driveway, parked behind a new Chevy convertible and killed the engine. I didnÒt have to knock. The door opened as I went up the flagstone steps and a short, chunky guy with a big friendly smile grinned up at me and said, ÓHello, hello. IÒm Vincent Small. Something I can do for you?Ô I shook hands with him, almost smothering his with my own. ÓMy nameÒs Mann, Mr. Small. IÒm trying to locate a friend of mine and if I can bother you a few minutes, maybe you can help.Ô ÓWhy sure Å sure. Come on in. Always glad to help out.Ô He ushered me in, closed the door and waved me into a spacious living room lined on two sides with fully packed bookshelves. ÓMake you a drink?Ô ÓFine. Whatever youÒre having.Ô ÓIÒm for a beer.Ô ÓGood enough.Ô He popped open two cans, held one out to me and sat down in a wicker rocking chair opposite me. ÓNow,Ô he said, ÓwhatÒs your problem?Ô ÓYou knew Louis Agrounsky, didnÒt you?Ô ÓLou? Why, certainly. Is he the one youÒre looking for?Ô I took a pull of the beer and put the can on the floor beside me. ÓUh-huh.Ô His grin took on a puzzled twist. ÓNow thatÒs very funny.Ô ÓWhat is?Ô ÓPoor Lou ... having everybody looking for him and all the while he was right here he was a lonely guy who never knew a soul. Never saw anybody so much alone. Even after his accident when he couldnÒt work any more, nobody but Claude Boster or me ever saw him.Ô ÓHe wasnÒt the type who made friends easily, Mr. Small. His work required so much secrecy the habit rubbed off on him.Ô Small nodded agreement, his mouth pursed in thought. ÓYouÒre right there. Never could get him into conversation about his job. Never really tried,Ô he added. ÓYou understand that, of course. With Claude he always talked about his hobby×those miniature electronics he played with. Whenever we were together it was always philosophy.Ô ÓThat your hobby?Ô I asked. ÓGoodness no,Ô he laughed. ÓThatÒs my profession. Teach it over at Bromwell University. Lou and I both graduated from there. I was two years ahead of him, but we became good friends when we roomed in the same dorm. Lou never studied philosophy ... majored in mathematics and all that, but after he had his breakdown he became interested in the subject and researched it as much as I did. It seemed to relieve him.Ô ÓI didnÒt think that breakdown was that serious,Ô I said. Small shrugged and sipped his drink. ÓIt wasnÒt, really. Overwork, I think. Lou really crammed harder than most. He was capable of absorbing it all, but the late hours finally caught up with him. No sleep, hours of study, a part time job ... thatÒs a little too much for anybody.Ô ÓHe really change after that?Ô ÓHe learned not to push too hard,Ô Small told me. ÓHe changed jobs and kept more reasonable hours.Ô He frowned in thought a moment, then added, ÓHe became more introspective, IÒd say. Social behavior seemed to concern him Å the state of the world ... that sort of thing. We spent many an hour discussing it from a philosophical viewpoint.Ô ÓWhat was his?Ô ÓNow that,Ô Vincent Small said, ÓI was hoping you could tell me. Lou never did arrive at a conclusion. He would ponder the subject endlessly, but never found an. answer.Ô ÓWhat philosopher ever did?Ô He glanced at me, surprised at the tone of my voice. ÓAh, Mr. Mann, I take it that youÒre a realist.Ô ÓAll the way.Ô ÓAnd philosophy Å?Ô ÓDoesnÒt fit the facts,Ô I answered him. His eyes brightened with humor, sparkling at the possibility of argument, seeing me take a fall. ÓOffer an example.Ô ÓWhere do you go when you die?Ô I said. Before he could answer I grinned and put in, ÓAnd prove it.Ô Then, like all the others who strive so hard to make the simple difficult, he threw it back to me again because he didnÒt know. ÓMaybe youÒd like to offer your version.Ô ÓSure,Ô I said, and finished the beer. ÓSix feet down.Ô ÓAh, Mr. Mann Å thatÒs so ...Ô ÓPractical?Ô ÓBut . . .Ô ÓEver go to a funeral?Ô ÓYes, but then . . .Ô ÓAnd where did the body go?Ô ÓRealists are impossible to talk to,Ô he smiled. ÓEver kill a man, Small?Ô ÓOf course not.Ô ÓWell, I have. Quite a few. ThatÒs fact, not philosophical nonsense. ItÒs real and complete. It makes you think about more things than all the trivia Plato or Aristotle ever dealt out.Ô Small threw me a peculiar glance and put his empty can on the table beside him. ÓMr. Mann . . . youÒre a strange sort of person for Lou to have known. May I ask how you came to meet him?Ô ÓI havenÒt yet,Ô I said. ÓI hope to before somebody else does, though.Ô ÓThat sounds rather mysterious.Ô ÓIt isnÒt. ItÒs something that canÒt be explained because it involves his work, but itÒs damned serious and I want to find him.Ô ÓYes.Ô He nodded, suddenly concerned. ÓI can believe that.Ô ÓYou mentioned other people interested in locating Louis Agrounsky. . . .Ô ÓSeveral.Ô ÓThey identify themselves as the police or a government agency?Ô ÓIt wasnÒt me they approached.Ô ÓOh?Ô ÓClaude Boster mentioned it. He was queried twice by persons saying they were LouÒs friends and when he ran into one of LouÒs former associates at the project, that one had been approached too. However, neither could supply any information. Lou seemed to have disappeared from the face of the earth.Ô ÓNo communication at all?Ô ÓNone whatsoever. Now, may
