Delta Factor, The (2 page)

“Isn't it, though?”

The other three moved in, standing there until the doctor finished, watching me like a bug on a pin. When the doctor stepped back Rice leaned forward and said, “Well?”

“Anytime, buddy,” I told him. “Make it easy on yourselves.”

For some reason the three of them looked at each other, annoyance scratching furrows at the corners of their eyes. Inspector Doherty seemed to clamp his teeth together like he wanted to swing at me and Carter made a tight-lippd scowl as if he had bitten into something distasteful.

Only Rice was impassive. He stared at me, his eyes never leaving mine, and said in almost a whisper, “Stay loose, Morgan. It's not over. It's just beginning and you'll be back where you came from or else you'll be dead. Luck can ride either side of the table, but just remember that you can never beat the house odds.”

The building as an innocuous affair, a second-story apartment over a deserted grocery in a block condemned by the city for an urban renewal project. The truck they had used for transportation was a Department of Public Works vehicle no different from two others parked nearby and if anyone was curious enough to look, we were just some of the city planning board inspecting the properties.

But it was a lot more than that. Only Inspector Doherty and his plainclothes assistant were on New York's payroll. The rest came from the massive complex on the Potomac and acted with the strange reserve of a meeting of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. It was an appraisal that wasn't far off. Each of them was the head of an agency directly responsible to the White House and if a decision or an action backfired, they carried their heads in their hands.

I kept getting those surreptitious glances of distaste from the time they outfitted me in new clothes until they sat me at a corner of the table in the dust-filled room, enough out of line with the others so that I would know that I wasn't one of them, but something dirty yet necessary, like a squeamish woman putting a slimy worm on a hook just to catch a nice clean fish.

There were no introductions, but then, I didn't need any. Gavin Woolart, the ace from the State Department, was running the show. He didn't appreciate the look of recognition I gave his associates in the beginning, but was shrewd enough to realize my profession called for intimate knowledge of people. All people. He was smart enough to stay away from the antagonistic angles even if it hurt and when he was ready he addressed me so damn formally it was funny.

Hell, he could have called me by my number. Not by my first name, though. I didn't have any.

Instead, he said, “Mr. Morgan, you are probably wondering what this is all about.”

I couldn't resist the invitation. “Mr. Woolart, that is one bitch of a statement. So ... yes, I am wondering what this is all about. I'm a convicted criminal, an escapee and here I am in a new suit of clothes surrounded by V.I.P.'s with sour looks. If you had asked me I'd say it was a new slant in trying to retrieve your forty million bucks.”

Somebody coughed and Woolart glared at him. “Let's forget that for the moment.”

“Thanks a bunch,” I said.

“How much time did you draw?”

I shrugged. They knew the answer. “Thirty years. Nothing was concurrent so they'll pick me up on the other charges as soon as I use up the time.” I grinned at him. “
If
I use up the time.”

“Please don't try to be comical,” he said.

“What have I got to lose?”

“Some of those thirty years, for one thing.”

I didn't get it at all. I leaned forward and leaned on the table. Something was about to get mighty interesting. “Let's put it this way then,” I said. “What have I got to gain?”

Once more, there was an exchange of glances around the room. Woolart tapped the tip of a pencil on the tabletop and the sound was like that of a clock about to run out. If somebody didn't wind it it would stop.

Gavin Woolart pressed down on the pencil and the point broke. It was an effectual little gesture. “Let me put it this way, Mr. Morgan. We know your status. We are fully acquainted with your background from the day you were born, through college, your wartime service to the present. Nothing has been omitted. An intensive investigation of your past has resulted in a dossier that details every facet of your life.”

“Except one thing, apparently,” I said. My voice was tight and husky and I could hardly get the words out.

“Yes.”

“Now I'll ask it. What?”

“Your potential.”

I didn't like the feeling I got. It started at the back of my neck like a cold breeze and made the muscles in my shoulders bunch up into knots. They didn't even want to know where the forty million went to, so whatever it was put my neck on the line. The big
No
was already there inside my mouth to say but I couldn't do it until he had laid it out and I could hardly wait until he did.

“Curious, Mr. Morgan?”

“Not especially,” I lied.

“You should be. With your next stay in the penitentiary, security will be absolute maximum.”

“That won't help.”

Woolart let a little smile play with his mouth. “That's what I mean, Mr. Morgan.”

I shook my head, not understanding.

“Your potential,” he said. “You seem to have something nobody else has. A strange talent indeed. You do things of major importance, then reinforce them by another action. It's too bad your abilities weren't directed into normal channels.”

“For me it was normal.”

“Again, Mr. Morgan, that's what I'm referring to.”

I half stood up. “Damn it, get to the point. I don't like being held like this. You know what a lawyer would do in court when I told him what you pulled?”

“Nothing, Mr. Morgan,” Woolart said quietly. “You have been convicted, you have escaped, and now you're being recaptured. Legally, I think he'd advise you to shut up and listen.”

I sat down. Like I said before, I really didn't have anything to lose. Not one damn thing at all.

Woolart glanced around the room, then out of habit opened an attaché case in front of him. It wasn't necessary. He knew every word that was written there by heart, but it was a habit he couldn't break. When he had the papers aligned to his satisfaction he said, “This offer is being made against our judgment, Mr. Morgan. It was suggested by an authority higher than ours, so we have to make it. However, we stipulated that if it is refused upon its initial presentation, then it never will be made again. Frankly, I am hoping that you will refuse it. Everything will be much simpler then and we can proceed in the matter normally. But as I said, this choice is not ours.”

