The Dryden Note

by Henry Hollensbe

  Half an hour after Hanrahan left Mangrum’s office for his operations room, there was a disturbance in the hall outside the locked entrance. “See about that, Lee,” Hanrahan growled.

  Before the small Korean could reach the door, Walter Mangrum shoved the door open. “Goddamn it, Seamus, that robot in front of the door didn’t think I should be allowed in.”

  “That’s correct, Walter,” Hanrahan said. “Here’s the deal: you can get out of here and let me run this operation. Or you can take me off this op and do whatever you want. Understand?”

  “I can’t afford that. I need you.”

  Hanrahan relented—he wouldn’t always have the upper hand with Mangrum. “All right, Walter, stay out of the way.” A few moments later, Hanrahan beckoned for Mangrum to join him at one of the white marker boards.

  “What’s this?”

  “I was just making some notes when you arrived. Read it. Maybe something will strike you.”

  Hanrahan had written:

  LOC is UNK

  continue searching Atlanta for Morgan and Sloan, but assume they are o/o/t, laying low until the press conference

  assume she has LOA

  assume she will appear at P/CON

  woman must die prior to appearance at P/CON

  only certain point of future contact is P/CON, plus vehicular approach

  must learn where she is and how she will travel to P/CON

  must kill her in a manner that will be deniable

  must recover LOA

  “What if they’re not out of town? For that matter, what if they’re staying at the hotel where they’re to hold their conference?”

  Hanrahan smiled. “Not too bad, Walter, but I’ve thought of that. No one with those names is staying at the hotel and there are no reservations—other than for the room where the meeting is to be held. Reservations under assumed names seems too farfetched—she has your letter, so they should have no reason to think we are planning any sort of move against them.”

  Mangrum nodded.

  “I’ll have Durham and his crew at the hotel with photographs. If they’ve been hiding in town, they’ll take them away.”

  “And then what?”

  “Car-jacking, I think.”

  Mangrum shivered.

  “That scenario is easy, but I consider it unlikely. I think we’ll pick them off returning to town.”

  Hanrahan pointed at the marker board. “Given some of the words written here, you can see why we don’t allow general access here.”

  Mangrum nodded.

  “As you can see now, the first step must be to find the woman.” He wrote on an adjacent marker board:

  must tap all telephones of Morgan family described by McQuade and homes and offices of Sloan and Tyler “I thought of both a road rage i ncident or a real accident, but road rage is out, since it’s a killing, no matter the assumed reason. A real accident should entail no repercussions.” On a third marker board Hanrahan had written:

  head-on vehicular collision or

  rollover or

  force off the road into a collision with an obstacle

  REQUIREMENTS:

  knowledge of approach route

  time of approach

  on-the-ground spotter vehicle

  heavily loaded truck not traceable to ICP

  management vehicle (ambulance or fire truck or police cruiser)

  at least two high-ground spotters, with TV transmission capability

  helicopter with TV

  OPS ROOM to monitor all activities (TV and voice) “Commendable, Seamus, but how easy will the plan be to execute?”

  “You thinking of nicking my commission, Walter?”

  Mangrum shook his head. “No. No, Seamus, not at all. I was just wondering at the

  probability of success.”

  “It’ll be easy, Walter.” “Tap the phones in Professor Sloan’s office at Tech,” Hanrahan told Yang. “May have multiple lines.”

  “OK.”

  “Then his home and a guy named Woodruff Tyler, a woman named Celia Morgan, and her mother, Carol Morgan.”

  After Yang had given his telephone tapping report, Hanrahan said, “Question for you, Walter.”

  Mangrum nodded.

  “Sam has the phone taps in place. He found Josh’s guys had already tapped the professor’s home and office. I remember recommending that after the hit at The Varsity didn’t work. What have you been getting from them?”

  Mangrum frowned and shook his head. “Hmm. I don’t remember. I don’t think anything came of that.”

  July 10, Blairsville.

