And it had all started so simply, too. Malone remembered very clearly
the first time he had had any indication that red Cadillacs were
anything unusual, or special. Before that, he'd viewed them all with
slightly wistful eyes: red, blue, green, gray, white or even black
Cadillacs were all the same to him. They spelled luxury and wealth and
display and a lot of other nice things.
[Illustration]
Now, he wasn't at all sure what they spelled. Except that it was
definitely uncomfortable, and highly baffling.
He'd walked into the offices of Andrew J. Burris, Director of the FBI,
just one week ago. It was a beautiful office, pine paneled and spacious,
and it boasted an enormous polished desk. And behind the desk Burris
himself sat, looking both tired and somehow a little kindly.
"You sent for me, chief?" Malone said.
"That's right." Burris nodded. "Malone, you've been working too hard
lately."
Now, Malone thought, it was coming. The dismissal he'd always feared. At
least Burris had found out that he wasn't the bright, intelligent,
fearless and alert FBI agent he was supposed to be. Burris had
discovered that he was nothing more or less than lucky, and that all the
"fine jobs" he was supposed to have done were only the result of luck.
Oh, well, Malone thought. Not being an FBI agent wouldn't be so bad. He
could always find another job.
Only at the moment he couldn't think of one he liked.
He decided to make one last plea.
"I haven't been working so hard, chief," he said. "Not too hard, anyhow.
I'm in great shape. I--"
"I've taken advantage of you, Malone, that's what I've done," Burris
said, just as if Malone hadn't spoken at all. "Just because you're the
best agent I've got, that's no reason for me to hand you all the tough
ones."
"Just because I'm what?" Malone said, feeling slightly faint.
"I've given you the tough ones because you could handle them," Burris
said. "But that's no reason to keep loading jobs on you. After that job
you did on the Gorelik kidnapping, and the way you wrapped up the
Transom counterfeit ring ... well, Malone, I think you need a little
relaxation."
"Relaxation?" Malone said, feeling just a little bit pleased. Of course,
he didn't deserve any of the praise he was getting, he knew. He'd just
happened to walk in on the Gorelik kidnappers because his telephone had
been out of order. And the Transom ring hadn't been just his job. After
all, if other agents hadn't managed to trace the counterfeit bills back
to a common area in Cincinnati, he'd never have been able to complete
his part of the assignment. But it was nice to be praised, anyhow.
Malone felt a twinge of guilt, and told himself sternly to relax and
enjoy himself.
"That's what I said," Burris told him. "Relaxation."
"Well," Malone said, "I certainly would like a vacation, that's for
sure. I'd like to snooze for a couple of weeks--or maybe go up to Cape
Cod for a while. There's a lot of nice scenery up around there. It's
restful, sort of, and I could just--"
He stopped. Burris was frowning, and when Andrew J. Burris frowned it
was a good idea to look attentive, interested and alert. "Now, Malone,"
Burris said sadly, "I wasn't thinking about a vacation. You're not
scheduled for one until August, you know--"
"Oh, I know, chief," Malone said. "But I thought--"
"Much as I'd like to," Burris said, "I just can't make an exception; you
know that, Malone. I've got to go pretty much by the schedule."
"Yes, sir," Malone said, feeling just a shade disappointed.
"But I do think you deserve a rest," Burris said.
"Well, if I--"
"Here's what I'm going to do," Burris said, and paused. Malone felt a
little unsure as to exactly what his chief was talking about, but by now
he knew better than to ask a lot of questions. Sooner or later, Burris
would probably explain himself. And if he didn't, then there was no use
worrying about it. That was just the way Burris acted.
"Suppose I gave you a chance to take it easy for a while," Burris said.
"You could catch up on your sleep, see some shows, have a couple of
drinks during the evening, take girls out for dinner--you know.
Something like that. How would you like it?"
"Well--" Malone said cautiously.
"Good," Burris said. "I knew you would."
* * * * *
Malone opened his mouth, thought briefly and closed it again. After all,
it did sound sort of promising, and if there was a catch in it he'd find
out about it soon enough.
"It's really just a routine case," Burris said in an offhand tone.
"Nothing to it."
"Oh," Malone said.
