The only problem was, would they jump the gun? Would they decide to go for Formutesca out there on the street? They shouldn’t; they should prefer to keep things quiet outside and make their move in the privacy of the museum. Also, if they attacked now they would have to believe that Gonor would be alerted to their presence, and it would be better for them to get into the building undetected.
Still, Formutesca was taking a long time. Parker was about to go out after him, when a shadow lined out on the rectangle of light in the foyer, and a second later Formutesca came into sight, peering around into the darkness.
Parker called, “In here. Shut the door.”
“Oh! Right.”
The rectangle disappeared, and in greater darkness Formutesca came in and stood beside Parker. The weapons on the display case glinted in the patch of light from the streetlight.
Formutesca said, “The Major feels bad, you know. He’s afraid you don’t understand the”
“It doesn’t matter to me,” Parker said. “Where can we stash some of these under lock and key?”
“There’s a closet”
“Good. Put them away, all but those two pistols. I checked; they’re both loaded.”
Formutesca touched one of the machine guns. “You don’t want to use these? Or that shotgun? At close range you can”
“I want at least one of them alive. I want to shoot to wound, not kill. For that we can’t use those things.”
“All right.” Formutesca filled his pockets with pistols, picked up the machine guns and the shotgun, and carried them away.
Parker went over to the window. It was the deadest part of night: no traffic, no pedestrians. Down to the left at Lexington Avenue a brightly lighted bus rolled slowly by, nobody in it but the driver. Up to the right and across the street was Hoskins’ car, its key now in Parker’s pocket. Hoskins himself was with Gonor and the Kasempas in the basement.
It was going to be tough for the Major and his people to keep this thing hushed up now, with Gonor dead. The others could have disappeared with nobody to notice particularly once Colonel Lubudi was no longer president but Gonor was a known official; his absence would have to be accounted for somehow.
Well, that wasn’t Parker’s problem. The Major would do it, or he wouldn’t do it.
Formutesca came back. “Done,” he said.
From the window, Parker said, “There’s a gun for you on the case there. Take it and go into the room on the other side of the entrance. Wait till they’re all the way in before you start to shoot and then aim low. Aim for the legs; we want them alive. And remember I’m over here, so wait till they’re a little past you and you can shoot at an angle. I don’t want one of your bullets coming over here and getting me.”
Formutesca was regaining some of his natural manner. “I don’t want it either,” he said. “I don’t want to be alone in here with that bunch. If they show up. What time is it?”
“They’ve shown up,” Parker said. “Get on over there.”
Formutesca, looking startled, ran from the room and across the foyer as Parker looked out the window at the three men coming up the walk.
6
They took a long time getting through the door, and they were very slow and very loud. Parker was about ready to go over and open it for them, when at last they did pop it and come in.
Now they turned pro. They moved well, taking their time, not moving in very far until the door was shut and the foyer back in darkness. Then they went in quick dashes, bent low, almost silent. It implied military training at some time or other.
It also made it difficult to see them and hit them. Parker, against the wall beside the doorway, felt around till he got the light switch for the room he was in and switched it on.
The three of them were bunched at the doorway at the back of the foyer. No direct light from Parker’s room reached them, but enough indirect spillage touched them to do the job. Parker fired at their legs, and a second later he heard a shot from Formutesca on the other side.
One of them went down, falling straight down as though the floor had been yanked out from under him. A second recoiled against the wall, white-faced, his arms shooting up in surrender. The third spun around, ducked low, and ran for the door.
Parker snapped off a quick shot at the running one, but missed. He came out into the light, but then he couldn’t shoot because Formutesca had come out too and was directly across the way. They stared across at one another in a frozen second that seemed to go on for years.
The running man reached the door, slammed it open, and leaped the front steps, landing on all fours on the walk. He was up like a sprinter, hurdled the wrought-iron fence, and was away down the street to the left.
Parker ran out the front door and saw him jump into a car down there. It was too late to do anything about it. He turned and went back into the museum, shutting the door after him.
He switched on the foyer light. The one with his hands up was still standing there, round-eyed, terrified, looking sixteen years old. He had a huge automatic in his right hand shaking up there above his head. He’d obviously forgotten he was holding it.
The other one was doubled on the floor clutching his left thigh. Over and over he was saying, “Jock. Help me, Jock.”
Neither one was Marten. Marten was the one who’d gotten away.
Parker went over to the standing one. “You’re Jock?”