I ask you a question?Ô ÓMy pleasure.Ô ÓWhat is your interest in this?Ô ÓMoney, Mr. Small,Ô I said. ÓMy employer wants to purchase one of AgrounskyÒs inventions very badly, and if I can locate him before the competition, IÒm in, so to speak.Ô ÓThen youÒre a ... a ...Ô ÓCall it investigator.Ô ÓAnd youÒve killed people,Ô he stated. ÓOnly when it was necessary.Ô ÓDo you think it will be necessary in this case?Ô ÓThereÒs a distinct possibility. WeÒre at war, Mr. Small. Right now a cold war, but war nevertheless.Ô His nod was solemn. ÓI see. And the competition isnÒt the local commercial variety.Ô I didnÒt answer him. I didnÒt have to. Finally he said, ÓCan you identify yourself, sir?Ô ÓCurious?Ô ÓAll philosophers are.Ô ÓThen call the New York office of I.A.T.S. and ask for Charles Corbinet. HeÒll be glad to supply my ID.Ô ÓPerhaps I will,Ô he told me. ÓYou interest me strangely. This whole affair is very peculiar. It will make for some curious speculation.Ô ÓDonÒt philosophize on it, Small. If you can think of any place Agrounsky might be, keep it to yourself. IÒll contact you off and on while IÒm around. That is ... if you donÒt mind.Ô ÓNot at all. LouÒs disappearance disturbs me deeply. IÒm quite concerned for him.Ô I got up, stuck my hat on and held out my hand to Vincent Small. ÓThanks for the talk.Ô ÓNo bother at all.Ô ÓKnow where I might locate Claude Boster right now?Ô ÓWithout a doubt. HeÒll be in his shop behind his house, brains deep in hairlike wiring, circuits heÒs trying to reduce to pea size, and a headache as big as a house from squinting into microscopes.Ô And he was right. Twenty minutes after I left Vincent Small I was watching Claude Boster through the casement window of his small machine shop, back hunched over a small lathe he operated under an enlarging glass, stopping occasionally to rub his head over one ear and make a grimace of disgust. When I knocked he shut off his power and shuffled to the door, opened it to peer out at me, and said, ÓYes?Ô ÓClaude Boster?Ô He nodded. ÓThatÒs right.Ô ÓMann is my name. I just came from Vincent Small who suggested I see you about a matter.Ô SmallÒs name wiped the puzzled frown from his face. ÓOh. Yes, please come in.Ô I walked inside, took in the entire room with a sweep of my eyes, gauging the extent of his activities and cataloguing them in my mind. Although the layout was compact and gave no illusion of any size whatsoever, it was an extensive operation with equipment well into the five figure mark. At one corner was a table with two metal chairs and Boster pulled one out, offered it to me and sat in the other one. ÓNow, Mr. Mann . . .Ô ÓLouis Agrounsky. IÒm looking for him.Ô A shadow seemed to pass over BosterÒs face and his eyes had a withdrawn look. ÓYes, indeed,Ô was all he said. ÓI understand youÒve been approached before.Ô ÓThat is correct. I also understand that Louis was engaged in project work that put him in a special category.Ô ÓThereÒs no security involved now. ThereÒs a commercial aspect of one of his inventions IÒm interested in. IÒm authorized to locate him if possible.Ô ÓBy whom, sir?Ô Sometimes you have to, go all the way and I did the same thing with him I did with Vincent Small. I told him to contact I.A.T.S. in New York and ask for Charlie Corbinet. He studied me a moment, then, without answering, pulled a phone out from under the desk, dialed the operator and gave her the information. The call went through in thirty seconds and Claude Boster had Charlie on the other end giving him my name, a description, then handed the phone to me. I talked for ten seconds more, enough so Charlie was certain it was me, then handed the phone back. What he said satisfied Boster and he hung up. ÓCloak-and-dagger business, eh?Ô I shrugged, watching his face relax, and said, ÓCan we get to Agrounsky now?Ô He opened his palms helplessly. ÓWhat can I say? Louis just disappeared.Ô ÓPeople like him donÒt just disappear.Ô ÓHe did,Ô Boster insisted. ÓHow well did you know him?Ô ÓWe were good friends, Mr. Mann. Closer, perhaps, from a technical viewpoint than a social one, but friends. I presume you know about his hobby.Ô ÓSlightly. You both seem to have the same one.Ô I nodded toward the rest of the room. ÓWith me it isnÒt a hobby. It started that way, but itÒs serious work now. Miniaturization is a vital aspect of most engineering developments today and offers me a comfortable livelihood. I only wish Louis were with me now. I hate to admit it but he was well ahead of me in the major stages of mini-work.Ô ÓYou familiar with the details?Ô Boster shook his head. ÓUnfortunately, no, otherwise I would be tempted to duplicate his experiments. If his work is lost to the world, itÒs a great pity.