Such Men Are Dangerous Read online

  It wasn’t hard to give them the right reaction. By the time he finished his speech, I was really angry. I must have gotten a wire crossed mentally, to the point where I believed for a moment or two that we were really going to ambush the truck in Texas, and that George had shafted me by sending me to Sprayhorn. That’s a recognized hazard in any sort of role-playing. Anyone good enough to operate under cover has a certain amount of trouble keeping the cover separated from the reality in his own mind. In this case it worked out for the better. I showed the right degree of annoyance at the way I was being called upon to waste my time and comfort, and Bourke and O’Gara had a laugh at my expense, and I joined in.

  “If they were shipping sheep shit from Texas to South Dakota,” I said, “then guess who’d be on the receiving end that time.”

  “They’ll never do it. This place has all the sheep shit it needs.”

  “The Army wouldn’t care.”

  There was a knock at the door, and a non-com came in with a telegram for me. “Now’s when they tell you about it,” O’Gara said. I agreed, and put the telegram in my pocket without opening it.

  “Come on,” Bourke said, “we’ll take a look at the trucks. Now that you know how important they are, you might want to see how we’re setting it up.”

  It was cold on the way over and just as cold inside the storage depot. The building wasn’t heated. All four trucks stood in line at the far end of the building, away from the big doorway. We walked over to them, and Bourke pointed out the one destined for Amarillo. He called a soldier over and ordered him to unlock the back.

  “Our idea,” he explained. “We shifted the load, apportioned a few cases among the three other trucks.”

  “Won’t that screw things up?”

  O’Gara shook his head. “We shifted goods the truck was heavy on,” he said. “Some chemical stuff that’ll never see use anywhere, and some of the gas grenades. We’ve corrected the invoices accordingly, so that no one in Amarillo will start raising hell. They can always adjust quantities later on, ship stuff from other bases to Amarillo, but I don’t really think they’ll bother.”

  “Probably not,” Bourke agreed. “The important thing is that we’ve made room in this truck for four men armed with M-14s. That’s plenty of insurance, don’t you think?”

  “Uh-huh. They ride in back?”

  “Right. They’ll get bumped around, but that’s army life for you. If any crackpot patriots open this rig before the truck gets to Amarillo, they won’t even know what hit them.”

  “Beautiful.”

  “Of course there’ll be an armed man sitting next to the driver all the way,” O’Gara said. “The same as the other three.”

  “And we’ll follow this one down.”

  “In a car?”

  He nodded. “We’ll keep all four trucks together as far as Omaha. At that point number one heads due east, number three swings southeast, and number four goes west to California. Our baby keeps on going south and we ride her tail all the way home.” He grinned at me. “We’ve got a sheaf of maps where we’re bedded down. If you want to come along, we’ll give you a quick briefing on the route.”

  We took their car, and it wasn’t hard to spot it as government issue; it was the current year’s Ford, the bottom of the line, with absolutely no extras. Not even an ashtray. Their quarters were on the base, a single squat concrete block cube designed by the same imaginative genius who had created the rest of the base.

  We spread maps on O’Gara’s bed and the two of them took turns explaining the proposed route to me. I had to pay closest attention to the part that interested me least, the route of the Texas-bound truck after the convoy broke up in Omaha. The part I cared about they covered in a few words, and it was as I had figured; the four trucks would move together along the fifteen-mile stretch. After that it all became academic as far as I was concerned.

  But I had to pretend to pay attention. “Now here’s where we go a few extra miles,” Phil Bourke showed me. “From Omaha, the most natural route would take us almost due southwest toward Amarillo. But instead we’re routing the truck along the Missouri as far as Kansas City, Kansas. Then we head straight down to Tulsa, then over to Oklahoma City. Get the point? The roads are bigger and better, and they have more traffic. I don’t think they’d be fool enough to try anything north of the Texas line, but this makes it just that much safer.”

