by Rick Raphael
Now Ben could hear the roar of the chopper's jets in the night and its huge spotlight loomed out of the rain. He unclipped his smaller handlight from his belt and aimed its red beam at the approaching aircraft.
"Got you, Five Six," the chopper pilot called.
The craft came rushing in, stopped and hovered outboard of the cruiser but not dropping lower into the gorge. "We'll have to make the lift from here," the chopper pilot called out. "Too turbulent and too dark to take a chance on the side of the hill. Litter coming down,"
From the bottom hatch of the chopper the litter dropped swiftly on its cable, two small flashing lights winking at the front and back to mark it against the dark sky. It came to rest a few feet from Ben and he reached out and pulled it towards him. "Slack off," he ordered.
Kelly had squeezed into the blood-smeared interior of the car and was working around the boy's thighs. "Get his shoulders, Ben," she ordered, "and let's get him out of here fast. He's in deep shock and hurt terribly,"
The officer and the girl worked the inert form out of the wreckage and onto the litter. Ben pulled the plastic cover over the litter. "Take him up," he called. "And then lower the litter back for a DOA.
"Clay, stand by to haul Kelly up," Ben directed.
Kelly had closed her kit and hooked back onto the cruiser cable. Ben gave the word and the cable began hauling her back up the muddy, rocky slope.
The instant she was back on the edge of the road, Kelly slipped out of her harness and went racing to the ramp where the litter hovered a few feet off the ground. She snapped the wheels down from the side of the litter and on command, the chopper lowered the litter to the ground. Seconds later it was up the ramp and into the dispensary beside the surgery table.
The chopper hauled up the cable, affixed another litter and lowered it back down to where Ben was waiting. The senior officer caught hold of the basket and told the pilot to haul up slowly. When he came to the level where the dead girl lay, the litter was halted and Ben gently lifted the shattered form onto the litter.
"Take it up," Ben called, "I'll be hanging on for a hand up this slope."
Inside the cruiser, Clay had come running through the car and burst into the dispensary as Kelly was wheeling the diagnostican into position.
"Let's get him on the table," she ordered. She and the trooper lifted the unconscious youth from the litter to the table and Kelly slipped a plasma needle into a vein even before attaching the big machine. She sprayed another dose of heart stimulant into the boy and turned to the diagnostican.
The boy's eyes flickered open. He stared dully at the white ceiling of the dispensary, his eyes unfocused. "Kelly," Clay yelped, "he's conscious."
The medical officer whipped around and reached for the boy's pulse. She stared at his eyes and rolled the lids back, then quickly began making the diagnostic attachments. Minutes ticked by as the machine analyzed the damage to the injured youth. Kelly had slapped gobs of regen jelly into the superficial wounds that showed while the machine continued its diagnosis. A green light came on when the diagnosis was completed and the last of the taped data spilled from an orifice.
The boy's eyes had closed and his breathing became more labored. Outside, a Patrol ambulance came roaring to a halt and a team of medical technicians came running into the cruiser's dispensary. Wet, muddy and blood-splattered, Ben followed them into the car. While Kelly was reading the tapes, the techs were unlocking the table from the dispensary floor to wheel it out and into the ambulance.
Kelly glanced at the last few readings on the tape and leaned over and rolled the youth's head gently to one side. A stream of blood spilled down his neck from his ear.
She looked at Ben and shook her head.
The medtechs wheeled the table and its still form out into the red glare of the ambulance's warning lights. The crew of Car 56 watched the table vanish into the other vehicle. Red sheets of rain splattered off the hull of the vehicles and the wet roadway.
"You can't win 'em all," Ben swore softly, "but why can't we win the ones with the kids in them?"
A moment later, the medtechs came racing back with a new surgery table for the Patrol car. They rolled it up the ramp and Kelly grabbed it and waved. With Clay's help, she shoved it into the deck clamps and the medtechs ran back for their own vehicle. Seconds later, the ambulance with the dying boy and the body of the dead girl, was hurtling back down the police lane towards Ash Fork.