  Tyler stretched his arms over his head, yawned, then said. “Outstanding dinner.” “Thank you,” Celia said.

  “But I have bad news.”“No,” Celia said.

  “I regret I must devastate the remainder of your evening by bidding you good night.” “Woody,” Celia said, “the party’s just beginning.”

  “Ending for me,” he yawned again. “I’m off.”

  Celia cocked her head at Sloan, then said, “You didn’t try very hard to make him stay

  up.”

  “I felt he needed his rest,” Sloan said.

  “Very thoughtful of you.”

  Sloan grinned.

  When she was sure Tyler was out of hearing, Celia said, “How about a personal

  question?”

  “Shoot.”

  “Not about you. Woody.”

  “He’s an open book.”

  “Lovelife?”

  “He doesn’t trust many people.”“Paranoia?”

  “No, he doesn’t trust himself to make interpersonal decisions. I don’t know why. It

  tends to make for short-lived relationships. He has a lot going for him —personality, intelligence, financial stability—even looks, if you like grizzly bears,” Sloan chuckled, “but nothing has worked out for him.”

  She grasped Sloan’s hand and pulled. “Come sit with me.” Two hours and another bottle of cabernet sauvignon later, Sloan sat on the end of the couch with Celia lying with her head in his lap.

  “Tell me about you and your Olivia.”

  “It’s not very pleasant and certainly not very original.”

  “Please.”

  He hesitated. “Livie. Gone eight years now.” He paused. “After graduation I launched myself into the investment business.

  “I met her after my first year at Winkelman, in Chicago. She agreed with my goals, tucked her BA in psychology away, and began decorating a small apartment.

  “It was about a year and a half later when the imagined glamour of life in the securities business wore off for me. I didn’t care enough about big money—what I preferred was the history of business and the related research. I decided to return to academe, where research was the goal itself.

  “She passively moved to the campus with me, but when she found herself in another small apartment—starting over again—she began to fade away.

  “The sad part was I did nothing about it. My happiness at returning to the campus took all of my time. I failed to notice Livie was no longer with me.

  “Finally, she went home—to Cincinnati and her widowed father. The last I heard, she had married an automobile dealer. I understand he’s quite wealthy.”

  “So she got what she wanted.”

  “In a sense. When I changed, she could only wonder what irrational decision I might make next.”

  Celia was silent.

  “To tell the truth, I only remember her now as a pretty woman who had somehow been assigned to me at a picnic. The rest is a blur.”

  Sloan divided the remaining wine between their glasses.

  “And you?” he said.

  “Why there’s no man in my life? There was. He’s dead.”

  “I’m sorry, Celia. It was…”

  She pulled his nose. “Not very good, Professor.”

  “What are you...?”

  “Those are the lines Ingrid Bergman says to Humphrey Bogart in Casablanca.�
�� Celia scooted toward him until their thighs were touching. “Actually, it’s pretty funny—soap opera stuff.”

  “Yes?”

  “David Adams. A poor boy from Bainbridge, Georgia, with a dream. I met him during my senior year at UGA, when he was in medical school in Augusta. He wanted to care for humanity and he wanted me to help. After I graduated, I worked to support him through his last year.

  “You weren’t married?”

  “No. I proposed marriage, but he thought he should avoid any additional responsibilities so he could concentrate. I should have understood him then.”

  She paused. “Anyway, after he graduated, I discovered what I thought was a flaw in the dream: he had examined the fields of medicine that appealed to him and picked plastic surgery. That struck me as pretty far afield from saving humanity, but he sold me on the idea that rebuilding the faces of crash victims and burn victims was being true to his dream. I stayed and we got him through his internship and a year’s residency. Then there was another odd twist. He associated himself with a group of nose-bobbers and tummy-tuckers in Atlanta. We argued, then fought. He informed me the dream was, and always had been, money—nothing else. Investments and tax-savings and smart CPAs. He made it as unattractive as he could.” Celia was smiling, all the while tears were flowing down her cheeks.

