“There wasn’t much choice about that part,” Hewlitt said. “The terms weren’t published, but they knew exactly how many we had and they laid down the law: if every one of them wasn’t in port and surrendered within fifteen days, then the ICBM’s would be let loose.”
Scott dropped his voice to a confidential level even lower than it had been before. “I heard that two of them were scuttled by their skippers just the same.”
“Four,” Hewlitt corrected. “They made port as ordered, then opened the sea cocks or whatever they do and scuttled right at the docks. As soon as the salt water hit them they were so much expensive junk.”
“Hurrah for the Navy,” Scott said. “Let’s have one more for them.”
“For the Navy, yes,” Hewlitt agreed.
He caught the girl’s eye and indicated another round. Neither man said anything until the drinks had been served, then when the pianist began to play “Ebb Tide” Scott used the sound of the music to cover his voice.
“Hew, I think that there’s something going already. In a lot of different places. I told you that we’re not through yet, and you can bank on that. The Navy will have a few tricks up its sleeve, too. I’m darned sorry that Haymarket was killed, he was one guy they never buffaloed. He told Fitzhugh to cut his throat — remember?”
“Of course.”
“Well, there are other guys as good or pretty near as good. I wouldn’t tell you this if I didn’t trust you, but I’m working on a few contacts now.”
“If I can help you, let me know,” Hewlitt said. He did not have enough time to consider that before he had the words out, but he decided that it was about the only thing he could have said. It had committed him, but not too deeply, and it had been a natural reaction.
“Maybe you can,” Scott said slowly. “It could be. If you hear of anything…” He shook his head. “I’d better not,” he concluded.
“As you like,” Hewlitt replied. His orders had been to follow Scott’s lead and not to improvise.
“Hell,” Scott said, “I don’t know why I’m playing chintzy with you. In your job you had to have every clearance that there is.”
Hewlitt said nothing.
“You’re in a pretty sensitive spot right now. You know what’s going on as much as anyone. Well, there’s an opposition shaping up; Bob Landers was part of it until he got caught in a million-to-one fluke — he left a note in a drop and one of their surveillance people shooting for something else entirely just happened to catch a frame of him doing it. It wouldn’t happen again in ten thousand years.”
“God, what a break!” Hewlitt said, barely voicing the words.
“I worked for him, I think you know that.” Scott looked around for a moment as a couple got up to leave; he waited until they were out of the lounge. “If you find out who replaces him, don’t tell me — but pass the word that I’d like to know, will you?”
Hewlitt nodded. ‘*Of course, if you want me to. But considering that I work directly for Zalinsky, I’ll be poison — you know that.”
“Maybe yes, maybe no.”
It was the time, Hewlitt knew, to make his move. Exactly as he had been told. “Thanks for the confidence, Phil. I don’t know what I can do, but I’ll try. I hear some things occasionally.” He hunched himself over the table so that his voice would have minimum range. The piano player started a Marc Orberg tune, but switched after a few bars and picked up the verse of “Black Moonlight” instead. “Do you want to know a wild one? There’s a lot of enemy traffic on U.S. i, mostly from Andrews going north. They’ve all but closed the Baltimore Bay Tunnel to civilian traffic.”
“I’ve heard that.”
“Well, they may not be using it much longer.”
Scott lifted his eyebrows. “So?”
“That’s what I heard. I don’t see how anyone could do it, not and get away with it, but somebody thought of it, anyway.”
Scott shook his head. “It wouldn’t be a smart thing to do; we need the tunnel more than they do, but I still wish them luck. Cheers.”
The phone rang in Hewlitt’s apartment less than five minutes after he had closed the door behind him. He picked it up and was surprised to hear an inviting female voice on the line. “Hello, Rog.” “I think you have the wrong number,” Hewlitt responded. It was definitely not Barbara, and he was almost certain it was not Mary either.
“Isn’t this Mr. Samuels?”
“I’m sorry.”
“Oh, excuse me. I know it’s late.”
“That’s quite all right. You didn’t disturb me.”
Hewlitt did not allow himself to think what the words might mean. Instead he carefully looked at his watch and waited until precisely ten minutes had passed, then he went out quietly through the rear exit, made his way to the street, and started walking toward the corner. He held himself carefully, well aware that he was literally taking the first steps in a new direction for his life. Steps which could conceivably also bring it to a sudden end. He was not afraid; if that was the way that things were slated to go, so be it. He was out of the groove, and he felt it almost physically with every part of his being.
He heard the sound of a car behind him, but he did not turn to look. He was aware that it was slowing down, but his intelligence quickly told him that so far he had said and done nothing since leaving Davy Jones’ house that could be challenged. He had a valid excuse for being where he was in the event he was to be questioned.
The car went past, slowed up, and stopped three hundred feet ahead, close to the curb. It was a battered black taxi, an anonymous member of the Washington fleet. Hewlitt did not hurry; when he was opposite the cab he hesitated for a moment as though he were making up his mind. Then he walked over, bent down, and spoke to the driver. “Are you free?”
“Where do you want to go?”
He could not see the man in the shadows; he was a Caucasian of fairly small stature, but that was all that was visible. “The Hot Shoppe on the Virginia side.”
“O.K., hop in.”
As the taxi pulled away, Hewlitt realized that he had no real idea where he was going or what would be expected of him. He had two things in his mind: his recent conversation with Scott and the fact that the cab had appeared at the appointed place exactly on time.
The cab passed what would have been a logical turning point for the Fourteenth Street Bridge and headed instead toward a somewhat rundown residential area. Hewlitt sat back and relaxed; if he were questioned now he would claim that he had been deep in his own thoughts and had not even noticed where the cab was going.
He rode on for another twelve minutes, then the driver interrupted his thoughts. “I’m gonna drop you beside a house, understand? Don’t go in, go down the side to the rear yard. You’ll meet someone there.”
Before Hewlitt could answer he felt the pull of the brakes as the car swung close to the curb. He got out and remembered to hand the driver a bill from his wallet. Without comment he turned his back, glanced at the unpromising structure before him, and then went as he had been directed. Uncertainty returned to him for a moment when he found that the backyard was almost totally shrouded in darkness. At first he could not see whether anyone was there to meet him or not. Then he was aware of a man before him whose face he could not see. He heard the words, “Come with me, please,” and followed as directed. Behind his guide he went through a gate in a board fence, crossed another yard, and went into the back door of what appeared to be a totally dark house.