Ben recovered the cable and winch panel in Beulah's bow and then headed into the cruiser to the men's quarters to clean up and change into dry uniform coveralls.
The wrecker had arrived and the shattered hulk of the sports car had been hauled up the face of the slope. The crews were installing warning lights and temporary barriers along the smashed railing.
Ben got Flagstaff on the radio. "Better keep the yellow closed until this storm moves and at least for the rest of the night," he suggested. "You might lose another one over the side in the dark. Stand by for registration check."
Clay had removed the registration tab from the wrecked car and was back in the cab. He handed the tab to Ben and then checked with Kelly to see if she was ready to roll. "Go ahead," the girl replied. "I'm just cleaning up back here. But give me a couple of seconds warning in case we have to go Code Three in the next few minutes. I've got some of my equipment unracked."
Beulah rumbled across the Colorado River causeway shortly before two in the morning and the control shifted back to Los Angeles. At six in the morning, Car 56 jockeyed into a parking slot in the Los Angeles Barracks motor pool and the completion of the ten-day patrol. The two troopers spent a half hour with the maintenance crew chief going over a number of minor discrepancies in Beulah's operation.
"You •might as well give her a real going-over," Ben told the mechanic. "Don't know how long we're going to be tied up here in L.A. I know it's going to be at least six more days and it could run twice that long. She's due for blade rebalancing in another four hunderd hours so I'd just as soon get that done now and get new throat liners installed at the same time."
"While you're at it," Clay added, "we can use either a repolishing job on the cab bubble or a new bubble. That sandstorm scratched and pitted the canopy and we're getting halation and streaking at night,"
The crew chief made notes and then began unlocking outside inspection ports for the start of the routine vehicle inspection. Ben and Clay collected their gear and headed for the dispatch desk. Kelly had already left the car to report to the medical section with her tapes and reports and would meet them later.
At the dispatch desk, Ben shoved the closed log across the counter to the corporal on duty. The dispatcher glanced at the car number on the log book and then punched Car 56 off the ready board. He turned and reached into a cubbyhole behind the desk and extracted a memo sheet.
"You and your crew are to report immediately to Captain Fisher," he told Ben. He shoved the memo across the counter. Ben nodded and motioned to Clay.
"Will you call over to medical section and inform Officer Lightfoot to meet us here?" Ben asked the corporal.
"She's already been notified," the man said, "and she's on the way over here. Go on into the old man's office and I'll send her in when she arrives."
Ben and Clay headed for Fisher's office.
"We've had so-called 'VIP's' on the docket before," Fisher said, "but never of the political and economic influence of the Shellwoods."
He paused and studied the faces of the three members of Car 56 sitting across the desk from him.
"Since you left here ten days ago," the captain continued, "we've felt the start of the most vicious attack on the Thruway Authority since it was first created. Old man Shellwood has unleashed every one of his hounds on us in an effort to save that kid of his from jail. And this is only the beginning. Before we get through the trial, not only the Authority, but the three of you are going to be subjected to the toughest fight you've ever been involved in.
"Just for a starter, Shellwood's attorneys
are entering countersuit charging false arrest, brutality, usurpation of authority and cruelty in subjecting Junior to the perils of disaster in the pileup that you handled while you had him in custody."
Fisher got up from his desk and went to a window that looked out on the huge motor pool area of the barracks. Scores of the sleek and massive blue Thruway cruisers were parked on the line while service crews swarmed over them. He continued his monologue with his back to Beulah's crew.
"We've worked like dogs to build this agency up for the sake of the people," Fisher murmured, "and now one lousy individual is trying to tear it down for his own personal gain.
"When you leave here, you three are to report to the prosecutor's office. He wants to go over all of the arrest reports and the rest of the material that he'll be using when we go into court next Monday. I've gone over all of the tapes and your written reports and I'm satisfied that you acted not only with proper authority but with the degree of propriety that I expect of every Thruway crew. But that may not be enough. There's more at stake here than a simple case of drunk driving charges against an individual."
