"Dean Ing - Soft Targets" - читать интересную книгу автора (Ing Dean)

"No, regrettably. Business compels me to delay our flight. And yet I need the film. You d
suppose," he began quickly, then laughed. "No, I don't suppose you could fly your aircraft and
a camera simultaneously." He spoke as if asking for some rare feat of valor.
McEvoy could, of course. Changing film might be a chore but he was, after all, his
mechanic. "But jeez, Mr. Tee, how do I know what you want to shoot?"
An excellent reply crossed his mind but was throttled. "As much shoreline as you can on
lake," he said, "a cross-section of everything that isтАФthe word?тАФphotogenic? I myself could do
more. And," he lowered his voice, "I shall be very grateful."
McEvoy squirmed between rocks and hard places. "You think you could pay me the bal
before I take off, Mr. Tee? I could drive over and pick it up now."
A pause to simulate weighing the idea. "That may not be necessary, Mr. McEvoy. Where is
suitcase?"
"Stowed in the Seabee."
"Would you mind bringing it to the tele-phone? You can call me here when you have it." He g
a number. What could be more inno-cent? It was obviously a Toronto prefix.
 He heard McEvoy hang up, waited seven min-utes, then heard the connection come to life ag
"Mr. Tee? Ian McEvoy. I got it here. " He was puffing from exertion.
"Open it, please, and check the coat pockets. My damnable memory may have done us a f
for once."
There ensued a long pause, then a faint rau-cous chuckle. Clearly, then: "Jesus Christ, m
there's twelve hundred dollars here!"
"Two hundred more than we bargained for. It is yours, Mr. McEvoy, if you will allow me to
up cartridges of exposed film on Friday. Will you be going today?"
"Don't see how. It'd be dark before I could get over to Lake Chautauqua. Would tomorrow
good enough?"
It was perfect. He let McEvoy twit him about leaving hard cash lying around in unlocked lugg
then mentioned being late for an appoint-ment.
He stepped from the booth, checked the time, and walked to the bus depot where he took
attach├й case from a storage locker. He found a restaurant with two entrances, expecting
sur-veillance but taking the usual precautions, and ordered filet of sole. Awaiting his early lunch
pondered the likelihood that Ian McEvoy was working with Canadian authorities by now. Yet it
time to check the location of a telephone; still more time to secure a large apartment build-ing. It
unlikely that police would cut power to the apartment, or to the telephone. But it was possible.
At the moment when the little man started toward the pay telephone in the restaurant, Pelletier
scanning a collection of photographs maintained by the Royal Canadian Mounted Police. Pell
drew a blank with the Que-becois, another with known elements of Meyer Cohane's people in
Jewish Defense League. He had basked in virtue when complimented on his ability to rememb
telephone number; Pel-letier would have been unwise to admit indis-criminate bugging of a cli
calls because police saw such criminal activity as their own particular vice.
RCMP plainclothesmen had already checked on Ian . McEvoy. He had no previous record
eked out a precarious presence by flying sportsmen into wilderness lakes. To a business-su
gentleman of endless curiosity he said yes, the Seabee was for hire but he was already booked
the following day. Yep, he had plenty of hull storage, even for a moose head. Tomorrow? Oh, ju
photorecon job for some movie people. Nope, he would be carrying no passengers.
The RCMP left a staff sergeant in plain clothes with field glasses in an unmarked car, unwillin
confide in McEvoy. Their job might have been simpler had they simply asked him about his cl
But McEvoy was under suspicion.
While Pelletier's eyes grew red-rimmed in his search for a make on Mr. Trnka, the little ma
Victoria reached his Toronto number. With a casual glance around him, he brought the HP from
pocket, punched an instruction into it, then let his machines confer. A poignant three-second