  I agreed that this made a lot of sense.

  “There are two ways to bring the goods through to Amarillo. We can come due south through Stratford and Moore or cut in from the east through Canadian, Pampa and White Deer. That way’s a little longer, but again we take advantage of better roads. Also, we’ll be picking up two escort jeeps in Fort Jeffrey Hillary just east of the border, see? And by the time—”

  I let them give me the full rundown, and I asked most of the right questions. They weren’t making provision for air cover, that would be handled by the receiving unit out of Amarillo. All four trucks would receive air spotting throughout the trip once they separated in Omaha.

  Finally they finished and asked me how it looked, and I said it looked airtight to me. No questions? Just one, I said, and they couldn’t answer it—where did I fit in?

  “The answer’s probably in your pocket, Dick.”

  “How’s that?”

  “Your telegram. You figure they’ll send you along?”

  “Damned if I know. I can’t see the point myself.”

  “It’s a long trip, if they make you take your own car. At least the boys in the trucks will be splitting the driving, and so will Phil and I in our car. Maybe they’ll let you ride with us.”

  We all laughed at that. They drove me back to my office, and on the way I asked the question that had been on my mind for most of the past hour. “Not that I’m complaining,” I said, “but how come you brought me in on all this?”

  They glanced quickly at each other, then at me. “No reason not to,” Larry said. “We aren’t telling you anything you won’t know anyway.”

  “True, but—”

  “And inter-service rivalry doesn’t quite enter the picture this time, does it? We’re no saints, we hate to see you boys grab all the glory, but there’s not going to be any glory in this one, not up here in South Dakota. The trucks leave here on schedule. If the Texas truck arrives on time, that’s routine. If somebody makes a play for it, then whoever’s on the spot can be glorious. And if a long shot comes through and the crackpots pull it off, they won’t be passing out glory. They’ll be pouring out shit with a ladle.”

  “Oh,” I said.

  Larry O’Gara grinned. “So naturally we want you in on the planning,” he said. “You’ll be one more person for them to pour the shit on.”

  I went to my office and closed the door. I opened the telegram. For the first time it wasn’t even coded. It said SCRATCH UNDERDOG SIT TIGHT.

  I still had the telegram in my hand when the door opened. It was O’Gara. “We just got one of those ourselves,” he said. “I hope to Christ I never become a general. I’d hate to spend my declining years acting like an idiot. Did you get the same news we got?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. I decided the hell with it and handed him the wire. “You tell me,” I said.

  He read it. “Uh-huh. Well, that’s half of it. Underdog meant the original shipping date, right?”

  It didn’t, but I nodded.

  “You’ll probably get the rest in a few minutes, unless your people don’t have it yet. You knew of course that shipping date was Thursday.”

  “I don’t recall anybody mentioning it.”

  “No, we didn’t tell you and you didn’t tell us. Actually we took it for granted that you knew, and you realize how secrecy becomes a habit in this game. Well, they moved it up.”

  “Wednesday?”

  He shook his head. “Tomorrow morning. Six hundred thirty hours.” He heaved a sigh. “Phil’s on the line now trying to change their minds for them. We haven’t even lined
up our drivers yet, let alone the four clowns who’ll sit in back with the M-14s. I told Phil he was wasting his time.”

  “Six-thirty,” I said.

  “That’s the word. That’s what? Twenty hours from now? Not even that. “He shook his head. “Got to go. Let me know when you get the word. If they tell you a different time, for God’s sake let me hear about it.”

  He left, drawing the door shut after him. I burned the telegram and dropped the ashes in the wastebasket. Scratch underdog sit tight. The score was less than twenty hours away and Dattner’s arrival was scrambled, and I was supposed to sit tight.

  I got in the car and went to the motel. I lay down on the bed and looked at the ceiling. When in doubt, do nothing.

  That was where I was, and that was what I did.

