Fourteen
At 11:30 that same morning Brady and his team were the sole occupants of the hotel's dining room. Outside, the wind had gone, the snow had been reduced to the occasional flurry, and the sun was making a valiant effort to shine through the drifting gray cloud. Inside, the mood was one of expectancy and suppressed excitement.
'One thing's for sure,' said Brady firmly. 'You're not coming on this little jaunt.'
'Oh yes I am,' Dermott countered. 'I most certainly am. You try leaving me behind.'
'What can you do?' Brady was half-scornful, half-sympathetic. 'You can't use a gun, knock anybody down, tie anybody up.'
'All the same, I've got to be there.' Dermott was gray from lack of sleep and the pain in his savaged wrists. He could use his hands for gentle tasks, but his fingers were stiff, and to ease the discomfort he kept both elbows propped on the table with his forearms sticking straight up. 'I really need two slings,' he muttered. 'One for each arm.'
'Why not stay here and look after your gallant savior?' Mackenzie suggested slyly.
Dermott colored perceptibly and grunted: 'She's okay, I guess.'
'She's being guarded, sure,' Mackenzie agreed. 'But she might be even safer if she came with us. With the rot spreading as far as it has…' He broke off and went back to eating as he saw Willoughby, the police chief, approaching across the room.
'Good morning, chief.' Brady beamed at him. 'Get any sleep?'
'One hour.' Willoughby tried to smile, but his heart wasn't in it. 'Call of duty. Can't complain.'
'News,' Brady announced abruptly. 'Take a seat.' He handed a letter across the table. 'Communication from our friends. Mailed yesterday in the local post office.'
Willoughby read the first paragraph without alteration of expression. Then he looked slowly around the watching faces and said matter-of-factly, 'One billion dollars.' Suddenly his calm gave way. 'One billion dollars!' he cried. 'Jesus!' He qualified the word 'dollars' several times. 'The sonsabitches are crazy. Who's going to pay attention to this kind of drivel?'
'You think it's drivel?' Dermott asked. 'I don't. Probably a rather optimistic estimate of what the market will stand, but not very, I would think.'
'I can't believe it.' Willoughby threw the letter down on the table. 'A billion dollars! Even if they mean it, how could the money be transferred without being traced to the recipient?'
'Nothing simpler,' said Mackenzie, forking a pancake. 'You could lose Fort Knox in the labyrinth of Eurodollars and offshore funds.'
Willoughby glared at him over the breakfast cups. 'You'd actually pay this blackmailing monster?'
'Not me,' Mackenzie answered. 'I couldn't. But somebody sure enough will.'
'Who'd be so crazy?'
'There's no craziness involved,' said Dermott patiently. 'Just calculating, common business sense. The people who stand to lose most ? our two governments, and the major oil companies who've invested in Alaska and Alberta. I don't know what the position is in Canada, but this is going to pose an intriguing problem in the States, because any governmental operation in tandem with the oil companies requires Congressional approval ? and as every schoolkid knows, Congress would cheerfully immolate the oil companies. Looks like it'll make a highly diverting spectacle.'
Willoughby looked baffled.
'Read some more,' Brady prompted. 'The next paragraph is only a minor shock to the nervous system.'
The policeman picked up the letter and started again. 'So they want you out of Alaska and Alberta ? specifically, south of the forty-ninth parallel.'
'As predicted,' said Brady.
'But no mention of any ransom?'
'Again, as we predicted.' Brady sounded smug.
'You're not getting out, I take it.'
'Oh no? I'm going to contact my pilot in a moment and have him file a flight plan for Los Angeles.'
Willoughby stared at him. 'I thought you wanted to go to Crowfoot Lake?'
'We do. But we don't want to advertise our destination to any ill-natured persons who may be listening in. Therefore, we file a flight plan for L.A.'
'Okay, I get it.' Willoughby grinned. 'What do you want me to do?'
'Well…' Brady became evasive. 'First, we need a guarantee from you.'
'You can't make deals with the police.' Willoughby's tone suddenly hardened.
'Rubbish!' said Brady comfortably. 'It's done all the time. Felons even make deals with judges in court.'
'Okay. So what do you want?'
'What we don't want is a company of paratroopers. Sure, they could mop this lot up with their hands tied behind their backs, but they might mop up a few wrong people too. Softly, softly on this one. Finesse. Stealth. Secrecy. Our way or not at all.'
'You making a point or something?'
'Tell me about Crowfoot Lake,' said Brady.
'It's an ideal place for this sort of thing. Tucked right away in the hills. Big, covered helicopter shelter right by the station. A chopper would never be spotted from the air. I was up there a year back, investigating a reported murder which turned out to be death by misadventure. Couple of young city boys newly arrived at the weather station. Happens at the beginning of the hunting season every year, without fail ? all the Daniel Boones and Buffalo Bills dropping like flies all over the place.'
'How big's the lake?' Dermott asked. 'Can a plane land on it?'
'Well, you can land on it.' Willoughby paused. 'But I don't think it would do you much good. See here, the lake's only two miles long, so wherever you came down on it, the people in the Met. Station would be bound to hear you. I've got a better idea.' 'We need one.' 'Now, Mr. Brady. I've got a request. I'm in a delicate position. I am the law around these parts, and I'm supposed to know what's going on. I'm also a blackmailer. In return for guaranteeing that I can get you to the Met. Station undetected, I'd like some degree of participation in your expedition. You can't operate without police authority, and I'm the authority. All cards very close to the chest, okay. But I'd like an official watching brief ? a presence.'
'I know whose presence I'd like,' Mackenzie said. Up till then he had been chewing steadily throughout the conversation, but a delicate patting of his big face with the napkin indicated that his meal was over. 'I'd like Carmody.'
Willoughby said, 'That's not a bad idea. I'll get him right away.'
He went off to telephone, came back and said, 'A couple of minutes.'
'Fine.' Brady turned to Mackenzie. 'Don, tell Ferguson to go out to the airport and file a flight plan for Los Angeles: Tell him to expect people with provisions out there in just over an hour. Ask the kitchen to give us provisions for two or three days.' 'Just food, Mr. Brady?' Brady loftily ignored the insinuation. 'Ferguson is in charge of the commissariat. He'll know of any shortfalls. George, we'll need some hand compasses and, I guess, ammunition. Be generous with the ammunition.'
Willoughby said, 'Hand compasses we have in abundance. What guns?' 'Colt.38's.' 'No problem.'
Dermott said, 'Well, thank you. Tell me, Mr. Willoughby, you have a deputy chief?' 'Indeed. And a good one.' 'Good enough to be left in sole charge here?'
'Sure. Why?'
'Why don't you come with us? Giving us the directions is all very well, but it's not the same as having you on the spot.'
'Don't, Mr. Dermott. You tempt me. You tempt me sorely.' From the momentary gleam of anticipation in his eyes, it was clear that he spoke the truth. 'Duty, alas, before pleasure. I have a murder investigation on my hands.'
'You've just reported zero progress. There are shortcuts, Mr. Willoughby. You wouldn't want us foreign
