“The missiles here—”
“We’ve seen and heard enough,” Farquharson said. “Kindly put your hands up.”
Five minutes later, with the furiously reluctant assistance of Martin, they had loaded two of the bombs, safely concealed in their carrying cases, into the trunk of their car. In the process the purpose of the two carrying handles became clear: each bomb must have weighed at least ninety pounds.
Farquharson went back inside, looked indifferently at the two bound men, pressed the button and slipped through the doorway as the door began to close. He waited until the door was completely shut, then climbed into the front seat beside Martin, who was at the wheel this time. Farquharson said: “Remember, one false move and you’re a dead man. We will, of course, have to kill the sentry too.”
There were no false moves. About a mile from the building the car stopped by a thicket of stunted trees. Martin was marched deep into the thicket, bound, gagged and attached to a tree
15*
Seawitch
just in case he might have any ideas about jack-knifing his way down to the roadside. Farquhar-son looked down at him.
“Your security was lousy. We’ll phone your HQ in an hour or so, let them know where they can find you. I trust there are not too many rattlesnakes around.”
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Chapter 6
JttoBERTSON looked up from the radio console. “Chief McGarrity.”
Mitchell took the phone. “Mitchell? We’ve found the kidnapers’ estate wagon. Down by the Wyanee Swamp.” McGarrity sounded positively elated. “I’m going there personally. Tracker dogs. Til wait for you at the Walnut Tree crossing.” Mitchell replaced the receiver and said to Roomer: “McGarrity’s got it all wrapped up. He’s found the estate wagon. Well . . . someone did, but of course it will be made clear eventually that it was McGarrity.”
“Empty, of course. Doesn’t that old fool know
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Seawitek
that this makes it more difficult, not easier? At least we knew what transport they were using. Not any more. He didn’t mention anything about bringing along a newspaper photographer that he just sort of accidentally bumped into?”
“Tracker dogs were all he mentioned.”
“Did he suggest anything for the dogs to sniff at?” Mitchell shook his head, Roomer shook his and called to Jenkins. “Will you get Louise, please?”
Louise appeared very quickly. Roomer said: “We need a piece of clothing that the ladies used to wear a lot.”
She looked uncertain. “I don’t understand—”
“Some things we can give bloodhounds to sniff so that they pick up their scent.”
“Oh.” It required only a second’s thought. “Their dressing gowns, of course.” This with but the slightest hint of disapproval, as if the girls spent most of the day lounging about in those garments.
“Handle as little as possible, please. Put each in a separate plastic bag.”
A patrol car and a small closed police van awaited them at the Walnut Tree crossing. McGarrity was standing by the police car. He was a small bouncy man who radiated goodwill and only stopped smiling when he was vehemently denouncing corruption in politics. He was a police chief of incomparable incompetence, but
153
Alistair MacLoan
Sea witch
was a consummate and wholly corrupt politician, whi^h was whv he was police chief. He shook the hands of Mitchell and Roomer with all the warmth and sincerity of an incumbent coming up for re-election, which was precisely what he was.
“Glad to meet you two gentlemen at last. Heard very good reports about you.” He appeared to have conveniently forgotten his allegation that thev gave a lot of trouble to the local law. “Appreciate all the co-operation you’ve given me—and for turning up here now. This is Ron Stewart of the Herald.” He gestured through an open car window where a man, apparently festooned in cameras, sat in the back seat. “Kind of acoi