  ELEVEN

  I MUST HAVE called the base half a dozen times just to find out if there were any messages for me. There never were. The last time, around five-thirty, I had them get hold of Bourke for me. He wanted to know what I’d heard from my office. I told him they hadn’t given me a thing since I talked to O’Gara.

  “We’ve had confirmation,” he said. “We roll at six-thirty in the morning. All appeals denied. I don’t like it.”

  “Neither do I.”

  “I don’t even like being awake at that hour, but what I like least of all is all this hurry-up action. This morning I figured we were going through a lot of waste motion, but now I’m not so sure. I’ve got a feeling there’s going to be trouble in Texas.”

  “You could be right.”

  “No other explanation, Dick. I don’t like it.”

  He couldn’t have liked it less than I did. The way I saw it there were two possibilities, and one was worse than the other. With the shipment heading south at sunrise and George taking himself out of the play, at best we were letting the score slip past us.

  That was the best way to look at it. Another possibility, and one that seemed increasingly likely the more thought I gave it, was that our play was already completely blown. Somehow or other they had tipped to us. That explained the new departure date, and it also explained why I had never gotten a second wire from George. They didn’t let you send telegrams from a jail cell.

  I couldn’t sit still. I kept getting up and pacing around like a caged wolf. I did several crazy things. Once I started packing, and I had one suitcase half filled before realizing that there was nothing I wanted to take with me. I put everything back where it belonged. Another time I decided that I had to make a run for it, and I went out and took the car a mile down the road before I managed to get hold of myself and drive back to the motel.

  Obviously my cover hadn’t been blown so far, or they would have ordered a pickup for me at the same time as they changed the shipping date. It was possible that they had George; if so, he would talk, but I would have a few hours safe time. I compromised with myself. I stayed at the motel, but instead of walking back and forth across the room I sat in my car and listened to the radio while the sky got dark.

  I was parked off to the side, lights and motor off. A few minutes before eight a car turned into the lot and moved slowly past the units, as if the driver was trying to find a particular number. The light was coming from the wrong direction and I couldn’t see the driver’s face.

  The car stopped next to my unit. I decided it was either George or someone who had come to arrest me. The door opened and the driver got out, and it was George. I winked my headlights at him as he knocked on my door. He turned around slowly. He had his hand inside his coat. He didn’t draw the gun, but he didn’t take his hand out, either. Maybe he was posing as Napoleon.

  I snapped off the lights and flicked on the dome light so that he could see my face. He nodded and withdrew his hand, and I got out of the car and hurried over to him. “We’ll take my car,” he said. “It’s stolen, I don’t want to leave it parked.”

  “You want to cruise around in it?”

  “Don’t argue, just get in.” I did, and he slid behind the wheel. The car was a Chrysler with all the extras, including air-conditioning, which was the last thing we needed. He backed up, swung out of the lot and took a left away from town.

  “They switched the takeoff time,” he said.

  “I know. Six-thirty tomorrow morning.”

  “I didn’t have time to put it in a wire. I didn’t even have time to code what I sent you. I got that wire off from the airport and ran for my plane. Those rotten bastards.”

  “What happened?”

  “Crazy bastards. I’ve had some day. You know where I’m supposed to be right now?”

  “Amarillo.”

  “How did you know?”

  “I guessed. They seem to expect some sort of right-wing nut group to take the Texas truck between the Oklahoma line and Amarillo. I just heard this today, and just a few minutes before everything started to fall in. Give me the whole thing, will you?”

  “Sure.” He took a breath. “I think it’s all blown.”

  “Just let me hear it. And slow down, these roads are pure hell in this weather.”

  “You’re telling me? I put this oversized piece of crud in two ditches so far. I stole it in Chicago. Did you ever steal a car right off the street? I’ll tell you, Paul—”

  “Calm down.”

  “Right.” He slowed the car, stayed silent for a full minute. When he started talking again his voice was pitched lower and the brittle quality was gone.

