We all returned to the office. McLaren removed from the tool case a thin steel rod about the size of a knitting needle. The rod was slitted from its tip to within three inches of its base. It looked something like an extremely slender tuning fork.
He set it aside while he tamped the envelope, flap-edge down, until he had driven the contents against the sealed flap. Then he inserted the needlelike tool into the envelope through the small gap between the envelope's folded edge and the point on the flap where the glue ended.
He rotated the needle patiently, turning the slitted rod as carefully as any safecracker manipulating a safe dial. Finally he withdrew the needle with a smile. Wrapped around it were two double-stapled sheets of paper whose ends had been caught in the needle's slotted aperture.
McLaren eased the ends from the slit and handed the curled-up sheets to Erikson. The envelope still remained bulky from other material remaining inside it. "I'll have another look at this since it's too big to extract via the probe," McLaren said briskly. "I'll be right back." He went into the equipment room again, carrying the envelope with the tweezers.
"What have we got?" I asked Erikson.
"It looks like an instruction sheet," he replied, scanning the first page rapidly.
I moved in beside him. At the tip of the typewritten page it said MOTOR FREIGHT CARGO, and there followed short paragraphs preceded by a series of three-digit numbers. I had to read only half the first paragraph to know what it was. "This is a plan for another hijack," I said. "What's on the second page?"
Erikson turned over the stapled page. The second sheet looked like a schematic of a complicated football play. Four small circles numbered one to four were inside outlines shown in various positions around a small square butted up against a rectangle. Above each group of circles was a three-digit number which corresponded to those listed on the first page.
The layout looked exactly like the detailed plans I used to buy from Robert "The Schemer" Frenz when I was knocking over banks. "It's a hijack," I repeated. "The rectangle is a truck, and the square is the place it's going to be knocked off. The second page shows the different positions of four men during various stages of the operation, and the three-digit numbers are the times for the step-by-step plan outlined in the first-page paragraphs. See how the numbers go from zero-zero-zero to eight-three-zero? That means the whole job is supposed to take eight and a half minutes."
"I went to the wrong school," Erikson said. He examined the two pages again. "But there's nothing here that indicates where the hijack is going to take place."
"There must be further instructions in the envelope. Maybe McLaren-"
"There aren't any more single sheets in the envelope," McLaren said from behind us. "But here's a stat of part of what's inside it." He showed us a weak black-and-white photostat. It was ghost-thin in appearance, but there was no mistaking that it was a photocopy of the cover of a New Jersey road map. I wondered how McLaren had obtained it without removing the multi-folded map from the envelope, but I didn't ask.
"This job was planned by a pro," I told Erikson while McLaren read the two pages he'd removed from the envelope. "I can tell you right now that even if we opened the envelope, the map wouldn't tell us anything. Someone has an overlay that fits on this map, and without the overlay the map means nothing. Either the overlay comes later, or the man who's going to lead the operation already has it. If that was Hawk, you know what happened to him."
"He wasn't carrying anything," McLaren said positively. "I checked him out thoroughly at the morgue."
"Then it could be in the hands of Talia's boss who seems so willing to put up cash to recover the envelope. Let me see the plan again, Karl."
He handed it to me, and I read it through completely.
"Okay," I said. "It's simple enough. See these roads lettered A, B, C, D? The hijack will take place on Road A. Two minutes are allowed to jimmy the truck's rear doors; three minutes to find a small package called Item NUX, whatever that is, inside the truck; a minute to get to the get-away car, indicated by this small square; and two minutes to drive to Road D via Road B. Look at this note: Avoid Road C. It doesn't say so here, but I'll bet they intend to create a diversion at the actual scene, perhaps by setting the hijacked truck afire, and they expect the police and perhaps firefighting equipment to be arriving on Road C."
There was a moment's silence.
"Well, you said it was laid out by a pro," Erikson said thoughtfully.
"I still think it's a dope shipment," I said.
"And I think you're wrong," Erikson countered. "Everything the Treasury boys have ever told me indicates this would be the last way in the world to move dope. It seldom leaves the hands of the individual entrusted with it."
"What was that you said awhile ago about returning the envelope?" I asked McLaren.
"Since we've lost Hawk, the girl is our only link," Erikson answered for him. He gave me his smile-that-wasn't-quite-a-smile. "So all we have to do is send you back to the Turkish girl and have you follow through on her boss's offer to pay you to recover it."
"Me? It's your baby, Karl."
"The girl knows you," Erikson continued. "Who else could get close to her in a hurry?" He handed the stapled plan to McLaren. "Make photostats of these sheets, Jock, and then get the originals back into the envelope. Earl will sell it to the girl's boss, and then we'll know who the boss is."
"Let me point out to you the holes in that Swiss cheese," I said. "How do I account for the fact that the envelope is unopened? Shouldn't whoever took it have been curious about what was inside?"
"You'll think of something," Erikson said, unruffled.
"The envelope can't be opened, because then they'd change the plan. And when you talk to the girl's boss, haggle. Start high on the price you want. That may give us some idea of how valuable this Item NUX is. But regardless, get to this character and get a look at him."
"I told Talia that one reason I had to leave right away was to put out word that the envelope was worthless if opened," I said, thinking back over the sequence of events.
"Then that will do it, since you also said you had to shake a tail en route here," Erikson said. "You can tell Talia's boss you had to put a 'hold' on anyone thinking of opening the envelope, and the tail will confirm your maneuvering."
"I think there was a tail," I protested. "I don't know. You guys are taking a hell of a lot for granted."
McLaren handed me the repacked envelope, still handling it via the tweezers. He was smiling as if he had heard Erikson's brand of persuasion before.
Their attitude irritated me.
If I couldn't get a shot at recovering Hazel's money, the rest of this jazz meant nothing to me.
I decided I'd take an hour from my sleeping time to line up a speech giving Erikson the word that I'd abdicated.
But I didn't get any sleep that night.
I entered Chryssie's tenement with my mind still on Karl Erikson and Jock McLaren and their calm assumption that I would let myself be talked into doing their bidding.
I found myself in front of Chryssie's door, key in hand, staring at the door standing ajar with its lock shattered.
I think I knew what I was going to find inside.
I drew my.38 before kicking the door wide open to make sure no one was hiding behind it. There was no sound except the dull thud of the door against the wall. The living room was empty. I made a quick tour of possible hiding places before I went into the bedroom.