Fisher turned to face them.
"Nobody loves a cop," he said grimly. "I don't have to tell you that. Everybody wants one in a big hurry when their tails are in the wringer but for the rest of the time, we're just trying to persecute innocent people when we apply preventative measures before they kill them-selves. There's been a lot of talk in Congress about the federal appropriations for Thruway Authority and about the abrogation of American Constitutional rights to the Authority. As usual, the people want to have their cake and eat it, too. They know they could never have had the road system that the Thruways have given them on either a state or national financial basis and that the only way it could be realized was through a continental sharing of costs between the three nations. Well, they've got the roads and now they want to pull out and stop sharing the cost of keeping themselves alive. And Shellwood's outfit is using every bit of anti-Thruway feeling possible against us."
The captain slammed his clenched fist against his desk. "That Shellwood would kill off half the population of this continent if he thought it would keep his kid out of jail."
Ben slumped in his chair, glumly surveying the mosaic pattern of the floor. "What's it take to stop him," he asked without looking up.
"Huh," Fisher snorted, "that's simple. We drop the charges against the kid and the old man grins and goes about his business. And he'll keep grinning until the kid goes out on the roads again and kills himself and probably some other people at the same time. Then the old man will scream for our scalps for not protecting his innocent child from the horrors of the Thruway. But the point is that if he wins this one, it can destroy much of what we've worked like dogs to create. Our biggest gun in the fight to keep people alive on the Thruways has been that the law is bigger than any one person or group of persons and that all violators are treated equally in the courts and on the roads. They know that their basic protection lies in the fact that major violators are barred from the Thruways for life through impartial justice by our courts. Let there be a break in that faith and the entire system is weakened.
"Well, enough of this. You three are now on detail to the prosecutor's office until the completion of this matter. Keep me posted on what's happening."
The trio saluted and left Fisher's office. At the prosecutor's office, Kelly and Clay were asked to wait in the anteroom while Ben was ushered into the inner office.
The Thruway prosecutor was in his middle fifties, slightly balding and beginning to run to paunch. He came around the desk as Ben entered. "I'm John Harvey, sergeant," he said with a smile, his hand extended. "Welcome to the siege of Troy."
He waved at a chair and Ben sat down. Harvey shoved a cigarette box across the desk and then reached for a thick file of papers and microtapes.
"I'm going to level with you, Martin," Harvey said, tapping the pile of evidence. "This is going to be a nasty one. I've set this interview up so that I can talk to each one of you individually and then check each of your stories against the other and then each and all against the reports and tapes. Now don't get me wrong. I haven't the least doubt in my mind that you all have acted in the best possible manner. But if there are any minor technical discrepancies, I want to know about them and be ready to counter them before that battery of defense lawyers has a chance to nail you to the cross,"
"Now let's start at the beginning and tell me the entire story as it occurred." Harvey leaned back and lighted a cigarette and Ben began talking.
While Ben was relating the events of Kevin Shellwood's arrest and the subsequent events, Harvey made occasional notes. When Ben had finished Harvey leaned forward.
"Is that the entire story?"
Ben hesitated thoughtfully. "As far as the actual arrest and the details of the patrol, that's the story,"
"What's that mean?" Harvey queried.
"There have been a couple of things that may have bearing on the case that have occurred since we first pulled into L.A. with Shellwood,"
"Such as what?" Harvey asked with a raised eyebrow. Ben related the visit to his room by Shellwood's attorney before the preliminary hearing.
" . . . And when I got through telling him off," Ben finished, "I threw him out into the hall."
Harvey leaned forward excitedly. "Was there anyone else present while he was making the proposition?"
"No," Ben replied. "Officer Ferguson arrived just as I tossed the guy out into the hall but I don't think he heard any of the conversation."
