"None you'd like to answer," Kelp said. He got to his feet. "See you around, Prosker," he said.
"I doubt it," Prosker said. "Those two gentlemen will see you to the door."
They did, keeping Kelp in the middle, and closed the door firmly behind him once he was outside.
Murch's car was just around the corner. Kelp ran around and slid into the front seat. Murch said, "Everything okay?"
"Everything stinks," Kelp said quickly. "Pull up to where you can see around the corner."
Murch acted at once, starting the engine and pulling the car forward as he said, "What's the problem?"
"Doublecross. I have to make a phone call. If anybody comes out of that embassy before I get back, run him down."
"Right," said Murch, and Kelp jumped out of the car again.
4
Rollo walked into the back room and said, "The other bourbon's on the phone. He wants to talk to you."
"I knew it," Greenwood said. "Something had to go wrong."
"Maybe not," Dortmunder said, but his face showed he didn't believe it. He got up and followed Rollo out to the bar and hurried down to the phone booth. He slid in, shut the door, picked up the receiver, and said, "Yeah?"
"Cross," Kelp's voice said. "Come over quick."
"Done," Dortmunder said and hung up. He left the booth and hurried toward the back room, calling to Rollo on the way by, "We'll be back soon."
"Sure," Rollo said. "Any time."
Dortmunder opened the back room door, stuck his head in, and said, "Come on."
"This is really irritating," Chefwick said. He banged his glass of Diet-Rite Cola on the table and followed Dortmunder and Greenwood out of the bar.
They got a cab right away, but it took forever to get through the park. Anyway, it seemed forever. Still, forever ended, and so did the cab ride, with Dortmunder and the others piling out at the corner half a block from the Talabwo embassy. Murch came trotting over as the cab went away, and Dortmunder said, "What's going on?"
"Doublecross," Murch said. "Prosker and the Major are in it together."
"We should have buried him in the woods," Greenwood said. "I knew it at the time, I was just too softhearted."
"Shut up," Dortmunder told him. He said to Murch, "Where's Kelp?"
"Followed them," Murch said. "About five minutes ago, the Major and Prosker and three others came out and took a cab. They had luggage. Kelp's after them in another cab."
"Damn," Dortmunder said. "It took too long to get through the park."
"Are we supposed to wait here for Kelp," Greenwood asked, "or what?"
Murch pointed at a glass-sided phone booth on the opposite corner. "He took that phone number," he said. "He'll call us when he gets the chance."
"Good thinking," Dortmunder said. "All right. Murch, you stay with the phone booth. Chefwick, you and me are going into the embassy. Greenwood, you got your gun on you?"
"Sure."
"Pass it over."
They stood close together briefly, and Greenwood passed over his Terrier. Dortmunder tucked it away in his jacket pocket and said to Greenwood, "You stay outside and watch. Come on."
Murch went back to the phone booth, and Dortmunder and Chefwick and Greenwood hurried up the block to the embassy. Greenwood stopped and leaned against the ornamental iron railing and casually lit a cigarette while Dortmunder and Chefwick went up the stone stoop, Chefwick taking several small slender tools from his pockets as they went.
It was nearly four o'clock on a Friday afternoon, and Fifth Avenue was full of traffic; cabs and buses and. occasional private cars and here and there a black limousine all crept southward, a sluggish stream heading down Fifth Avenue with the park on its right and the impressive old stone buildings on its left. The sidewalks were busy too, with nannies walking baby carriages and elevator operators walking dachshunds and colored nurses walking bent old men. Dortmunder and Chefwick kept their backs to it all, shielding Chefwick's busy hands as he went through the door like a car with Platformate going through a paper hoop. The door ponged open, and Dortmunder and Chefwick stepped quickly inside, Dortmunder drawing the revolver while Chefwick shut the door again.
The first two rooms they went through, making quick searches, were empty, but the third contained two typewriters and two black female typists. They were quickly tucked away in a closet with a bolt lock, and Dortmunder and Chefwick went on.
In Major Iko's office they found a note pad on the desk, with a pencil notation on the top sheet: "Kennedy - Flight 301 - 7:15." Chefwick said, "That must be where they're going."
"But what airline?"
Chefwick looked surprised. He studied the note again. "It doesn't say."
"Phone book," Dortmunder said. "Yellow pages."
They both opened drawers, and the Manhattan yellow pages were in the bottom desk drawer on the left. Chefwick said, "Are you going to call every airline?"
"I hope not. Let's try PanAm." He looked up the number, dialed, and after fourteen rings a pleasant but plastic female voice answered. Dortmunder said, "I have what may sound like a stupid question, but I'm trying to prevent an elopement."
"An elopement, sir?"
"I hate to stand in the way of young love," Dortmunder said, "but we've just found out the man is already married. We know they're taking a flight out of Kennedy tonight at seven-fifteen. It's flight three-o-one."
"Is that a PanAm flight, sir?"
"We don't know. We don't know which airline, and we don't know where they're headed."
The office door opened, and the ebony man walked in, white light glinting from his glasses. Dortmunder said into the phone, "Hold on a second." He put the mouthpiece against his chest and showed Greenwood's revolver to the ebony man. "Stand over there," he said, pointing to a bare stretch of wall far from the doorway.
The ebony man put his hands up and walked over to the bare stretch of wall.
Dortmunder kept his eyes and gun on the ebony man, and spoke into the phone again. "I'm sorry. The girl's mother is hysterical."
"Sir, all you have is the flight number and time of departure?"
"And that it's out of Kennedy, yes."
"This may take a little while, sir."
"I'm willing to wait."
"I'll be as fast as I can, sir. Will you hold on?"
"Of course."
There was a click, and Dortmunder said to Chefwick, "Search him."
"Certainly." Chefwick searched the ebony man, and came up with a Beretta Jetfire .25-caliber automatic, a small nasty gun Kelp had already seen a little earlier in the day.
"Tie him up," Dortmunder said.
"My idea exactly," Chefwick said. He said to the ebony man, "Give me your tie and your shoelaces."
"You will fail," the ebony man said.
Dortmunder said, "If he prefers to be shot, stick your gun in his belly to muffle the sound."
"Naturally," Chefwick said.
"I will cooperate," the ebony man said, starting to remove his tie. "But it doesn't matter. You will fail."
Dortmunder held the phone to his ear and the gun pointed at the ebony man, who gave his tie and shoelaces to Chefwick, who said, "Now remove your shoes and socks and lie face down on the floor."
"It does not matter what you do to me," the ebony man said. "I am unimportant, and you will fail."
"If you don't hurry," Dortmunder said, "you'll get even more unimportant."
The ebony man sat down on the floor and took off his shoes and socks, then turned to lie face down. Chefwick used one shoelace to tie his thumbs behind his back, the other to tie his big toes together, and stuffed the tie into the ebony man's mouth.
Chefwick was just finishing up when Dortmunder heard another click, and the female voice said, "Phew. Well, I found it, sir."
"I really appreciate this," Dortmunder said.
"It's an Air France flight to Paris," she said. "That's the only flight with that number leaving at that time."
"Thank you very much," Dortmunder said.
"It's really very romantic, isn't it, sir?" she said. "Eloping to Paris."