She said breathlessly, "No, you're wrong! That isn't where…" She was silent again.

I studied her face for a moment. "I see. At least I think I see. Where's a phone?"

She gave me a brief glance, turned, and fled into the house. I followed her and picked up the instrument in the hail to which she led me, got long distance, and went through the usual silly routine with her standing right there. To hell with security. They could change the damn code words tomorrow. They probably would, anyway. Then I had Mac on the wire again.

"Eric here," I said.

"Where have you been? We've bee)1 trying to reach you.,'

"I'm reached. Shoot."

Mac said, "I have here a report to the effect that Lawrence alias Duke Logan is aimed approximately south by southeast in a green Jaguar roadster license number YU 2-1774. An Arizona state police cruiser, alerted by a patrol farther north that saw him pass, tried to run him down but barely got close enough to confirm the number. I have the verbatim report of one of the officers here, to Wit: Jeez, if that guy fires the third stage he'll be in orbit. Apparently they were doing well over a hundred and twenty when he pulled away from them. Comment?"

I looked at Beth, and suddenly I knew exactly how it had been. A stupid quarrel, she'd said. She was a hard girl to quarrel with, in the pots-and-pans-slinging sense, but that didn't mean she didn't have the ability to make a man so furious that he could hardly see. I'd lived with her; I knew her pretty well. I'd only met Logan once, but I knew him pretty well, too. He was the kind of man I understand easily.

"I think the newlyweds have had a spat, sir," I said into the phone, and I saw Beth cringe at the corny description. I went on: "If I'm correct, he's right on the ragged edge: he's driving sad and he's driving mad. When those cool, calm characters flip, they really flip. He's stomped out of the house, I figure, on an errand he doesn't care much for, and he's probably kind of hoping, subconsciously, that somebody'll arrest him before he has to go through with it, or that the Jag will flame out on him, or that he'll manage to kill himself, or something. But he'll be damned and blasted, old chap, if he'll stop of his own accord; and if he gets where he's going it'll be rawther tough, don't you know, on anybody who happens to get in his way. It should be something to see, if you've got a strong stomach."

Beth's eyes looked big and wounded. Mac's voice spoke in my ear: "The state police were considering a roadblock, but other agencies got wind of the situation and took a hand. At present he's merely being tracked, like a guided missile, but he'll be at the border presently. Advice has been requested, urgently."

I hesitated, and said, "They're damn fools if they stop him on the way down."

"That's the consensus here. And returning? Assuming that he does return? The previous man didn't, you remember."

I said, "My money's on the Duke. If that bomb he's driving doesn't kill him, in his present mood, no two-bit Mexican desperado will."

"And your advice?"

"It depends on whether they want some kilos of the white stuff or a guy named Sally."

Mac said, "That's all very well for them, Eric, but you're not forgetting that it isn't Fredericks we're after?"

"I'm not forgetting," I said. "But I don't relish the thought of trying to make a man like Martell talk by direct methods, even assuming I could get him alone, in a suitable place, alive, which is a lot of assuming. If he was using Rizzi; the chances are he's using Fredericks the same way. So let's take Fredericks out from under him and see what happens."

"If they let him come back through, with cargo, can you guarantee safe delivery eventually? It's a big shipment, and they don't want to take chances on its getting loose in the country."

I said, "Sir, do you want me to hang up on you?"

"Eric-"

"Guarantee! What kind of jackass talk is that, with all due apologies?"

He sighed, two thousand odd miles away. "I know. I was instructed to ask."

I said, "So there's a risk, and maybe everything will go wrong, and there'll be many happy dreams sold at a thousand per cent profit. All I can say is that if they stop Duke Logan with cargo, all they'll get is Duke Logan with cargo. If they let him through, there are intriguing possibilities, but the word is possibilities."

"You have a plan in mind?"

"How can I have? The Duke took off before I could talk him into doing for us what he's now doing on his own accord. I haven't had a chance to talk with him at all. I'm going to have to intercept him somehow, before he makes delivery at this end, and it's going to be tough, since I don't know anything about his arrangements. But he must have made some or he wouldn't know where to go, down there, or where to come, up here… Wait a minute."

I was still watching Beth. Her expression had changed slightly. She said quickly, "I know… something that may help. I heard him talking on the phone."

I nodded, and spoke to Mac: "We apparently have a lead of sorts. We'll see what can be done, if he gets back."

Mac said, "I'll see what I can do at this end. The rest is kind of up to Mr. Logan, don't you know?"

"Righto, sir."

There's something about that clipped, British-or phony-British-way of talking that's terribly contagious don't you know?

Chapter Nineteen

I PUT THE phone down. I was looking at Beth, but for some reason I was seeing a long, low, green car-the color is known as British Racing Green- hurtling across the Arizona desert with that fine, wicked sound that you get only from high-class machinery that's really carrying the mail. Barring the true racing cars, the Jaguar is possibly, along with its American counterpart the Corvette, the most ridiculous vehicle made, from the viewpoint of efficient and economical transportation. You've got power enough to move a ten-ton truck attached to a loadspace barely adequate for two men and a small toothbrush. But it's an ego-satisfying machine in every respect; and I kind of wished I was down there, flying co-pilot with the Duke. I've done some fast driving myself, from time to time.

Well, he'd just have to make it on his own. Sooner or later, most men do. I looked at Beth.

"What did you say to him?" I asked. "Something silly like, 'If anything happens to the children I'll never forgive you'?"

She said quickly, "I didn't mean-"

"No, of course not."

"I never asked him to give in to Fredericks! You can't believe… I never dreamed he'd do it! I didn't want him to! I just-"

"You just went desperate on him," I said. "He'd done everything he could do-except that one thing. He'd made the kids as safe as he could. He'd even tried to get Moira Fredericks as a hostage. That was going pretty far, but you were pushing him hard, weren't you? And that plan fizzled, and you couldn't take it any more, and you started telling him how you'd feel if anything went wrong

– as if he didn't already know-and it got to the point where he'd had it. He just looked you in the eye and walked to the phone and said, Logan here. You win. I'm ready to deal."

She started to speak, but changed her mind. I didn't have the words right, of course; he hadn't said exactly that, nor had she. But it had happened more or less that way, and they'd both glared at each other full of pride and resentment-they hadn't been married long enough to work out a way of handling these things. They'd both been adults for years, to be sure, but the marriage itself was very young.

He'd made his call, and she'd stood by, not believing he really meant it, and he'd stalked out to the four-wheeled projectile under the carport, not believing she'd really let him go. He'd switched it on, started it up, and sat there for a moment watching the gauges. You don't take off with a sports-car engine stone-cold, not even in the middle of a family explosion. She'd have thought happily that he was reconsidering; even so, she'd have been thinking of going out to him, just thinking it, when the Jag backed out sharply, swung around, and shot ahead.