  “Once the money began to flow, he would go over his accounts and investments daily. Scrooge in surgical greens.” She managed a small laugh, but there was no mirth in it. “I stayed a couple of months more, then left. Last I heard, he had moved to Southern California.”

  “Financial circumstances—an interesting problem for me.”

  “Yes, I’ve been thinking about that.”

  She turned to look at him full in the face. “You don’t suppose we could hold that one in abeyance for a while, do you?”

  He took her into his arms. Hers lips were parted; her eyes were closed. Chapter 35

  July 11, Blairsville.

  Next morning, Sloan went for a newspaper and Tyler left for another walk. Celia

  decided she should honor her promise to call her Mother.

  “Mother, I’m perfectly well and in the company of two perfect gentlemen.” “Where are you?”

  “Blairsville. North of there, in the mountains.”

  “What are you doing there?”

  “Just relaxing. All is well. I just wanted to let you know where I am—as I said I

  would.”

  “When will you be home.”

  “Monday. We’re leaving around one, I suppose. I should be home by six.” “Be careful, dear. And thanks for calling.”

  Seconds after Celia broke the connection, a light on Hanrahan’s telephone console lit up.

  “Seamus, it’s Bud.”

  “Go.”

  “Telephone call just now. To the residence of Carol Morgan. I recorded all of it.”

  “Transmit.”

  When Hanrahan had listened to the recording twice, he stepped to a blank marker board:

  specific LOC remains UNK, but north of town of Blairsville, Georgia

  three persons – woman, two men – probably professor and his gofer remaining in place until 1:00 Monday afternoon – probably leaving just in time to arrive at P/CON at 4:00 – assume driving directly to hotel

  Hanrahan turned to his Georgia road map. “Somewhere north of Blairsville,” he murmured. He traced a route. “Most likely way to the hotel is Georgia 515 to I-575 to I75 to I-285. Means they have to cross I75 on the overpass.” Hanrahan walked to the third marker board, smiled, and added:

  force over side of I-75 to I-285 overpass Hanrahan looked a gain at the Georgia map. “Or they could take US 129 to Dahlonega, then catch Georgia 400 south.” He opened the map drawer and extracted a topographic map of the area. US 129 was a narrow road, curving through mountains.

  There was a knock at the door to the war-room. He opened it a few inches. Mangrum stood outside. “Yes, Walter?”

  “There wasn’t anyone outside, so I just knocked.”

  Hanrahan stood in the doorway, blocking Mangrum’s entry. “Where’s Luther?

  Where’s Sam?”

  “There was no one here.”

  Mangrum was almost timid, Hanrahan reflected. “Well, what can I do for you,

  Chairman?”

  “Just wondering how it’s going.”

  “I’ll keep you informed.”

  “But as long as I’m here...”

  “Come in.” He pointed to the marker board he had just left. “Our tappers have

  scored . We know where the woman is, we know where...”

  “If you know where she is, why don’t you...?”

  “We know in general where she is.”

  “You couldn’t just go there and...”

  “Not enough time. She’ll be driving to the press conference Monday afternoon. We

  know where and when the conference will be held. And we know about what time they’ll be leaving the mountains.”

  “We’ve got’em!” Mangrum grabbed Hanrahan’s hand and shook it. “I knew could count on you.” Hanrahan spoke to the man sitting at the guard desk. “Where you been?” “Latrine.”

  “Get a replacement next time.”

  The man nodded.

  “Get Bauer for me.”

  Bauer entered the warroom. “Yes?” “I have an assignment for you.” Hanrahan pointed to the Georgia map. “Note the town. Blairsville.”

  Bauer nodded.

  “Note the highway running south of the town. US 129, also numbered US 19.”

  Bauer nodded.

  “The land is mountainous. Close the road as near the southern edge of the town as possible.”

  “Close?”

  “No traffic through for, say, two hours. Reconnoiter this afternoon. Take a case of dynamite. Monday, about noon, blow some rocks or a few big trees onto the road. Whatever. Close it from noon until at least three o’clock.”

