"I've got my ideas." Farradyne lit a cigarette and relaxed. "We'll wait
until dusk to be sure," he said.
Hourly, the radio went on telling how Farradyne was being cornered.
Radar nets and radio-contact squadrons were scouring the North American
continent with special attention being given to the North Middle-West.
Another report said, "Charles Farradyne, sought for many charges
involving love-lotus operations, is implicated in the disappearance of
Carolyn Niles, according to her family. Her father indicated that Miss
Niles did not return home after a date with the criminal. Be careful!
This criminal is cornered and desperate. He will not hesitate to shoot,
and he may even bomb a village or neighborhood if his freedom is
threatened!"
Brenner and Carolyn did not even jeer at him. The situation was
obvious; Farradyne and his white flag would be shot to bits before he
could take three steps, let alone make explanations.
By now it was dark outside. The stars were bright above the dome, and
danced with the motion of the water. To one side a wavy trail passed
across the sky, and high above was the flicker of a space patrol
crossing the sky at fifty or sixty miles. The radio was alive with
reports, and the police bands were busy with their myriad of reports
and directions. Farradyne pricked off their calls on a map, with a
drawing pencil. Ground and air patrols were combing a vast area. For
a very brief interval, Farradyne could hear a distant network in
operation which indicated that the same sort of search was under way in
other districts across the face of the continent.
He inspected his map and hoped he had them all. Then, very cautiously,
he lifted the nose of the Lancaster above the waterline and eyed his
radar. Pips showed here and there, a couple within a few miles of him.
He waited until they turned away, waited until they went beyond the
radar horizon.
"Now," said Farradyne for all of them to hear. "I can't do this job
fair, so I'll do it foul!"
Using just enough power to waft the Lancaster into the air, Farradyne
placed the ship in a gully a few hundred yards from a state highway.
The trees covered it from direct observation at night and the flat
hills and ravines would cover it from radar detection.
* * * * *
It was almost two o'clock in the morning when a lonely moving van came
along the highway. The brakes screeched as the driver caught sight of
a crumpled body lying by the road. Redness smeared along a length of
white thigh, uncovered by a ripped skirt. More redness dribbled wetly
from a corner of Norma's mouth. The driver piled out of one door and
his helper from the other. They ran to kneel by the woman's side.
Then they smelled the ketchup and stood up, raising their hands
promptly in anticipation of the command.
"That's not blood spilled," said the driver loudly. "Let's keep it that
way, whoever you are."
The driver's helper said, "This is a bum job, friend. We're carting
second-hand furniture, not gold."
"I don't want your load," said Farradyne, stepping into the glare of
the headlights while Norma got up and dusted herself off. "I want your
truck."
They looked at him and he saw recognition in their faces. Probably
every newscast had his picture presented in full color.
"What's the next move, Farradyne?" asked the driver in a surly tone.
"Do we take the high jump?"
"No, I just want your truck. Driver, what's your name?"
"Morgan. This is Roberts."
"Morgan, you drive the truck down into that ravine, and Roberts will
play hostage. Get it?"
"Behave, Al," pleaded Roberts.
"I will, but I think we'll get bumped anyway."
Morgan got into the truck and drove it slowly from the road, down
through the trees, until they came to the Lancaster. Both men goggled
at the ship parked there, and Farradyne, who had walked alongside with
Roberts and Norma, let them look at it for a moment. Then he waved his
gun. "Unload it," he said sharply.
It took them an hour to move the load from the truck to the ground, and
Farradyne spent that hour in nervous watching. He could not trust them
not to make a break, nor could he hope to explain. When the van was
emptied, he faced Roberts against it and said, "Norma, tape Morgan's
hands behind him; then Roberts'. Then we unload our cargo."
* * * * *
The two truckmen glowered as the conveyor belt came out of the cargo
lock and the white hellflower blossoms tumbled along it to drop into
the back of the van. Farradyne left them sitting there on the ground
after the loading was finished. He and Norma went into the salon and he
faced Brenner. "Better take this quietly," he said.
The radio made him pause:
"Ladies and gentlemen, the late news: the system-wide search for
Charles Farradyne is hurrying to a close. Indications are now that the
infamous love-lotus chief is hiding in the Lake Superior Region, and
all forces are being hurried to that area to create the most leakproof
dragnet in the history of man's man-hunts. A special session of the
planning committee of the Solar Anti-Narcotic Department has been
called to deal with the problem. Any information pertaining to Charles
Farradyne may be delivered by picking up your telephone and calling
Sand, One-thousand.
"This information is being disseminated freely. We know that Farradyne
is listening to this broadcast, and the Sandmen have instructed all
radio stations and networks to deliver the following announcement:
"To Charles Farradyne: A reward of fifty thousand dollars has been
offered for your capture dead or alive. You cannot escape. The forces
that are blanketing the Lake Superior Area are being augmented hourly
by additional men and _matériel_ brought in from all corners of the
solar system. You will be arrested and brought to trial for your life.
However, the reward of fifty thousand dollars will be turned over to
you to be used in your own defense if you surrender at once."
Farradyne grunted. "Very tasty dish," he said sourly. "Very competent
people you have, boys and girl. Someone really thought that one out
most thoroughly. Can you picture me walking up to a patrol and saying,
'Fellers, I've come to give myself up so I can have the reward.' And
then I'd go in, sure enough--on a shutter, and the patrol would divide
the loot. To hell with you, we'll play it my way. Norma, go ahead."
Norma slipped off one high-heeled shoe and advanced upon Brenner. The
enemy agent tried to shy away, but Farradyne went over and caught his
head between the palms of the hands and held Brenner fixed. Norma swung
the slipper and crashed the heel against Brenner's jaw.
Brenner slumped, and the heelprint on his jaw oozed a dribble of blood
mixed with mud.
Farradyne slung Brenner over his shoulder and carried the inert man
out. He propped Brenner in the helper's seat and handed Norma into the
driver's seat. He stood on the running-board and watched Norma strip
the tape from Brenner's wrists and replace it with fresh tape from the
truck's own first-aid kit.
"The ankles too," he warned her. "You've got to cover up the
tape-burns."
Norma taped Brenner's ankles. Then she looked up at Farradyne. "I'm
shaky."
"I know," he said. "But you've got to hold yourself together until this
gambit is played out."
She smiled wanly. "That's what's holding me together," she told him.
"Charles, wish me luck?"
He leaned into the truck window and put his lips to hers. It was a
very pleasant kiss, and while they both knew that this was their first
kiss of real affection and mutual confidence, it lacked a compelling
passion. But for the present it was satisfying, and complete.
Then Farradyne swung down from the truck with a wave of his hand and
Norma put the big engine in gear with a grind that set his teeth on
edge.
The truck turned onto the highway and roared off into the night.