Harvey sat back disappointedly. "I really didn't expect anyone else to be there," he said. "Those people are too smart for that. You know, if we could prove any attempt by either old man Shellwood or his attorneys, we could bring them to trial, too. But, I suppose, that's too much to hope for."
The two men smoked in silence for a moment. "You said that there were a couple of things that might have bearing," Harvey said. "What's the other thing?"
"I got a telegram from Shellwood Electronics," Ben replied, "raising the ante and keeping the offer open."
Harvey snapped upright in his chair. "Where is the wire?"
"I don't have the actual wire," Ben explained. "It was relayed to me from Oklahoma City Control. The dispatcher forgot to deliver it before we pulled out and I had them open it and read it to me on the air."
"That might be the answer to a tired, old prosecutor's prayer," Harvey exclaimed. He grabbed his desk communicator. "Ruth," he said to his secretary, "get Oklahoma City Control headquarters right away and have them get hold of the original copy of a telegram addressed to Patrol Sergeant Ben Martin." Harvey paused and looked up at Ben. "What date was that sent to you?"
Ben told him.
"That was on the 15th, Ruth," Harvey continued. "Tell them I want that original, together with their log of the transmission to Car 56 concerning that telegram and their sealed tape recordings of the transmissions on the next jet for L.A. Tell 'em I want the entire package here no later than 1300 hours this afternoon."
Harvey sat back and smiled at Ben. "I think somebody goofed," he said gleefully. "I'll give you ten-to-one odds that that wire was never supposed to have been sent. What probably happened is that Shellwood's lawyers had a contract and binding papers drawn up and given to the personnel section and then were going to contact you in person but without witnesses after you got back here to Los Angeles. Probably some over-zealous apple-polisher in the personnel section, like the personnel manager, has taken it upon himself to get hold of you in hopes of currying the old man's favor. And if this is the case, and I'm almost positive it is, we have a chance.
"Now, how was that wire worded?"
"As nearly as I can remember," Ben said, "it said in effect that the original offer is still open for forty-eight hours and that they'd make me director of transportation with an unlimited salary. And I was to contact the personnel manager when I got here."
"Fine," Harvey said, "just great. Get on the horn
and call the guy right now and make an appointment. You are about to become the new Director of Transportation for Shellwood Electronics."
Ben stared at the chubby lawyer. "Are you out of your mind, sir ?"
Harvey grinned. "I've never been more serious in my life. You're going to go down there and dicker with these people before their lawyers have a chance to realize what's happening. And you're not only going to dicker over your job—you're going to get plush offers for the other two members of your crew. After all, even with you out of the picture, we could still have a pretty good case against Shellwood with them on the stand. You've got to make the company see that and make them come up with a good offer. Then all three of you are going to take the jobs."
"But that means resigning from the Patrol," Ben protested.
"It sure does," Harvey said. "I'll see that the papers for your resignation and discharges are drawn up right away. Now let's get the rest of that crew of yours in here. We've got some planning to do and not much time to do it."
He barked into his intercom. "Ruth, send in the other two officers and get in here with your vocawriter."
When the crew of Car 56 was assembled in Harvey's office and when his secretary had adjusted her vocawriter mask, the prosecutor began outlining his ideas.
"Now if this works," he said, "by early afternoon you three should be discharged from the Patrol and well on your way to becoming employees of Shellwood Electronics."
"Now wait a minute," Ben growled, "I have no ..."
"Shut up, sergeant," Harvey snapped, "and don't interrupt me until I get through. Then you can talk.
"As I was saying. You three should all get pretty good offers. But they may be predicated on your full discharges from the Patrol and they'll want to see physical proof of such discharges. We'll have them for the company to see.
"Ruthie, see that the paper work is done within an hour on the discharges of Patrol Sergeant Benjamin Martin,
Patrolman Clay Ferguson and Medical Officer Kelly Lightfoot. Also, draft up simple letters of resignation for their signatures. You know the word, 'for personal reasons, et cetera.'
