"Three-fifty-seven magnum. The slug can go through an engine block. But if you think that's loud, you oughta hear a forty-four magnum-"
"I have. One of the guys at the gun club has one. When he shows up at the range everybody else leaves."
We met Major Downey. He looked all business: crewcut, suntan, leathery skin, no fat, and a crisp khaki uniform with razor sharp creases. He shook my hand firmly and we all talked briefly about what I had related to Joe. Then I was told that an army intelligence team had a surveillance on the Buzarski farm. With the team were state troopers. The major took me over to a bench, upon which sat an aluminum case that looked like a suitcase. In fact, it looked just like a Halbriton photographer's case. Downey flicked open the latches and opened the lid. Neatly cradled inside a nest of cut-foam plastic was one of the weird-looking square pistols. It was identical to those I had seen in the crate in Buzarski's barn. Alongside the gun was the long metal tube.
"That's it."
"Doctor Adams, ten crates of these weapons disappeared two months ago from the armory in Schenectady, New York. They were purchased by the army for special assignments, and were being stored in the armory prior to being shipped to Fort Ord. The Em-sixties have been disappearing from a number of storage facilities. Perhaps you know that three years ago some were taken from the armory at Danvers."
"I remember that. They later turned up in Northern Ireland, by way of Holland."
As the major nodded, my thoughts returned to my strange assailant inthe barn, the one with the peat from County Donegal still on his boots. The Irish Connection. And yet he'd been hiding too… '
"If you gentlemen will follow me, I will show you why the government is so anxious for the return of these missing pieces," said the major in an official tone as he plucked the pig-ugly little gun from its fancy case. He pushed in a small button above the back of the handgrip and drew out the metal stock, the end of which he braced against his shoulder. He shoved a clip up the handle, pulled back the knob on the gun's top surface, and requested that a fresh target be reeled out on the wire. By this time we were surrounded by the other policemen, who gazed at the contraption with curiosity and awe. When the target reached the far end of the range, having been cranked out there on a pulley like a clothesline, the major darted underneath the shooting bench, raised the machine pistol to his shoulder, and fired.
The range exploded in noise. I felt as if I were inside a boiler being riveted. The soldier had two of his left-hand fingers inside a small canvas strap that hung down from the barrel. He pulled down on this as he released the two bursts, but the small gun bucked up nevertheless, spewing. 45-caliber slugs so fast it made one solid wall of noise. He swung his torso back and forth quickly during the bursts. The shredded target fell apart. He had cut it in two.
"Sombitch!" said a trooper.
"Jesus Christ Almighty," whistled another.
Downey released the clip; it clanked down on the floor at his feet.
"Empty," he said. "That's a major disadvantage of the Ingram. At eleven, hundred a minute, the cyclic rate is so high that a thirty-round clip empties in under one and a half seconds. But now I'm going to demonstrate the Ingram's great advantage? He took the metal tube from the case and twisted it onto the barrel that projected from the body by only about two inches, threaded. He shoved a second clip into the piece, ducked under t-he bench as before, and pulled the trigger.
What emerged this time was one of the strangest noises I've ever heard. It was like the faint sound of a buffalo stampede or like sheet metal being ripped behind a thick felt curtain. And behind this noise was another: a thin whistle of almost electronic purity. It made almost no noise whatsoever. But yet the slugs still poured forth. We saw the target's top half sliced to ribbons. Also, we heard the only loud noise there was: that of thirty lead slugs, each as thick as the tip of my little finger, thunking into the metal wall. That sound was loud-as loud as two jackhammers. But the tiny weird gun, for all its kicking and bucking, was almost totally silent.
"Well Gawdammn!"
Downey wore a self-satisfied smile, pleased at having so impressed his audience. It was almost a smirk. I decided I didn't much care for the major.
"I'm sure most of you are aware of silencers, and how they reduce muzzle velocity almost to the point of uselessness. But this"-and he rapped the metal tube with his hand-"is designed so that it actually increases the energy of the fired rounds. Don't ask me how 'cause I don't know. But it does. So there you have it: a silent machine gun that can be carried under a coat."
"Unbelievable," said O'Hearn. "Jesus, I hate to think what they'd mean in the wrong hands."
"Which, having been stolen, they are," replied Joe.
We made our way up to Joe's office. I plunked down into a chair and listened to my ears ringing. I told him I had no idea the funny-looking little pistol was so deadly. I thought it was just a cheap pistol… a junky version of the army. 45 auto sidearm.
"Nope. The reason your description caused such a flurry is because every major police bureau in the country has had a circular from the army, sitting on their desks for these last eight weeks. The Ingram machine pistols, departed from Schenectady, turn up in western Massachusetts. They are heading east then, probably on their way to Ireland., And incidentally we have no idea who your midnight companion could be. Neither do the Boston Police."
"Is that surveillance team going to pick up the young brat-Buzarski's son-in-law?"
"Last we checked the barn was clean as a whistle, so we've got no cause. We're just all hanging back in the bush observing the place through heavy lenses. We're also going to go after the Rose again."
I leaned back in the chair with my hands clasped behind my head and stared at the ceiling. It was one of those horrendous affairs with fiber panels with tiny holes in them. I had a thought or two, but said nothing. So far Schilling had remained at least one hop ahead of me. The only way to turn the tables was to put myself in his place, to think the way he would think, do what he would do, and intercept him.,
"Is Hannon putting a watch on your house?"
"Yep. And I'd like one put on The Breakers too. If it can't be done by public cops I'll hire some. I'm pretty sure he's found out by now that I have two homes. Of course the grim warning of Angel is clear: I back off or maybe one of my family is next."
"And are you going to back off?"
"Absolutely. Wouldn't you? You saw what happened to Danny Murdock. How'd you like your sister, Mary, to get the same?"
Joe shuddered.
"That's smart; let us handle it. I'm also going to request extra protection in Concord for you, and we'll keep an eye on the cottage too. Where you going?"
"I'm going for a run and a steam bath at the Y, then home. And listen: if you're anxious to ever have a chance to talk to the Newdecker brat, I'd do it mighty quick. When Jim Schilling has squeezed the utility out of people they have a nasty habit of vanishing in gruesome ways. I appreciate the help; come out tonight and we'll hunt up some Chinese. The buffet special is on in Lexington. I'll pay."