Peter Claude Watworthy was a dried-up little guy who had spent too many years in the sun. His face, neck and hands were withered and brown, but toughened to a leathery consistency. He sat on the back of his trailer puffing a pipe, staring into the sunset with obvious pleasures and let me speak my piece.
Finally, he put the pipe down and propped his feet up on a crate. “I been wondering about that, too, son. Up to now, nobody’s asked me — and I ain’t about to be traipsing off tellin’ what’s none of my business anyway.”
“Mind talking about it?”
He knocked the ashes out of his pipe and started stumping in a fresh load. “Not at all, son. Like to talk, matter of fact. Don’t get much chance to any more, seems like. You want to know about that airplane, huh?”
“Anything you can tell me.”
“Well, I think the papers got it all wrong.”
“How’s that, Mr. Watworthy.”
“Peter Claude’s the name.”
“Sure.”
“I been out three days fishing when it happened. Now I ain’t saying I’m sure, y’hear? I’m saying what I think.”
“That’s good enough.”
“The night of that storm... after it was all over... I seen this flash in the sky. Could’ve been a rocket a long way off, could’ve been anything else. Anyway, there was just that one flash. Around here, you get so you take things into consideration. Nothin’ I could do about it, and since nothin’ came over the radio I just forgot about it. It wasn’t until two days later I saw that there helicopter and went looking to see what the trouble was. That was when I found the stuff in the water and gave it to the government men when they come out.
“Peculiar thing was, if that plane went down in the storm, the stuff would’ve wound up on the shore by then. If it did come from the flash I seen, it was about in the right place.”
Impatiently, I sat and made nothing out of it.
“Later, I got to thinking about something else I found,” the old man went on. He eased off the seat and shuffled toward the cabin where he rummaged around in a box. When he came back he had the handle and part of a suitcase in his fingers.
I took it from him, examined the charred edges and the peculiar way the leather was shredded into its fibrous parts. One end of the handle broke loose and I saw where the brass clasp had been almost melted.
“Got that out a way, near where the flash was.” He paused. “Ever see anything like that before?” he asked.
I nodded. “I’ve seen bomb damage do things like this to leather.”
“Dynamite, son. I seen it happen, too. Now you know what I’ve been thinking?”
“I think you’re right, Peter Claude.” I handed the fragment back to him. “Hold on to this in case I need it.”
“Trouble, son?”
“There’s always trouble, Peter Claude.”
“How right you are, son.”
When I reached the Paramount Motel, I picked a Coke out of the machine and stuck my key in the lock. I closed the door, flipped the light on and the Coke stopped halfway to my mouth. “What the hell...”
“Come right in, Mr. Fallon,” Del Reed said. He pointed to the two sitting on opposite sides of the room, big men with bland faces that had the mark of government service stamped on them.
“Do you have a warrant, Reed?”
“Do we need one?”
“Okay, what do you want?” I glanced around the place. “How’d you find me here?”
“We’ve had a tail on you, friend. I’m glad you were truthful about your flight plan. We picked you up the minute you got here. You’ve been asking a lot of questions.”
“Your business?”
“We’re making it that. These gentlemen are federal agents. Mr. Smith and Mr. Jones. Improbable names, but theirs nevertheless.”
“So what?”
“If you care to be inconvenienced, it can be done. It’s your choice now.”
“I don’t get it,” I said.
Jones, the heavy one, spoke, scarcely moving his month. “We’ve run a pretty thorough check on you, Fallon. You have a few things in your immediate past that might not stand a good investigation.”
I put the Coke down and sat on the arm of a chair. “Kill it, buddies, I’ve had the con by the experts. This you’d do sure enough, except for one thing.”
“And what would that be?” Jones asked.
“Time. You need time. You want to know something. Okay, so do I, so quit wasting time.”
They passed a quick look between them and the other one nodded. Jones said, “Sometimes we have to take certain risks in this business. But first let me tell you something... from this moment on, you’ll be involved with national security. Break it and you’ve had it. Clear enough?”
“Clear enough,” I repeated.
“You know what you’re doing?” Del said angrily.
“Keep quiet, Reed,” Jones told him. “It’s out of your hands now.” He leaned forward, staring at me. “When the Russians folded in Cuba, they shipped their missiles out. Aerial photos showed them lashed to the decks of ships, and information from our agents confirmed the fact up to a certain extent.”
“Go on.”
“Whether or not the nuclear warheads were removed couldn’t be proved. Let’s suppose something, Mr. Fallon. Suppose one of those devices were installed in a ship and that ship headed for some strategic port here in the States and blown while it was docked.”
He stopped there and sat back, waiting for me to digest it.
Finally, I said, “So that’s what ‘banana’ is.”
The look went between them again. “What’s that, Mr. Fallon?”
“Banana. It’s a boat. A ship.”
“Where did you find that out?”
“Tucker Stacy mentioned it in passing.”
“No jokes, Fallon.”
“Is it a ship?” I asked softly.
“Yes. That isn’t the name, but it’s a ship. It’s a code name the Cuban underground gave it.”
I looked at the three of them. “Where is it?”
“Someplace at sea.”
“You don’t know?”
“We can’t get inside the hurricane area to find out. It cleared Cuba to get away from the storm and that’s all we know. But what we want is... what do you know, Mr. Fallon?”
“No more than you do, but Tuck knew about it.”
“We knew he was involved with them. What else did he tell you?”
“Nothing, but it was obvious why he was killed.”
Jones’s eyes narrowed at the word. “That’s right, he was murdered. Apparently he was bringing someone back from Cuba in the Beech and a dynamite bomb got loaded aboard with him. Somebody else had to get out fast with the information so Gonzales went. He got knocked off before he could talk too.”
Jones grunted, “Stupid.”
“Why?”
“We should have had him before the committee. They wanted him recovered from the trip. We could have gotten the information earlier. Damn amateurs.” He took a heavy breath and settled back. “That isn’t locating the ship, Fallon.”
“You won’t get it from me. That’s all I know.”
This time it was Smith who spoke. His voice was a hoarse growl that didn’t go with his face. “We’re beginning to wonder. You might have a personal angle.”
“Like what?”
“The Hays woman. It could be a pay-off for a news story. It could be something else.”
I just looked at him.
“You’re looking for a kick in the teeth, boy.”
“It’s just a thought we’ll keep in mind. I hope you don’t plan on going anywhere soon.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m going to be your closest companion until this thing gets settled. Someplace in your mind you got a bug. It says you got something we want to know. I’ve been in this business too long not to smell things like that — and sooner or later I’m going to get it out of you.”