Ô He sighed and leaned back in the chair. ÓLouis was a genius,Ô he said simply. ÓHow great?Ô ÓPossibly one of the greatest. There was a power unit he developed that could be activated remotely, capable of lighting an entire house. The whole thing was small enough to hold in the hollow of your hand. His subminiature circuits, even at that time, were several times smaller than my most recent refinements, and I might say that I am foremost in this particular field at this moment. Yes, it was quite a pity.Ô He looked up at me seriously and added, ÓHave you any idea where he might be?Ô ÓNo.Ô Claude Boster nodded again. ÓI believe you,Ô he told me. He seemed to purse his lips in thought, then: ÓBut it is strange. He was always so vitally interested in his work. You see ... he too believed that subminiaturization was the answer to the complicated technical problems that beset space projects. He searched for the answers and found them. Then ... it was all changed. It was that accident,Ô he mused. ÓThe car wreck?Ô ÓThatÒs right,Ô Boster agreed. ÓIt seemed to be nothing at first. After he was released from the hospital everything seemed to be all right, then he started to change.Ô ÓHow?Ô Boster made an impatient gesture. ÓOh, nothing definite. He ... he seemed withdrawn, distant. We werenÒt as close any more. It was a surprise to me when he sold everything and left. I never heard a word from him.Ô ÓNo complaints about the accident ... no permanent injury?Ô ÓHe never mentioned anything and he seemed fit enough except for periods of extreme nervousness. At these times heÒd leave for a few days and come back feeling better. I assumed he merely rested somewhere. We never discussed it.Ô Boster paused,, thought a moment, then went on. ÓThose periods became more frequent. Frankly, I couldnÒt understand it and since he was loath to talk about it, I never mentioned it. Such a pity.Ô ÓAnd he left no records?Ô I prompted. Boster smiled wistfully. ÓNone. I inquired personally. I searched what little effects he had here and found nothing. In fact . . . one day ... it was one of those times when he was feeling very badly ... he mentioned in passing that when he completed his special project he was going to destroy all written details of it. Frankly, I didnÒt think he would. It was much too unscientific a thing to do, so I passed it off to his condition. But ... I guess he meant it, all right.Ô I took a cigarette from the pack, offered one to Boster, and lit them up. ÓHe ever discuss politics with you?Ô ÓNever. The subject didnÒt seem to interest him. Only his work was important.Ô I said, ÓHe discussed philosophy with Vincent Small.Ô ÑThat and politics are far different matters. Occasionally he would make statements that seemed to be connected with his work×whether or not the world should exist with such products in its hands . .. that sort of thing. A bit incoherent, I thought. The present world situation always distressed him, but doesnÒt it everyone?Ô ÓEveryone with sense,Ô I agreed. ÓA few times he left and didnÒt return for three days.Ô ÓI see,Ô I said absently. ÓI wish I did, Mr. Mann.Ô ÓWell, thanks for the talk.Ô ÓDid I help?Ô ÓEverybody helps somehow or other. I may call on you again. If anything occurs to you, keep it in mind.Ô ÓGladly. I wish I could do more. He had few friends and I doubt if any of us could give a complete picture of him. However, you might consult the doctor who attended him after the accident. During that time he was fairly close to Louis. At least he saw him several times a day.Ô ÓRemember his name?Ô ÓCarlson. Dr. George Carlson. He has his own clinic now one block from the shopping center.Ô I stood up and held out my hand. ÓIÒll do that. And thanks. Hope I didnÒt put you out.Ô ÓNot at all.Ô Boster went to the door and opened it for me. I stuck my hat on and flipped my cigarette out into the night, watching it arc like a tiny flare . . . and that pinpoint of light saved my skin because it was cut off briefly by something that moved in front of it and I shoved Boster back with one hand an
d hit the floor even as two shots blasted above me and ricocheted around the room behind us. There wasnÒt time to get the .45 out... barely enough to kick the door shut and yell, ÓThe lights!Ô Boster hit a switch by the door sill and the room went dark. I said, ÓStay there,Ô then yanked the door open, pulled the gun from the sling and cocked it, then went out into the night in a diving roll, hoping I wasnÒt going into a sucker trap. I hit the bushes, waited, watched for movement against the lights in the background, but whoever it had been hadnÒt waited to see the results of his attempted kill. When I was sure the area was clear I went back inside, turned the lights back on and had Boster pull the blinds shut. ÓMr. Mann,Ô he said, his breath caught in his throat. ÓWhat Å was that for?Ô ÓI donÒt know, friend,Ô I said. ÓIÒm just curious about one thing.Ô ÓWhat ... is that?Ô ÓWere they shooting at me... or you?Ô
Mickey Spillane - [Tiger Mann] Page 6