I could feel their eyes on me. They weren't looking ... they were watching. Not one of them felt differently from Woolart and the expectation was there, clear and strong, that my answer would be negative. Anything else would be one of stupidity and they weren't giving me credit for that.

“Say it,” I told him.

He shuffled the papers a moment, then looked up at me. “It regards the value you put on your life. Whether you prefer to spend it inside a prison until there's nothing left of you except the remnants of a man or take a chance on losing it altogether with the possible alternative of only spending a portion of your sentence behind bars with at least a few years of active, enjoyable life left to you.” He stopped and ran his tongue around the inside of his mouth. “It isn't very much of a choice, is it?”

“You haven't spelled it all the way out either, Mr. Woolart.”

“Since you'll never be in a position to transmit any of this information ... even if it is speculative ... to anyone else, I'll go a little further, but let me put it in hypothetical fashion at any rate.”

I waved my hand disgustedly. I didn't like it at all. “Be my guest.”

“There is a certain country,” he said, “neighboring ... apparently friendly as long as they receive our largesse, but in reality, closer politically to those we consider an enemy of this country. In their prison they have a person our scientific circles need desperately in order to ... ah ... over come certain ... ah ... enemy advancements.

“We can not go in and liberate this person Again, frankly, we have tried and failed. In this age of propaganda and internal unrest, the United States cannot put itself in an unfavorable position. This one country is using this person as a pawn, ready to move in either direction, looking for favors from both sides. The unfortunate part is, that the person involved is of advanced age and not expected to live too much longer. It is imperative that we have the information he can give us before it is too late. One aspect is this: if he is already dead, this other country can conceal that fact and still extract ... well, tribute, from our government for any length of time.”

This time Gavin Woolart stopped his incessant handling of the papers and looked directly at me. “We need two things,” he said. “One, if he is dead, knowledge of the fact.”

“And?” I put in.

“The second ... if he is alive, we need
him
. And that, Mr. Morgan, is where your potential comes in.”

I knew what he was going to say. I could almost smell it.

“This is the proposition ... that you go into that country, commit a crime of our specifications that will get you sentenced to that prison, then effect an escape with either the information of his death or the person himself. For this action the government will take into consideration our recommendation of a reduced sentence for your prior, ah, activities and it will be acted upon.”

“All this in writing, I suppose,” I grinned.

“Nothing in writing.” He didn't grin at all.

“Come on, buddy. I made deals like that during the war. Give me a witness that will stay alive, at least.”

“Nothing.”

“Balls,” I said. “You're like the insurance companies these days. You get paid for taking chances, but you sure don't want to take any.” I leaned back in my chair. “Little man, I'd sooner take my chances on getting out of your damn pen. That I can do and the odds are even better.”

Gavin Woolart's face flushed a deep red with controlled anger. His smile was friendly, but his lips were almost bloodless. “No other deal,” he grimaced.

I never expected it, but it happened anyway. That deep, resonant voice of Inspector Doherty's cut through the room like a knife through toilet paper and he said, “I witnessed it, Morgan. Do what you want.”

Two of them came out of their chairs like they had been shot. Carter swung around, anger contorting his face. “Listen, Inspector...”

Jack Doherty had been around just a little too long. Nobody impressed him any more. He had pounded too many beats, seen too much action, worked with too many administrations to get cut off by somebody outside his own domain. He was totally impassive, sitting there like a fight-scarred tiger, too lazy and too competent to be bothered wasting his talents on the young bucks looking for a slice of his harem when all he had to do was growl to buzz them off. He said, “I don't give a damn for this bum one way or another. I've made deals with bums and politicians alike and stuck with them, but never one that was raw. This one stinks. So you're in a bind and now it's your turn. It's still my territory and keep it in your heads. All you have to do is nod and he goes back in, but don't play around with his life. He didn't knock anybody off you know of. I'll be a witness to this deal whether you like it or not.”

“Thanks, Inspector,” I told him.

“Don't thank me, Morgan. Either way, you're still a loser in my book.”

Carter and Woolart sat down slowly. “You haven't heard the last of this, Doherty,” Carter told him.

The big cop made a gesture with his shoulders. “So sue me,” he said and took a drag on his cigar.

Woolart looked at me. “Well?”

“Supposing I get to this hypothetical country and decide to cut out?”

Bluntly, Woolart said, “An agent will accompany you. Others will be on hand. In that event you will be eliminated. This is one of the simpler phases of the operation.”

“Uh-huh.” I folded my hands and studied him again. “You're appealing to something, Woolart.”

“It can't be to my consideration of a shorter term behind bars,” I said. “Funny enough, life in any state is better than none at all. It can't be to what you consider my sense of adventure because the reward factor is too small. So what is it?”

“Neither, Morgan.”
And he didn't say mister either.
“I have no consideration in the matter at all. I told you it came from higher up. Maybe it's an appeal to your patriotism.”

“Then they'll have to do better than that.”

All the eyes made the rounds of the other eyes at the table again. This time it was Carter who said, “What are you thinking of, Mr. Morgan?”

“Maybe they don't want the forty million back,” I said.

Seconds pass slowly when nobody wants to commit themselves. Only Doherty was grinning because he liked binds himself and he didn't have anything outside a professional affection for the rest.

“We're not at liberty to decide on that matter,” Woolart said quietly.

I had them then. “Like hell you're not. This was dropped in your laps and you were told to handle it. You were told to make the deal and if you come back empty-handed somebody will drop a hot potato in them. Buddies, you done bought the farm. Now I'll lay it out. If I pull it off, you knock off fifteen years, all sentences to run concurrently, and nobody touches that loot. Plain enough?”