"When Payne let me in, the burglar alarm went off," Washington said innocently.

"That's not what I mean, and you know it," Wohl shouted. "Goddamn the both of you!"

"Where's that mushroom cloud you were talking about, Peter?" the mayor asked, at Wohl's elbow.

"Goddamn them!" Wohl said.

"I don't think he really means that, Charley, do you?" the mayor asked.

"Mr. Mayor," Wohl said. "I think you'd better stay right here."

"Hey, Peter," the mayor said as he started quickly up the stairs of the residence of Mr. M. C. Wheatley. "The way that works is thatI'm the mayor. I tellyou what to do."

At 8:25, as the schedule called for, Marion Claude Wheatley picked up AWOL bag #1, left his room in the Divine Lorraine Hotel, caught a bus at Ridge Avenue and North Broad Street, and rode it to the North Philadelphia Station of the Pennsylvania Railroad.

There he purchased a coach ticket to Wilmington, Delaware, went up the stairs to the track, and waited for the train, a local that, according to the schedule, would arrive at North Philadelphia at 9:03, depart North Philadelphia at 9:05, and arrive at 30^th Street Station at 9:12. Marion didn't care when it would depart 30^th Street Station for Chester, and then Wilmington. He wasn't going to Chester or Wilmington.

At 9:12, right on schedule, the train arrived at 30^th Street Station. The conductor hadn't even asked for his ticket.

Marion rode the escalator to the main waiting room, walked across it, deposited two quarters in one of the lockers in the passageway to the south exit, deposited AWOL bag #1 in Locker 7870, and put the key into his watch pocket.

Then he went back to the main waiting room, bought a newspaper, and went to the snack bar, where he had two cups of black coffee and two pieces of coffee cake.

There was no coffee cake in the dining room of the Divine Lorraine Hotel, Marion reasoned, because there was no coffee in the dining room of the Divine Lorraine Hotel. He wondered if that was it, or whether Father Divine had found something in Holy Scripture that he thought proscribed pastry as well as alcohol, tobacco, and coffee.

When he had finished his coffee, Marion left the coffee shop and left 30^th Street Station by the west exit. He walked to Market Street, and since it was such a nice morning, and since the really important aspect of trip #1, placing AWOL bag #1 in a locker, had been accomplished, he decided he would walk down Market Street, rather than take a bus, as the schedule called for.

The exercise, he thought, would do him good.

"Well, goddammit, then get it from Kansas City!" Supervisory Special Agent H. Charles Larkin said, nearly shouted, furiously. "I want a description, and preferably a photograph, of this sonofabitch here in an hour!"

He slammed the telephone into its cradle.

"I think Charley's mad about something," Chief Inspector Matt Lowenstein said drolly. "Doesn't he seem mad about something to you, Denny?"

"What was that all about, Charley?" Chief Inspector Coughlin asked, chuckling.

"The Army has the records of our guy-his name is Marion Claude, by the way, his first names-in the Depository in Kansas City," Larkin said. "So instead of calling Kansas City to get us a goddamn description and a picture, he calls me!"

"We have a man in Kansas City who does nothing but maintain liaison with the Army Records Depository," Mr. Frank F. Young of the FBI said. "Shall I give him a call, Charley?"

"So do we, Frank," Larkin said. "Don't take this the wrong way, but if we get your guy involved, that's liable to fuck things up even more than they are now."

"I think we can say," Young said, "that we're making progress."

"Yeah," Wohl said. "We nowknow that he has a lot of explosives, and from the way those burglar alarms were wired, even if he hadn't been in EOD, that he knows how to set them off. We don't know what he looks like, or where he is."

One of the telephones on the commissioner's conference table rang.

"Commissioner's conference room, Sergeant Washington," Jason said, grabbing it on the second ring. "Okay, let me have it!" He scribbled quickly on a pad of lined yellow paper, said "Thank you," and hung up.

The others at the table looked at him.

"Marion Claude Wheatley is employed as a petrochemicals market analyst at First Pennsylvania Bank amp; Trust, main office, on South Broad," Washington said. "A guy from Central Detectives just found out."

"Do they have a photograph of him?" Larkin asked.

"They're being difficult," Washington said. He looked at Peter Wohl. "You want me to go over there, Inspector?"

"You bet I do," Wohl said.

"Can I take Payne with me?"

"If you think you can keep him from playing Tarzan," Wohl said. " And jumping from roof to roof."

"Sergeant, would you mind if I went with you?" H. Charles Larkin asked. "If they're being difficult, I'll show them difficult."

"No, sir," Washington said. "Come along."

Washingtondoesn't want him, Wohl thought, but there's nothing I can do to stop him.

"Would four be a crowd?" Frank F. Young asked.

"No, sir," Washington said.

The four quickly left the room.

"What about that guy Young?" Denny Coughlin asked, when the door was closed.

"He either is very anxious to render whatever assistance the FBI can on this job," Lowenstein said, "or he wants to play detective."

"Now that we're alone," Wohl said. "It looks like Lanza, the corporal at the airport,is dirty."

"Oh, shit," Coughlin said. "What have you got, Peter?"

"He's been having middle of the night meetings with various Mafioso scumbags. Gian-Carlo Rosselli, Paulo Cassandro, and others. They have been talking about a fruit basket coming in."

"How do you know that, Peter? About the fruit basket?" Lowenstein asked.

"Please don't ask me that question, Chief," Wohl said.

Lowenstein and Coughlin exchanged glances.

"He's under surveillance?" Lowenstein asked.

"By Internal Affairs when he's off the job. And Dickinson Lowell, who's chief of security for Eastern at the airport, has people watching him when he's on the job. Chief Marchessi set that up. He and Lowell are old pals."

"Dickie Lowell is, was, a good cop," Coughlin said. "You have any idea when this 'fruit basket' is coming in?"

"Nine forty-five tonight," Wohl replied. "Eastern Flight 4302 from San Juan."

"You picked that information up, right, from ordinary, routine, legal surveillance of Corporal Lanza, right?" Chief Lowenstein asked.

Wohl hesitated a moment, and then did not reply directly.

"The surveillance of Corporal Lanza leads us to believe that he is spending a lot of time with a lady by the name of Antoinette Marie Wolinski Schermer," he said. "Spends his nights with her. We find this interesting because Organized Crime says Mrs. Schermer is ordinarily the squeeze of Ricco Baltazari, the well-known restauranteur."

"When you take Lanza, can you take any of the scumbags with him?" Coughlin asked.

"More important, are you sure you can take Lanza?" Lowenstein asked.

"We'll just have to see, Chief," Wohl said.

"You have good people doing the surveillance?" Lowenstein asked.

"Internal Affairs is providing most of it," Wohl replied. "And I loaned them Sergeant O'Dowd, but my priority, of course, is finding this Wheatley screwball before he hurts somebody."

"For all of us," Denny said.

"I want this dirty corporal, Peter," Lowenstein said. "Rather than blow it, I would just as soon let this 'fruit basket' tonight slip through. If there's one, there'll be others."

"I'll keep that in mind, Chief."