"There's this red Cadillac," Burris said. "It was stolen from a party in
Connecticut, out near Danbury, and it showed up in New York City. Now,
the car's crossed a state line."
"That puts it in our jurisdiction," Malone said, feeling obvious.
"Right," Burris said. "Right on the nose."
"But the New York office--"
"Naturally, they're in charge of everything," Burris said. "But I'm
sending you out as sort of a special observer. Just keep your eyes open
and nose around and let me know what's happening."
"Keep my eyes and nose what?" Malone said.
"Open," Burris said. "And let me know about it."
Malone tried to picture himself with his eyes and nose open, and decided
he didn't look very attractive that way. Well, it was only a figure of
speech or something. He didn't have to think about it.
It really made a very ugly picture.
"But why a special observer?" he said after a second. Burris could read
the reports from the New York office, and probably get more facts than
any single agent could find out just wandering around a strange city. It
sounded as if there were something, Malone told himself, just a tiny
shade rotten in Denmark. It sounded as if there were going to be
something in the nice, easy assignment he was getting that would make
him wish he'd gone lion-hunting in Darkest Africa instead.
And then again, maybe he was wrong. He stood at ease and waited to find
out.
"Well," Burris said, "it is just a routine case. Just like I said. But
there seems to be something a little bit odd about it."
"I see," Malone said with a sinking feeling.
"Here's what happened," Burris said hurriedly, as if he were afraid
Malone was going to change his mind and refuse the assignment. "This red
Cadillac I told you about was reported stolen from Danbury. Three days
later, it turned up in New York City--parked smack across the street
from a precinct police station. Of course it took them a while to wake
up, but one of the officers happened to notice the routine report on
stolen cars in the area, and he decided to go across the street and
check the license number on the car. Then something funny happened."
"Something funny?" Malone asked. He doubted that, whatever it was, it
was going to make him laugh. But he kept his face a careful, receptive
blank.
"That's right," Burris said. "Now, if you're going to understand what
happened, you've got to get the whole picture."
"Sure," Malone said.
"Only that isn't what I mean," Burris added suddenly.
Malone blinked. "_What_ isn't what you mean?" he said.
"Understanding what happened," Burris said. "That's the trouble. You
won't understand what happened. I don't understand it and neither does
anybody else. So what do you think about it?"
"Think about what?" Malone said.
"About what I've been telling you," Burris snapped. "This car."
Malone took a deep breath. "Well," he said, "this officer went over to
check the license plate. It seems like the right thing to do. It's just
what I'd have done myself."
"Sure you would," Burris said. "Anybody would. But listen to me."
"All right, chief," Malone said.
"It was just after dawn--early in the morning." Malone wondered briefly
if there were parts of the world where dawn came, say, late in the
afternoon or during the evening some time, but he said nothing. "The
street was deserted," Burris went on. "But it was pretty light out, and
the witnesses are willing to swear that there was nobody on that street
for a block in either direction. Except them, of course."
"Except who?" Malone said.
"Except the witnesses," Burris said patiently. "Four cops, police
officers who were standing on the front steps of the precinct station,
talking. They were waiting to go on duty, or anyhow that's what the
report said. It's lucky they were there, for whatever reason; they're
the only witnesses we've got."
Burris stopped. Malone waited a few seconds and then said, as calmly as
he could: "Witnesses to what?"
"To this whole business with Sergeant Jukovsky," Burris said.
* * * * *
The sudden introduction of a completely new name confused Malone for an
instant, but he recovered gamely. "Sergeant Jukovsky was the man who
investigated the car," he said.
"That's right," Burris said. "Except that he didn't."
Malone sighed.
"Those four officers--the witnesses--they weren't paying much attention
to what looked like the routine investigation of a parked car," Burris
said. "But here's their testimony. They were standing around talking
when this Sergeant Jukovsky came out of the station, spoke to them in
passing, and went on across the street. He didn't seem very worried or
alarmed about anything."
"Good," Malone said involuntarily. "I mean, go on, chief," he added.
"Ah," Burris said. "All right. Well. According to Jukovsky, he took a
look at the plate and found the numbers checked the listing he had for a
stolen Connecticut car. Then he walked around to take a look inside the
car. It was empty. Get that, Malone. The car was empty."
