Marion climbed back up the slope of the depression, drove the tractor back to the farmhouse, replaced the tarpaulin over the tractor, and then went into the house. He took a careful look around to make sure that he hadn't forgotten anything, and then left, carefully locking the padlock on the door.
He got in the rental car and started the engine. He looked at his watch. Things couldn't be better. He would get home in plenty of time to do the laundry, go to the grocery store, and then get the rental car back to the airport in time to qualify for the special weekend rate. And then he could get back home in time to watch Masterpiece Theater on the public television station.
That was the television program he really hated to miss.
Tom O'Mara stopped the car in front of the building that was the headquarters of the Special Operations Division of the Philadelphia Police Department. Over the door there was a legend chiseled in granite: FRANKFORD GRAMMAR SCHOOL A.D. 1892.
Before O'Mara could apply the parking brake and open his door, Supervisory Special Agent H. Charles Larkin said, "This must be the place," and got out of the car.
Matt hurried after him, and managed to beat Larkin to the door and pull it open for him.
"Right this way, Mr. Larkin," he said.
He led him down the corridor to the private door of what had been the principal's office, knocked, and then pushed the door open.
"Mr. Larkin is here, Inspector."
"Fine. Would you ask him to wait just a minute, please, Detective Payne?"
"Yes, sir," Matt said, and turned to Larkin. "The inspector will be with you in just a minute, sir."
"How good of him," Larkin said, expressionless.
Matt knew from checking his watch that Wohl kept Larkin waiting for two minutes, but it seemed like much longer before Wohl pulled his door open.
"Mr. Larkin, I'm Staff Inspector Peter Wohl. Won't you please come in?"
"Thank you."
Wohl gestured for Matt to come in, and then waved Larkin into an armchair.
"Any problems picking you up, sir?"
"None whatever."
"May I offer you a cup of coffee? A soft drink?"
"No, thank you," Larkin said. "But may I use your telephone?"
"Of course," Wohl said, and pushed one of the phones on his desk to Larkin. Larkin consulted a small, leather-bound notebook, and then dialed a number.
Matt could hear the phone ringing.
"Olga? Charley Larkin. How are you, sweetheart?"
Matt saw Wohl looking at him strangely.
"Is that guy you live with around? Sober?"
There was a brief pause.
"How the hell are you, Augie?" Larkin asked.
Staff Inspector Peter Wohl's eyes rolled up toward the ceiling; he shook his head from side to side, smiled faintly, and exhaled audibly.
"I'm in Philadelphia, and I need a favor," Supervisory Special Agent Larkin went on. "I need a good word. For some reason, I got off on the wrong foot with one of your guys, and I'd like to set it right."
"I appreciate it, pal. Hold on a minute."
Larkin handed the telephone to Peter Wohl.
"Chief Wohl would like a word with you, Inspector," he said.
Peter Wohl took the telephone.
"Good morning, Dad," he said.
Larkin, beaming smugly, tapped his fingertips together.
"Yes, I'm afraid Mr. Larkin was talking about me. Obviously, there has been what they call a communications problem, Dad. Nothing that can't be fixed."
Chief Wohl spoke for almost a minute, before Peter Wohl replied, " I'll do what I can, Dad. I don't know his schedule."
He handed the phone back to Larkin.
"Chief Wohl would like to talk to you again, Mr. Larkin."
"I don't know what his plans are for lunch, Augie, but I'm free, and I accept. Okay. Bookbinder's at twelve. Look forward to it."
He reached over and replaced the handset in its cradle.
They looked at each other for a moment, and then Wohl chuckled, and then laughed. Larkin joined in.
"I thought my guy here said 'Wall,'" Larkin said. "I don't know anybody named 'Wall.'"
"Well, while you and my dad have a lobster, that I'll pay for, I' ll have a boiled crow," Wohl said. "Will that set things right?"
"I'm sorry I used that phrase," Larkin said. "Nothing has gone wrong yet, but I'm glad I saw your father's picture on the wall. I think you and I could have crossed swords, and that would have been unfortunate. Can I ask a question?"
"Certainly."
"Have you got a hard-on for the feds generally, or is there someone in particular who's been giving you trouble? One of our guys, maybe?"
Wohl, almost visibly, carefully chose his words.
"I think the bottom line, Mr. Larkin, is that I was being overprotective of my turf. They just gave me Dignitary Protection, and I wanted to make sure it was understood who was running it. I really feel like a fool."
"Don't. The Secret Service is a nasty bureaucracy too. I understand how that works."
"When you're aware of your ignorance, you tend to gather your wagons in a circle," Wohl said.
"Well, I'm not the Indians," Larkin said. "And now that we both know that, could you bring yourself to call me Charley?"
"My dad might decide I was being disrespectful," Wohl said.
"Peter, if you keep calling me 'Mr. Larkin,' your dad will think we still have a communications problem."
"Matt," Wohl said. "Go get Captains Sabara and Pekach. I want them to meet Charley here."
"Yes, sir. Lieutenant Malone?"
"Him too," Wohl said.
As Matt started down the corridor to Sabara's office, where he suspected they would all be, he heard Larkin say, "Nice-looking kid."
"I think he'll make a pretty good cop."
That's very nice. But it's sort of a left-handed compliment. It suggests I will probably be a pretty good cop sometime in the future. So what does that make me now?
Wohl made the introductions, and they all shook hands.
"There is a new game plan," Wohl said. "There is something I didn' t know until a few minutes ago about Mr. Larkin. He and my dad are old pals, and that changes his status from one of them to one of us. And I've already told him that we don't know zilch about what's expected of us. So we're all here to learn. The basic rule is what he asks for, he gets. Mr. Larkin?"
"The first thing you have to understand," Larkin said seriously, " is that the Secret Service never makes a mistake. Our people here in Philadelphia told me that the man in charge of this operation was Inspector Wall. Peter has promised to have his birth certificate altered so that our record will not be tarnished."
He got the chuckles he expected.
"The way this usually works," Larkin went on, "is that our special agent in charge here will come up with the protection plan. I'll get a copy of it, to see if he missed anything, then we present it to you guys and ask for your cooperation. Then, a day or so before the actual visit, either me, or one of my guys, will come to town and check everything again, and check in with your people."
He paused, and looked in turn at everyone in the room-including Matt, which Matt found flattering.
"This time," he went on, "there's what I'm afraid may be a potential problem. Which is why I'm here, and so early."
He picked his briefcase up from the floor, laid it on his lap, opened it, and took out a plastic envelope.
"This is the original," he said, handing it to Wohl. "I had some Xeroxes made."
He passed the Xeroxes around to the others. They showed an envelope addressed to the Vice President of the United States, and the letter that envelope had held.