  Celia heard Sloan on the deck and hurried to the door to let him in.

  “Welcome.” She had missed him, which seemed silly.

  “Thank you.” He handed the newspaper to her.

  Celia opened the newspaper to the Rich’s ads.

  Tyler frowned at Sloan and motioned with his head toward the door to the deck.

  Sloan followed him outside.

  “What?”

  “As I was coming in I heard Celia on the telephone.”

  Sloan rushed back inside. “Celia,” he yelled. “You called someone?” “Yes,” she said, startled at his intensity. “Mother.”

  “I thought we’d agreed to stay under cover.”

  “Yes,” she said, “but calling my Mother doesn’t qualify as broadcasting our location,

  does it?” Tyler, sensing Sloan would be reluctant to criticize Celia, spoke. “Celia, there are skills and equipment companies like ICP can bring to bear that...”

  “Really!” she exclaimed. “You’re a couple of boy scouts, playing soldier in the woods.”

  “What did you tell her?” Sloan said.

  “That we were in the mountains.”

  “Blairsville?”

  “Yes.”

  “What else?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Our schedule?”

  “I said we are leaving tomorrow afternoon and I’d be home by six.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Tom, I don’t see how...”

  Sloan was displeased with her reaction. “You’ve forgotten your experience with Mr. Webb?”

  “I have not!” she exclaimed, “but calling my Mother doesn’t mean I’ve violated some silly spies and counterspies rules.” Neither Sloan nor Tyler answered. “Well, does it?”

  “It’s in the past,” Sloan said gently.

  “Don’t let’s leave it at that, Tom!” Celia exclaimed. “This whole thing is about over, isn’t it?”

  “No, it is not over yet.”

  Celia stared at both of the men, then hurried from the room.


  Mangrum was alone when Hanrahan called. “Yes?” “Come on down.”

  Mangrum was manic as he rushed into the warroom. “Yes! What is it?” “My original thinking is proving to be correct. They’re out of town. The traffic accident will work out well.”

  “Genius!” Mangrum exclaimed. “May I know more about...”

  “No, no, Walter. I don’t want you trying to make any adjustments. Just bear this in mind: I’m sure your Ms. Morgan has about twenty-six hours to live.”

  It was after 10:00 PM when Tyler gathered the playing cards and placed them in their box.

  “I hesitate to deprive you of my presence, but I shall now slink off to my solitary couch.”

  “We’ll miss you,” Sloan said.

  “Bah!” Tyler bellowed and disappeared.

  They avoided discussing the topics that were in the forefront of their minds. Rather, the conversation ran to Sloan’s description of the school colors of the Tipton Terrapins, Celia’s recollections of long summer’s at her Grandfather’s beach house, Sloan’s fraternity initiation, Celia’s chagrin when she learned she was not be her high school class salutatorian, and the memories of both of their first real dates.

  At midnight, Celia found she had been carrying the conversation by herself for several minutes. She shook Sloan’s shoulder and said, “Arise, Hero of the Terrapins.”

  Sloan opened his eyes. “Sorry,” he said, “too much merlot and company much too pleasant.”

  Half an hour after they parted in the hall way outside Celia’s bedroom, she abandoned sleep, pulled her robe over her shoulders, and stepped into the hall.

  She knocked gently on Sloan’s bedroom door. There was no answer.

  She opened the door. The room was in complete darkness. “Tom?” There was no response.

  She hesitated a few moments, listening. There was no sound.

  She shuffled forward slowly until her knee touched the edge of a bed.

  “Tommy?” The room remained still.

  She sat on the edge of the bed and reached a hand into the darkness. She touched his forehead.

  “Hi!”

  Celia recoiled and stood. “What..?”

  Sloan turned on the bedside lamp.

  “You weren’t asleep!” she accused. “You were faking.”

  “On the contrary, I was being a gentleman.”