He recognized the tall, lanky man when he entered the bar, even though he was a mere silhouette, framed by the sunlight streaming through the door.
Smith.
This would be bad news.
Smith walked the length of the room and sat down. He motioned to Tiny. “May I have a glass of your best white wine, please?” he asked pleasantly.
“How did you dodge the twins?” Keegan asked.
“Hoover called them in. He’s so busy rounding up subversives he needs everybody he’s got.” He motioned to the clippings as Tiny brought his wine. “What’s this all about?”
Keegan explained the clippings to him.
“He’s not going to do anything to screw himself up,” Smith said.
“He’s not perfect,” Keegan answered. “Nobody’s perfect. He’s going to make a mistake and when he does, I’ll know it. If I don’t read it or hear, I’ll feel it. I can feel his heart beating. I can feel the sweat in his palms.” He nodded sharply. “I’ll know it.’
“Mr. Keegan, you’ve been after this guy for almost a year and you’re still no closer to him than you ever were.”
“Wrong, Mr. Smith. I was three miles away from him last week. I’ll tell you what I know about him. He’s six-one. Blond. Probably has green eyes. In excellent physical shape and a real charmer. And he’s got three bad wounds on his left cheek. We learned that from the pilot that flew him to Albuquerque. He carries a gold Dunhill cigarette lighter with a wolf’s head on the top. I have his fingerprints. We know he used the identity Fred Dempsey. The guy’s a chameleon. He can switch identities faster than you can switch hats. He’ll do anything to survive, Steal, kill, makes no difference. So far he’s killed at least eight people that we know about. When he runs, he makes it appear that he’s dead. He killed a forest ranger named Kramer, buried him in a lake and skied out of there—thirty-five miles, some of it through a blizzard. He killed a family of four, then skied another fifteen miles and paid some local stunt pilot a thousand dollars to fly him into Albuquerque, not Denver, which would have been the obvious thing. He doesn’t do the obvious. If we hadn’t been on his ass, he would have gotten away with it. He did the same thing in Drew City.”
“But he did get away, Keegan. By now he could be anywhere. In any disguise and with new papers. And . . . now he knows somebody’s on to him.”
“That’s not going to change him,” said Keegan. “He’s a classic psychopath, Mr. Smith. Hell, he kills when he doesn’t have to. He killed that family in Colorado, two kids, mother, father, totally unnecessary. Everybody in Aspen knew what he looked like.”
Smith shrugged. “He doesn’t like to leave tracks,” he said. “In the intelligence field that isn’t uncommon.”
“You mean it’s condoned?”
Smith scowled at the question, which he considered naïve. “Nothing’s condoned, nothing’s forbidden. Those things go unsaid. Cut a man loose like that, his primary objective is survival. He’s got a job to do, an enemy agent loose two thousand miles from home in hostile territory. What would you do? Anyway, that question’s moot, Mr. Keegan. What do you do next? You’ve lost him.”
“I don’t know, but I promise you I know this guy better than anybody in the bureau. I know this guy better than anybody and if anybody can catch him, I can.”
“Hoover’s going to handle this in his own way and in his own sweet time,” Smith said matter-of-factly. “And frankly he regards the espionage angle as a joke. Right now his only interest in Twenty-seven is that he’s suspected of mass murder and unlawful flight.”
“So? Let Hoover put his face up in the post office and in the newspapers. Release the story. Really turn on the heat.”
“Not a chance,” Smith said, shaking his head. “If it turns out to be a false alarm, he’ll look stupid and Hoover would rather blow off his foot than look stupid.”
“Tell you the truth, it probably wouldn’t work anyway. I promise you this: Twenty-seven has a plan. He is never caught without a plan. Now that he knows he’s hot, I’m sure he’s got a plan for that, too.”
“Suppose he’s been activated?” Smith asked.
“I don’t know,” Keegan shrugged. “Hell, I need a break. If I don’t get one, whatever he’s going to do, he’ll do. And don’t ask me what that might be. I’ve burned up my brains trying to figure that one out.”
Smith sighed. He took another sip of wine.
“Look, let them play it their way, and I’ll play it mine,” said Keegan. “What have we got to lose?”
“It’s just a matter of time before the bureau figures out who you are and when it does, we’ll need a skyhook to get Hoover down off the ceiling.”
“Obviously Hoover doesn’t believe a man can reform.”
“Are you kidding? If he had his way he’d abolish trials by jury and make jaywalking a federal offense. I’m sorry, Mr. Keegan. Donovan and I are both impressed with what you’ve done but it’s an FBI case now. You’re off it.”
“What!” Keegan yelled. Everyone in the bar looked back at the booth. Keegan stood up. “Bullshit!”
“I’m sorry,” Smith said defensively. “The FBI’s on it because it’s a fugitive case. Espionage has nothing to do with it.”
“Then I’ll do it on my own,” Keegan said venomously.
Smith chuckled and shook his head. “How? You don’t have anyplace to start.”
Keegan didn’t answer. He knew the clippings were a much longer shot than going through the FBI records, but they were his last gasp.
“Of course,” Smith said, “there is one option.”
Keegan stared at him suspiciously. “What kind of option.” “Sign a contract with the Office of Information Coordination,” Smith said. “That way we can justify an on-going investigation on the grounds that we suspect him of being an enemy agent. Hoover’s only interest in him right now is as a fugitive.”
“Mr. Smith, I’m not a spy. I don’t belong in Donovan’s network.”
“Takes all kinds,” Smith said. “Besides, the Boss and I agree you did a hell of a job tracking him down in Colorado.”
“You’re telling me if I join this new intelligence outfit, I can keep going on this?”
“For the time being.”
“And then what?”
“Then you’ll be on our team.”
“And at your beck and call?”
Smith nodded slowly. “We’ll have a training course set up by the new year. We have a place set up in Boston. Two months. We would expect you to take the course. Hell, Keegan, look at it this way, we’ll probably be in the war soon anyway.”
“Not if Siebenundzwanzig can help it.”
Smith opened his briefcase and took out a contract and handed it to Keegan.
“Think it over,” he said.
“How about Dryman?”
“I don’t think we can justify using an Air Corps pilot and plane any longer. He’s due to be discharged in two months anyway. They’ll return him to his previous base and begin processing his discharge.”
“Credentials?”
“You have to surrender the White House authorization. After you complete the course in Boston you’ll get new credentials from the OIC.”
“And in the meantime Twenty-seven is on the loose and France and England are at war with Germany.”
“With the FBI on his tail.”
Keegan snorted. “For the wrong reason.”
“Don’t sell them short. They just might turn him up with the information we’ve given them. They certainly have the resources—which you don’t have.”
Keegan toyed with the contract. Finally he folded it and put it in the inside pocket of his jacket.