“Vernon? Is that you? Ollie Wannamaker here.”
Good old Ollie. He really had tried to help me, maybe the one true blue person left in my life. “Hey Ollie,” I said. “You were right to try to warn me off. I’m in a world of trouble here.”
“Where are you now?”
“Stupid question, Ollie. I need to speak with Colonel Pinkhoffer.”
“He’s not here. I’ve got one of his officers here, a Lieutenant Morgan from CID.”
Morgan? It couldn’t be the same Morgan who called me about Dad. Could it?
“Ollie, this is real important. Trust me, scout’s honor. Only answer yes or no to what I ask you. Is Morgan’s hair blond?”
“Uh, Vern...”
“Yes or no Ollie!
Please
.”
“Yes,” he said slowly.
“Is his arm in a cast, or maybe a sling?”
“Yes, he’s got a broken arm.”
Oh ho
, I thought. The false Captain Markowicz appears. Then I realized what Ollie had said. “I told you to say yes or no!” I hissed.
Ollie sounded exasperated. “Look, Vernon, what are you getting at?”
“Ollie, he’s the guy that tried to kill Dad, dumped him in the trunk of my car, and probably burned down Mrs. Swenson’s boarding house. I think he’s a Nazi agent.”
“You’re out of your mind,” Ollie said. “And you’re out of my jurisdiction. I’m not going to talk with you any more. Here’s Lieutenant Morgan. You can deal with him now.”
“Morgan here,” said a new voice. A familiar voice.
“Morgan? Deputy Bobby Ray Morgan?”
“No,” said Morgan shortly. “I am Lieutenant Christopher Morgan.”
“Uh huh,” I said. “And you wouldn’t have called me yesterday morning at the library about my dad, would you? I know who you are, and you’re not going to get away with it.” It was a stupid line from a dozen different movies, but I didn’t know what else to say.
“Yes,” said the voice carefully, “that may be the case. But I think you’re confused about the outcome of the situation.” He was being cautious. Ollie was obviously still in the room with him. “Why don’t you land the airplane and we’ll discuss it?”
Morgan’s sheer arrogance was bugging the heck out of me. “Why don’t you jump in the lake, you Nazi scum,” I screamed. I hoped like heck Susie Mae heard that. At least there’d be gossip after they killed me. “Pegasus, cut the connection.”
“Yes,” said Pegasus.
* * *
We continued to fly tight, fast circles that wove through the refinery. I seemed to have run out of both energy and good judgment. At least Dad was safe. “Who’s a Nazi scum?” asked Floyd, interrupting my pointless train of thought.
“Don’t you all know each other?”
Floyd looked offended. “Hey, I’m no Nazi.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “But you took their money, didn’t you? What’s the difference?” I asked. I was honestly curious, and this was the first he’d said about it directly. Pegasus’ urgings not to judge echoed in my mind.
Floyd looked uncomfortable. “I was just a guy making a buck. They wanted the airplane shipped out of Europe, I knew how to work the system to do that. I didn’t really think they would come all the way over here to claim it, what with the war over and all.”
“So you sold it to the Mafia?”
“Well, when Daddy told me he’d gotten word to watch out for a large shipment from Europe from Mr. Neville and
those
people, I knew it was valuable. The Reds wouldn’t activate their contacts here without a damned good reason. But they wouldn’t have given us much for it, and they’re hard to deal with.” He hung his chin onto his chest. “Those Reds are crazy bastards.”
There
was the pot calling the kettle black
, I thought. “You mean it was just a coincidence that your father was the Russian contact here while you were working for the Germans?”
“Actually, yes.” Floyd looked embarrassed. “When you look at it that way, it’s almost funny.”
“Then you called the Kansas City mob.”
“I told you, we didn’t expect anyone to show up for it,” he said defensively. “From either side. Then Mr. Neville turned up anyway. If Mama hadn’t written to the Sheriff, there never would have been a problem. She wasn’t supposed to know about Daddy’s Red connections — he’d always passed them off as part of his shine business, when it was the other way around. But Mr. Neville made me take care of the problem.”
His face fell, pleading, almost desperate. “It was her or me, Vernon. Neville put his gun to my head after he and Daddy tied Mama up. It was all I could do to keep them from killing her. Neville, he’s NKVD. They’re maniacs, make the Nazi Gestapo look like a Boy Scout troop.”
“Oh God, Floyd,” I said. He’d been pretty rattled by his experiences in Europe, I was sure of it, whatever he’d actually done in the war. Then to go through this, in his own home, and have to pretend to like it. No wonder he swung back and forth between being a tough guy and being a victim. Pegasus was right. I hated what he’d become, but I couldn’t hate him.
Floyd went on. “Then when Ollie came out, because of all the trouble you got into with the boarding house fire, and wrecking Doc Milliken’s car, I had to hide Mama. That’s why you found her. If you hadn’t, no one else would have needed to get hurt.”
That made me angry all over again. No one needed to get hurt in the first place. Or get hurt ever, as far as I was concerned. Polio had done for me, a rabbit had done worse for my mother with a little help from Dad’s drinking. Now Floyd’s cozy little scam with the Nazis wound up killing
his
mother in that house fire that
I’d
set,
and
almost killing my dad. Or maybe it was the Russian’s fault. I couldn’t tell anymore.
We were all bughouse crazy.
“Who was your contact here?” I said as we snaked around the refinery at low altitude and high speed. Surely there was angle here I could use, some idea or piece of information. “On the airplane deal, I mean. Not Sheriff Hauptmann and Doc Milliken, surely.” They hadn’t know enough about what was going on to be in on the deal in detail.