"Well," Malone said, "it was parked. I suppose parked cars are usually
empty. What's special about this one?"
"Wait and see," Burris said ominously. "Jukovsky swears the car was
empty. He tried the doors, and they were all locked but one, the front
door on the curb side, the driver's door. So he opened it, and leaned
over to have a look at the odometer to check the mileage. And something
clobbered him on the back of the head."
"One of the other cops," Malone said.
"One of the ... who?" Burris said. "No. Not the cops. Not at all."
"Then something fell on him," Malone said. "O.K. Then whatever fell on
him ought to be--"
"Malone," Burris said.
"Yes, chief?"
"Jukovsky woke up on the sidewalk with the other cops all around him.
There was nothing on that sidewalk but Jukovsky. Nothing could have
fallen on him; it hadn't landed anywhere, if you see what I mean."
"Sure," Malone said. "But--"
"Whatever it was," Burris said, "they didn't find it. But that isn't the
peculiar thing."
"No?"
"No," Burris said slowly. "Now--"
"Wait a minute," Malone said. "They looked on the sidewalk and around
there. But did they think to search the car?"
"They didn't get a chance," Burris said. "Anyhow, not just then. Not
until they got around to picking up the pieces of the car uptown, at
125th Street."
Malone closed his eyes. "Where was this precinct?" he said.
"Midtown," Burris said. "In the Forties."
"And the pieces of the car were eighty blocks away when they searched
it?" Malone said.
Burris nodded.
"All right," Malone said pleasantly. "I give up."
"Well, that's what I'm trying to tell you," Burris said. "According to
the witnesses--not Jukovsky, who didn't wake up for a couple of minutes
and so didn't see what happened next--after he fell out of the car, the
motor started and the car drove off uptown."
"Oh," Malone said. He thought about that for a minute and decided at
last to hazard one little question. It sounded silly--but then, what
didn't? "The car just drove off all by itself?" he said.
Burris seemed abashed. "Well, Malone," he said carefully, "that's where
the conflicting stories of the eyewitnesses don't agree. You see, two of
the cops say there was nobody in the car. Nobody at all. Of any kind.
Small or large."
"And the other two?" Malone said.
"The other two swear they saw somebody at the wheel," Burris said, "but
they won't say whether it was a man, a woman, a small child or an
anthropoid ape--and they haven't the faintest idea where he, she or it
came from."
"Great," Malone said. He felt a little tired. This trip was beginning to
sound less and less like a vacation.
"Those two cops swear there was something--or somebody--driving the
car," Burris said. "And that isn't all."
"It isn't?" Malone said.
Burris shook his head. "A couple of the cops jumped into a squad car and
started following the red Cadillac. One of these cops saw somebody in
the car when it left the curb. The other one didn't. Got that?"
"I've got it," Malone said, "but I don't exactly know what to do with
it."
"Just hold on to it," Burris said, "and listen to this: the cops were
about two blocks behind at the start, and they couldn't close the gap
right away. The Cadillac headed west and climbed up the ramp of the West
Side Highway, heading north, out toward Westchester. I'd give a lot to
know where they were going, too."
"But they crashed," Malone said, remembering that the pieces were at
125th Street. "So--"
"They didn't crash right away," Burris said. "The prowl car started
gaining on the Cadillac slowly. And--now, get this, Malone--both the
cops swear there _was_ somebody in the driver's seat now."
"Wait a minute," Malone said. "One of these cops didn't see anybody at
all in the driver's seat when the car started off."
"Right," Burris said.
"But on the West Side Highway, he did see a driver," Malone said. He
thought for a minute. "It could happen. The start happened so fast he
could have been confused, or something."
"There's another explanation," Burris said.
"Sure," Malone said cheerfully. "We're all crazy. The whole world is
crazy."
* * * * *
"Not that one," Burris said. "I'll tell you when I finish with this
thing about the car itself. There isn't much description of whoever or
whatever was driving that car on the West Side Highway, by the way. In
case you were thinking of asking."
Malone, who hadn't been thinking of asking anything, tried to look
clever. Burris regarded him owlishly for a second, and then went on:
"The car was hitting it up at about a hundred and ten by this time, and
accelerating all the time. But the souped-up squad car was coming on
fast, too, and it was quite a chase. Luckily, there weren't many cars on
the road. Somebody could have been killed, Malone."
