Shayne snorted. “If they’re so damned valuable, how come—”
“There are three sets,” Bell interrupted. He puffed on the cigar. “The Space people have one, of course. There’s another at the plant where the computer is put together, and Haynes has the original set. Among other things, he’s a perfectionist. He’s continuously working on the computer, perfecting.”
Shayne grunted. “So what’s the pitch? I assume the Ruskies have approached Haynes. I assume that’s why you’re in this.”
“Yes,” Bell nodded. “The Russians are attempting to extort. They claim they can tag Haynes as a member of the U.S. Communist party. They claim they have Commie credentials with his signature on them, photos of him at Commie meetings, and they probably do have. But we’re sure the signatures are forgeries and the photos are superimposed productions. On the other hand, public exposure, even if it is trumped up, could wipe out Haynes and cost the U.S. a valuable brain. Unfortunately, we’ve got just enough blind flag wavers in Congress to accept what the Communists hand out about the man.”
“How was Haynes contacted?”
“By phone. Last night.”
“At his home?”
“Yes.”
“And he immediately screams for help?”
“Loud and clear.”
“So he gets help. You. Where do I fit?”
Bell remained silent for a few seconds before he said, “We hope to make a killing out of this, Shayne. We think a man we’ve been waiting months to trap is involved. The trouble is this man knows many of our people — but he doesn’t know you. You might be able to hang him for us.”
“Has he got a name?”
“Jack Perkins.”
“Jack Perkins? That’s pretty damned Americanese for a Ruskie spy, isn’t it?”
“Perkins is as American as a hot dog,” Bell said. “Reared in Vermont, an only child. Parents are respected, well-to-do New England people. His father is founder and president of a successful machinery and equipment company. Perkins is a graduate of MIT. After graduation he went to Europe, supposedly as an agriculture expert, but in reality he is one of our people, CIA, living in Paris. He has many contacts in East Germany and in Russia. These contacts feed him things we want and he relays. But we also know Perkins is working for the Russians, has been for more than a year now. He’s a double agent. We’ve given him little stuff to feed to the Soviets.
“Legitimate stuff, but nothing vital. It’s enough to keep him alive with them and to maintain his contacts. Meanwhile, he has been feeding us the same thing, nothing vital, but sometimes good stuff. It’s enough to keep him on Uncle’s payroll.”
“Perkins must be a busy monkey.”
“A few months ago one of our people in Moscow had a vital piece of information to get to us. Without Jack Perkins’ knowledge, we selected him to be the receiver in Paris. It was a test, to confirm or wipe out suspicions we had about him. That information never got beyond him.”
“Which also might mean your boy in Moscow flubbed.”
Bell shook his head. “Nope. He passed the information to Perkins. He also passed it to one of our people in Oslo. We got it through the Oslo man.”
“And Perkins is here in Miami now?”
“He’s holed up in Miami Beach. He came in on a flight from Paris yesterday afternoon. He recently asked for leave. He had it coming. Yesterday he checked in at a hotel here, The Atlantica, as a business executive from Canada who is taking a two-week vacation in the sun.”
“Bell, if you people know Perkins is walking a two-way street, how come he’s still operating?”
“Perkins’ future was being debated when this Haynes thing popped up.”
“You mean his quiet death?”
Bell lifted an eyebrow, stared hard at the redhead, then continued in a quiet tone: “Perkins and Haynes were chums at MIT fifteen years ago.”
“Man, you’re just full of surprises! Now tell me it was Perkins who called Haynes last night and Haynes recognized his voice.”
Bell shook his head. “Haynes received two calls last night. The first was Jack Perkins, who set up a dinner engagement with Haynes for ten o’clock tonight. The second was from the extortionist. A different voice.”
“What’s that mean to you? The Ruskies have sent two boys to work on Haynes?” the big redhead asked.
“We’re not positive, but we think so,” Bell nodded. “Are you familiar with the National Security Agency?”
“Vaguely,” Shayne said.
“NSA’s main business is code cracking, communications intelligence. They listen to the Russians. Okay, they informed us they think a man named Boris Poskov is involved in the Haynes project too. His exact role is unclear. Boris could be a leg man, a heavy, no more. He threatens Haynes, collects the plans, then delivers to Perkins. Boris doesn’t have the flight immunity Perkins has. Perkins can fly anywhere in the world without Customs or anyone else looking at so much as his handkerchief if he flashes the right credentials. Thus he could sprawl here in the sun for two weeks, the plans snug in his hotel room, and then make a legitimate return to Paris.”
“Or?”
“The Russians could be testing Perkins. We discovered his double role; the Russians could be suspicious. Boris delivers to Perkins, who is not in any position to not deliver to Moscow, but what he delivers might be something else. Maybe Perkins, with his MIT background, has the savvy to alter Haynes’ plans slightly, make the finished product inoperable. Later he always can say that Haynes turned over a dummy set of plans to Boris. Who’s to dispute? But the kicker could be that Boris has put Haynes’ plans on film before delivery to Perkins. This, of course, would give the Russians a check.”
“Or,” Shayne picked it up, “Boris could be a Judas goat and Perkins — if you’ll pardon the expression — a red herring. There could be a third guy, you know. Maybe the Ruskies know you have Perkins spotted for what he is. Okay, they send him over here, knowing you’ll concentrate on him. Boris gets the plans, hotfoots it to Perkins. So your boys get both of them when they swoop, the ploy being that somewhere between Boris picking up from Haynes and delivering to Perkins, he actually passes the plans to a third party, leaving you people with a bag of air. You got that one covered, too?”
“We will have,” Bell said simply.
Shayne sucked a deep breath and shuffled. “All right, pal. Where and how do I get my feet wet?”
“Tonight at ten o’clock at the Speckled Plate in Miami Beach. It’s a supper club. You have a table reservation.”
“And how do I spot Perkins and Haynes?”
“Perkins is a squat man, five-eight, two-hundred pounds, thirty-eight, styled brown hair, and he has a habit similar to yours. You tug your left ear with your right hand. Perkins will tug his nose with his left hand. He’ll do it often. Haynes is thirty-seven, six-three, one-hundred-sixty pounds, and Negroid.”
Shayne grunted. “They dine and split. Where do I go?”
“That’s going to depend,” said Bell. “If they dine and part outside the Speckled Plate, tail Perkins. But Perkins might go to Haynes’ home after dinner. Boris is scheduled to call Haynes again at midnight to tell him when, where and how to deliver the plans. So we think there’s a chance that Perkins might go to the house with Haynes. He might want to study Haynes’ reaction to the call.”
“Is Haynes aware of Perkins’ double role?”
“He doesn’t know Perkins is a spy for anyone, including us. All he knows is, Perkins was a friend a long time ago at MIT, and that Perkins suddenly is in town, phones, and they make a dinner date. Then Haynes gets the second call, this one from the extortionist, who we’re assuming to be Boris Poskov. It scares hell out of Haynes.”