  He said, “Okay, let’s start at the beginning. The crap about the Sons of the Spirit of ‘76 was my doing.”

  “I thought it was.”

  “It seemed like a sensible diversion. We talked about something like that. After you told me about the trucks splitting up, I found out the Texas destination and got some rumors in motion. I figured it would be good to get them concentrated on protecting one truck. Then if they got any other rumors they would fit them into the framework I had established. You follow?” I nodded. “What I didn’t count on was the Sons of the Spirit getting hold of the leak. It’s not certain that they did, but the way it shapes up they have a man planted either in our shop or in Military Intelligence, and I guess they heard the rumble and decided it was a good idea. Or else it was just a case of one rumor feeding on another. It’s hard to say how these things work. I remember one time when—”

  “Forget it.”

  “Check. The upshot is that there’s serious concern that the Texas truck will be hit, and I’d say there’s a good chance of it. Either way, the Agency was ordered in on the play. A crew went to Texas today.” He managed a smile. “Including yours truly.”

  “Why didn’t you go?”

  “Because I’d rather have a million dollars.”

  “You think we still have a shot at it?”

  “Who knows? Right now I don’t think anything. You want to hear something really funny, Paul? I quit smoking a week ago.”

  “Why?”

  “You told me yourself it’s a dirty habit. No, seriously, I wanted to be in the best possible shape for this. And it wasn’t hard to quit. It even looked good at the office. If I got nervous, I could always pass it off as smoker’s nerves.” He coughed, laughed. “For the first time since I quit I really want a cigarette.”

  I waited for him to go on. He slowed the big car, turned left on a dirt road. I told him it didn’t go anywhere. He said he could turn around eventually. I waited, and he turned around at the first driveway and headed back toward the main road.

  I asked him what would happen when he didn’t show in Amarillo.

  “I can cover myself,” he said.

  “All right.”

  “Paul, we have less than twelve hours.”

  “More like ten.”

  “More like ten. Two more days and it might have been easy. Or as close to easy as it could ever get. I had a van lined up, I had some details worked out and ready to go—”

  “Forget them now.”

  “Yeah. Did you manage to get any of their planning?” />
  “All of it.”

  “What?”

  I told him how they had briefed me, and why.

  “That’s a big break,” he said. “Give it to me now, all of it. I won’t interrupt. Give me the whole thing.”

  I didn’t give him everything because there was no point to it. I told him how they had it arranged and what precautions they would be taking from the moment of departure to the breakup of the four-truck convoy in Omaha. I told him about my own reconnaissance, and the spots I had tentatively selected for the ambush. He wasn’t at his best. He was hyped up, and there were points he missed at first hearing that I had to explain to him a second time. When I was done he pulled over to the side of the road and told me to take the wheel.

  “I want to go over the route now,” he said. “I want to see the spots you’re talking about.”

  We went back through the town and past the base. The landmarks I had pinpointed before disappeared in the darkness, but I remembered my mileage figures and found both locations without trouble.

  On the way back he took a vial of pills from his breast pocket, swallowed two capsules without water, offered the tube to me. I asked what they were.

  “Bennies,” he said. “We’ll be up all night.”

  “I don’t want them.”

  “You’ll need them later.”

  “Maybe.”

  He capped the vial. “Suit yourself,” he said. “Let me know if you change your mind. If you feel yourself slipping, speak up.”

  I told him I would. He told me to drive back to the motel. I parked the Chrysler in the back. I started to get out, but he put his hand on my arm. He said my room probably wasn’t bugged but he didn’t want to take any chances. I agreed and said I wanted to get my maps. He told me to come back to the car.

  The map was in my money belt but I hadn’t wanted to flash it. I took it out in the room and put all the Walker and Lynch identification in it. Then I changed my mind and returned the Lynch card to my jacket pocket. I returned to the car and we sat there in the darkness. He left the dome light off and used a pencil flashlight to study the map.