amateurs to do the job for you, would you now?'
'I'm afraid I'm not quite at my best,'
'You would be when we introduced you to Crawford's murderer. Where else would he be but at Crowfoot Lake?'
'Mr. Dermott, forget my last remark. I'm back at my very best. Ah, here he is.'
Carmody looked as large and formidable as ever.
Dermott said, 'With Mr. Willoughby's consent, a request to make on behalf of Mr. Brady, Mr. Mackenzie and myself. As alien civilians we can only request. Those kidnappers ? you're aware they are multiple killers, desperate men. They'll shoot on sight and shoot to kill.'
Carmody looked around in slight puzzlement but politely said nothing.
Dermott went on, 'Mrs. Brady, her daughter and Mr. Reynolds ? we know where they're being held.'
Carmody, almost like a man in prayer, clasped his two hands lightly together and said, in a suitably church like whisper, 'Boy, oh boy. Let's go get them.'
Brady said, 'Thank you. We appreciate it. One hour from now, okay?'
Willoughby said, 'I'll just nip back to the office and put in a call to Edmonton.'
'Aha! I thought secrecy was the watchword?'
'It still is.'
'Then may I ask?'
'You may not. A surprise. To be revealed at Crowfoot Lake. Or in the very close vicinity. You wouldn't rob me of my surprises?'
As the jet lifted off, Brady looked across the aisle to where Carmody had just withdrawn a peculiar metallic device from its chamois-lined leather casing. It appeared to consist of a small telescope attached to a curving, semicircular arm which in turn was bolted to a rectangular metal box. Brady said, 'What do you have there, Mr. Carmody?'
'John, please Mr. Brady. Makes me feel less self-conscious. We cops are used to being called many things, but not 'Mister': This? This is an infrared telescopic night sight. These are the securing clamps. Fits on a rifle.'
'You can see in the dark with that?' 'A little light helps. But total darkness is rare.' 'You can see the enemy, but he can't see you?' 'That's the idea behind it. Unsporting, and unfair. Never give the bastards a break ? especially, Mr. Brady, if they're pointing guns at wives and daughters.'
Brady turned to Willoughby who was in the window seat. 'And what lethal armaments are you carrying?'
'Apart from the regulation revolver? Just this little number here.' He reached down and picked up a zipped leather bag some eighteen inches by ten.
'Funny shape for a gun,' Brady said, intrigued.
'Two pieces that screw together.'
'It wouldn't be a submachine gun?'
'It would.'
There was a short silence and then Brady said, 'No chance you'd be carrying a few hand grenades on you?'
Carmody gave a deprecating shrug. 'Only a few.'
'Infrared sights, submachine guns, grenades ? aren't those illegal?'
'Could be.' Carmody sounded vague. 'I'm not sure they are at Crowfoot Lake. You'd have to ask Mr. Willoughby about that.'
The angle of climb had levelled off, and Brady nodded his thanks as Mackenzie brought a daiquiri to him.
'Cruising altitude, Donald? No way could we possibly have reached that yet.'
'Maybe this is high enough. You'd have to ask our police chief there.' He nodded forward. Willoughby had gone up to the co-pilot's seat and was bent over a map with Ferguson. 'Doing his navigator's bit, I see.'
Some five minutes more passed before Willoughby rose and headed back to sit by Brady.
'How long, Mr. Willoughby?'
'Seventy minutes.'
'Seventy minutes! But I thought Crowfoot was only seventy miles away?'
'We filed a flight plan for Los Angeles, remember. Our first leg takes us through the radar control at Calgary. So, we're flying south. We're also flying low to lose the radar control at Fort McMurray. When we do, we'll circle to the west and then north. After ten minutes, northeast. We'll keep low. No danger of bumping into anything; it's pretty flat all the way.' He spread out a chart. 'Even the Birch Mountains here are really nothing of the sort. The highest peak is less than twenty-seven hundred feet. Really, it's just a low divide, a watershed. The streams on the west side flow west and northwest into the Peace and Birch rivers. The streams to the east flow east and southeast into the Athabasca River.'
'Where's Crowfoot Lake?'
'Here, just on the west side of the divide.'
'It doesn't have a name printed.'
'Too small. Neither does Deerhorn ? here ? on the east side of the divide. That's where we're going. It's a lake, too, but it's always called just Deerhorn.'
'How far from Deerhorn to Crowfoot?'
'Six miles. Maybe seven. Far enough, I hope. We go into Deerhorn low and we go into Deerhorn slow ? as near stalling speed as possible. The chances of our being heard at that distance are remote. The only time we'll make any real noise is when we land. The only way a fast-landing jet like this can stop on a relatively short stretch of ice is to use reverse thrust on the engine. That makes quite a racket. But I'm pretty sure that the divide between the two lakes will act as a suitable baffle. I'm a little more concerned about the helicopter.'
'Helicopter?' Brady said carefully.
'Yes. Left Edmonton about half an hour ago. Due in about an hour after us.'
'You promised me ? '
'And I keep my promise. No troops, no police, not even a peashooter. Just some Arctic gear I want. It's due to arrive just after dark.'
'And without radar transmission or airfield landing lights, how's he going to find his way here?'
'A signal from us by radio beacon. He's only to follow his nose. What worries me slightly is the noise the helicopter will make in landing. It's the biggest you've ever seen, and the racket is corresponding.'
'Of course.' Brady showed his disquiet. 'Our friends at Crowfoot Lake have their own helicopter. Won't they hop in and come over to investigate?'
'I hope not. I want them,' Willoughby said grimly, 'to stand trial, and they won't be able to if they're dead. If they come across, I'll have no option but to shoot them down.'
'Fair enough.' Brady seemed unperturbed at the thought. Then he added, 'You can do that?'
'We came here equipped with weapons for the express purpose of doing just that.'
'Ah! I was asking Carmody about some of his equipment and he mentioned this infrared night sight. But I thought that was for shooting people.'. 'It can do that, too. Did he mention the fact that he's also got a rifle that can switch from single-shot to automatic at the touch of a switch? The combination of that, the night-spot and a squirrel-hunter's eye, makes for a fairly lethal outcome. You know I have a submachine gun? Did I also mention that it has a special large capacity magazine ? the old circular-drum type ? and that every sixth shell is a tracer so that I can see how I'm doing?'
'No.'
Willoughby smiled, 'And of course we didn't mention my own modest contribution ? the jumping jacks. For use when we're not seeing too well what's going on up above. Just like fireworks, really ? except that you get no fancy explosion of color, just a blinding magnesium flare that drifts down slowly on a parachute. Lasts only ninety seconds, but if you can't accomplish what you want to in ninety seconds, you should have stayed at home in the first place.'
'If I were a devout Christian, I could almost weep for my adversaries.'
'Don't,'
'Who said I was a devout Christian?' Jim nodded to Carmody. 'He really goes about killing people?'
'He leans on people.'