"Like the driver of the Cadillac," Malone ventured.
Burris looked pained. "Not exactly," he said. "Because the car hit the
125th Street exit like a bomb. It swerved right, just as though it were
going to take the exit and head off somewhere, but it was going much too
fast by that time. There just wasn't any way to maneuver. The Cadillac
hit the embankment, flipped over the edge, and smashed. It caught fire
almost at once--of course the prowl car braked fast and went down the
exit, after it. But there wasn't anything to do."
"That's what I said," Malone said. "The driver of the Cadillac was
killed. In a fire like that--"
"Don't jump to conclusions, Malone," Burris said. "Wait. When the prowl
car boys got to the scene, there was no sign of anybody in the car.
Nobody at all."
"In the heat of those flames--" Malone began.
"Not enough heat, and not enough time," Burris said. "A human body
couldn't have been destroyed in just a few minutes, not that completely.
Some of the car's metal was melted, sure--but there would have been
traces of anybody who'd been in the car. Nice, big, easily-seen traces.
And there weren't any. No corpse, no remains, no nothing."
Malone let that stew in his mind for a few seconds. "But the cops
said--"
"Whatever the cops said," Burris snapped, "there was nobody at all in
that Cadillac when it went off the embankment."
"Now, wait a minute," Malone said. "Here's a car with a driver who
appears and disappears practically at will. Sometimes he's there and
sometimes he's not there. It's not possible."
[Illustration]
"Ah," Burris said. "That's why I have another explanation."
Malone shifted his feet. Maybe there _was_ another explanation. But, he
told himself, it would have to be a good one.
"Nobody expects a car to drive itself down a highway," Burris said.
"That's right," Malone said. "That's why it's all impossible."
"So," Burris said, "it would be a natural hallucination--or illusion,
anyhow--for somebody to imagine he did see a driver, when there wasn't
any."
"O.K.," Malone said. "There wasn't any driver. So the car couldn't have
gone anywhere. So the New York police force is lying to us. It's a good
explanation, but it--"
"They aren't lying," Burris said. "Why should they? I'm thinking of
something else." He stopped, his eyes bright as he leaned across the
desk toward Malone.
"Do I get three guesses?" Malone said.
Burris ignored him. "Frankly," he said, "I've got a hunch that the whole
thing was done with remote control. Somewhere in that car was a very
cleverly concealed device that was capable of running the Cadillac from
a distance."
It did sound plausible, Malone thought. "Did the prowl car boys find
any traces of it when they examined the wreckage?" he said.
"Not a thing," Burris said. "But, after all, it could have been melted.
The fire did destroy a lot of the Cadillac, and there's just no telling.
But I'd give long odds that there must have been some kind of robot
device in that car. It's the only answer, isn't it?"
"I suppose so," Malone said.
"Malone," Burris said, his voice filled with Devotion To One's Country
In The Face Of Great Obstacles, "Malone, I want you to find that
device!"
"In the wreck?" Malone said.
Burris sighed and leaned back. "No," he said. "Of course not. Not in the
wreck. But the other red Cadillacs--some of them, anyhow--ought to
have--"
"What red Cadillacs?" Malone said.
"The other ones that have been stolen. From Connecticut, mostly. One
from New Jersey, out near Passaic."
"Have any of the others been moving around without drivers?" Malone
said.
"Well," Burris said, "there's been no report of it. But who can tell?"
He gestured with both arms. "Anything is possible, Malone."
"Sure," Malone said.
"Now," Burris said, "all of the stolen cars are red 1972 Cadillacs.
There's got to be some reason for that--and I think they're covering up
another car like the one that got smashed: a remote--controlled
Cadillac. Or even a self-guiding, automatic, robot-controlled Cadillac."
"They?" Malone said. "Who?"
"Whoever is stealing the cars," Burris said patiently.
"Oh," Malone said. "Sure. But--"
"So get up to New York," Burris said, "keep your eyes open, and nose
around. Got it?"
"I have now," Malone said.
"And when that Cadillac is found, Malone, we want to take a look at it.
O.K.?"
"Yes, sir," Malone said.