“Oh?” I watched her face. “Isn’t he aware your father bought the army?”
The corner of her mouth tucked in at the word but she didn’t evade the issue. “He has no idea and he must not find out. He thinks the army feels there is no one else capable of managing the country now. But my father doesn’t trust the military to keep its word and you’ll have to stay awake.”
I got the idea then. Papa was sending Baby along to watch me and to see the assignment through. It wasn’t just the LaClare army he didn’t trust. He didn’t trust AXE or me and he was willing to put his luscious daughter out as bait to make sure all went A-O.K. Well, that was one bribe I’d be happy to accept.
I said, “In that case, the three of us shouldn’t appear to be together. Thomas Sawyer’s daughter would not travel with a flunky as a companion and neither would Dr. Fleming. I’ll leave it to you to handle the matter.”
I had her drop me off and caught a cab so we could arrive at Kennedy separately. Also, I had good reason for not wanting her along on my next errand. I hunted up the airline office in Manhattan, showed my ID to the president, and had him check by phone with AXE’s Washington headquarters. I had to board the plane with my weapons and I didn’t want any disturbance at the gate to call attention to me.
The man was impressed with Hawk’s answer and called his manager at the airport so that when I arrived, I was personally escorted onto the plane.
Tara Sawyer was already there, talking with a scholarly, handsome blue-black man in the window seat of a three place row. I assumed that was Dr. Randolph Fleming, Thomas Sawyer’s expensive new president of Grand LaClare Island. I glanced at him as I sat down beside the girl and saw compelling level brown eyes and an aura of leadership and integrity. He gave me one brief look then dismissed me as a simple necessity. I read his mind. Once he reached the island, he would feel secure; but until he was in the presidential palace, he was an easy target.
I wondered why a dollop of Sawyer s millions had not been used to get us a private plane and decided on the pride Tara had talked about — probably, Fleming wouldn’t accept that precaution; it smacked of a coward’s return.
Fleming’s voice was soft, his words measured and he talked to Tara Sawyer with a restrained solemnity. They could pass for strangers making casual conversation. We got into the air and the stewardesses brought blankets and pillows. Soon most of the lights winked out and the ship settled down to sleep.
Except for Tara and me. Being so close together for a long night created one hell of a temptation to both of us, but there wasn’t a thing we could do about it except sit and sweat it out. Fortunately it kept us awake.
I didn’t get an introduction to Fleming until after the skyjacking incident was under control. Then he grudgingly admitted it was a fortunate coincidence that the Sawyer Grand LaClare’s new security officer happened to be taking this flight. He hoped I would like his island and his people.
Then, as an example to the still jittery passengers, he tipped his seat back and went peacefully to sleep.
Three
The Grand LaClare airport wasn’t as big as O’Hare but it was as crowded as if the Chicago field had dumped all its passengers there. It was so modem I thought General Hammond might have gotten the financing for it out of his Sawyer casino-hotel deal. The native mob was in multi-colored costumes, kept back from the plane by a cordon of soldiers in dress shorts and short-sleeved shirts. They looked like Boy Scouts except for the side arms. A solid rank of them surrounded the plane and stood around a waiting group of limousines.
A stewardess announced that all of us must keep our seats until Dr. Fleming had left the field. The ladder was run out and the door opened. I had seen the huge crowd from the inside; now I heard a roar rise to a crescendo as the new president of the island stepped into sight. He looked every inch the head of state.
Beside me Tara Sawyer whispered, “Look at that man. I wish we were on the ground to see him come down.”
“You won’t get trampled to mush up here. Be thankful,” I told her.
Watching from the window, we saw Fleming again as he reached the bottom of the steps and lifted a paternal hand to the islanders. A thickset man in a bright uniform snapped to sharp attention, threw a crisp salute, then stepped close to shake the Doctor’s hand. Fleming smiled.
“Colonel Carib Jerome,” Myra said. “Chief of Staff of the army. The man who engineered Fleming’s return.”
That was my contact. I looked him over closely. The black face was not Negroid. His eyes slanted Oriental fashion, the cheekbones were high, the ripe olive skin marked him as a descendant of the Brazilian Indians who had invaded Grand LaClare in prehistoric times. He could pass for a taller, darker Vietnamese. Jerome put his lips near Fleming’s ear to be heard above the happy hysteria. From his watchfulness I judged he was warning of possible danger. He took Fleming’s arm to turn him directly toward the waiting cars.
Fleming smiled, shook off the hand and went confidently into the crowd. He walked beside the cordon of soldiers, reaching for the hands enthusiastically stretched through it. The pandemonium didn’t diminish even after he entered the long black car with the official flags on its fenders; some of the crowd surged after the motorcycles that crawled to the road.
We had to wait further inside the plane while military police boarded to take off the stewardess who’d tried to hijack the craft. She met my eyes as they walked her past, frightened and pleading. I smiled and nodded. Maybe I could get her a lighter sentence; she was more victim than villain. Surrounded by soldiers, the crowd took her for a VIP and screamed until she was out of sight in the terminal. Obviously, the hijacking had not been announced to the public.
After that the passengers were allowed to deplane. The crowd still cheered. We had ridden with the illustrious Dr. Fleming. Tara laughed and waved and they focused on her. Nobody paid attention to me. I like it that way. It’s a big asset to an agent not to be noticed. We were herded into the comparative quiet of the Customs shed and lined up along the low baggage bench. After a short wait, the luggage began coming along on a moving belt behind the inspectors. I pointed out Tara’s and mine; they were set before us and we were asked to open them.
The examination was unexpectedly thorough. In the Caribbean the Customs people are usually cavalier. They’re dealing with tourists they don’t want to offend. What really surprised me here was the frisk. The man felt my holster, opened my jacket and grunted at the Luger.
“Explain, please.” The voice said I was not a rich visitor to be pampered.
I said I was the new chief security officer for Sawyer’s hotel. He was not impressed, snapped his fingers for two policemen trying to be inconspicuous in the background, and ordered me taken to the station for questioning. I was relieved of the gun. Tara wanted to go to bat right there. I stepped on her toe. No point in her being entangled in bureaucratic red tape. I said I’d meet her later at the hotel and went with the police to a van behind the building. They let me bring my bag. David Hawk would have the spitting meemies. He had an agent’s contempt for the bumbles of regular cops.
It was a ten mile ride to the capital city, and slow. The roadside was still jammed and ahead of us Fleming’s cortege was making the most of political hay, going five miles an horn to give the population a good look at their man. We crawled behind the rear escort. The men taking me in were like cops anywhere, bored with the duty. Jerome had proclaimed a legal holiday and a fiesta for the night. It meant only extra hours of work to this pair.