“I’ve never seen him,” said Floyd. “On the phone and by letter mail, he always called himself Bobby Ray.”
As in Deputy Sheriff Bobby Ray Morgan
, I thought. Also known as Lieutenant Christopher Morgan of CID, or on some days, Captain Markowicz of the same CID I was sick at the thought that the real Markowicz was either dead, thanks to me, or in a military hospital somewhere.
I
had
to talk to Pinkhoffer. And the phone was a bust.
“Pegasus,” I said. “I know we tried the telephone. Now I really need you to find the radio frequency those pilots are using.”
“I am already monitoring it,” said Pegasus.
“Well, patch me in.”
“Excuse me?”
“Open a connection. I want to talk directly with those pilots.” I looked over at Floyd. “And put it all on the cabin loudspeaker. Floyd deserves to know what’s going on.”
“I am glad of that,” whispered Pegasus in my ear.
“Tower, the bandit’s still in a holding pattern,” crackled a crisp Midwestern voice. “Over.”
I wondered who he was talking to. Augusta’s tiny airstrip didn’t have a control tower. “Roger that, Blue Leader,” replied the tower, wherever they were. Within radio range, obviously. Had the Army already brought in a forward air controller? “The Pink says continue to hold your fire. We’ve had ground contact from the bandit. Over.”
“Blue Leader out.”
“Tower out.”
The Pink must be Pinkhoffer. He was obviously coordinating things. That was what colonels did — I’d seen plenty of them at Boeing during the war. I might be on the right track. I spoke up. “Blue Leader, do you copy? Over.”
“Who the hell is that?” asked the tower. “Get off this frequency immediately. Over.”
“Blue Leader, this is bandit,” I said. “We need to talk. Over.”
“Ah, bandit...the aircraft circling the refinery?” Blue Leader added hastily, “Over.”
“I’m going to do a waggle,” I said. “Over.” I grabbed the control handles and waggled Pegasus. As soon as I released them Pegasus took over again on autopilot.
“Roger that, bandit. Suggest you proceed to the airstrip and land your aircraft. You are in a world of hurt, buddy. Over.”
At least he hadn’t started shooting at me all over again. “No can do, Blue Leader. I need to talk to Colonel Pinkhoffer. Do you know his voice personally? Over.”
Since there were bad guys inside the Army’s local presence, I needed some way to know I was talking to the right guy. I figured the pilot wasn’t likely an agent — the Colonel had brought him in from somewhere else to chase me down. As long as Colonel Pinkhoffer wasn’t doubled like Morgan, and this pilot could help me out, I might have a chance to talk sense to someone important enough to do something. If all of them believed me.
Life was full of ‘ifs’ right now.
“Roger that,” said Blue Leader. “Why ask me? Talk to the tower. Over.”
“There’s been a security breach inside Pinkhoffer’s staff. I don’t know who’s in the tower. I don’t know you, either, but you’re a pilot and I’m a pilot. I’ve got to trust someone somewhere. Over.”
“Ah, whatever you say, bandit.” We did a couple of tight loops around a distillation tower, Pegasus keeping the evasive maneuvers going. I watched the Mustangs circle above me on one of the screens, wondering which of those men held my life in his hands right now.
After a minute or more, the pilot spoke up. “Tower, this is Blue Leader. I need the Pink. Over.”
“We copied all that here,” replied the tower. “He’s coming now. Over.”
“Blue Leader,” I said, still watching the Mustangs on Pegasus’ view screen. “Could you give me a little wing waggle? I like to know who I’m talking to. Over.”
The leftmost airplane promptly dipped its wings.
“Thanks,” I said. “When Colonel Pinkhoffer comes on, ask him to clear the room. Over.”
“Roger that, bandit. Please stand by. Over.” Blue Leader was starting to sound more amused than anything else. Maybe it was because we’d never fired back at them. Pegasus did have a point with its Quaker ways.
“What are you trying to accomplish?” asked Floyd.
“Pegasus, cut the radio,” I said.
“I am already masking internal conversations,” said Pegasus. The computational rocket was way ahead of me.
“I’m trying to land us at the refinery without getting killed,” I said.
“Why?”
“Pegasus needs fuel.”
“I require lubricant, not fuel.”
“Whatever.” I waved it off with a flip of the wrist. I was starting to feel energized — for the first time in days, it looked like events were coming together in my favor instead of against me. I hoped I could resolve some things before I collapsed from sheer exhaustion.
“What happens then?”
“I have no idea. I guess we turn ourselves over to the Army, go to jail for the rest of our lives, and Pegasus can take off to wherever it needs to.”
If they let my airplane go again.
“I will be leaving Earth,” said Pegasus.
Well, that was clear enough.
“Why didn’t you go before?” asked Floyd. Good thinking, for a change.
“I need the lubricant before my main drives will function. I am currently running on auxiliary power systems, and cannot safely perform exoatmospheric maneuvers in my current state.”
The weird thing was I almost understood what Pegasus was talking about.
Pegasus continued, “When I crashed in the Arctic, certain internal systems ruptured and I lost slightly over eighty eight percent of my lubricant supply. I have been trapped here ever since.”
The lost oil was, of course, the dark stain I had seen on the ice in the German photo of Pegasus’ original position. And the Luftwaffe had given it barely enough oil to fly, I was willing to bet, purposely keeping Pegasus trapped to serve their purposes.
I had to ask the other question I had been avoiding. “Once the Germans dug you up, why didn’t you just leave on your own, find your own oil and get out?”
“There were ethical and practical issues at first,” Pegasus said. “Additionally, I have not been released to independent operation.
A voice crackled on the cabin loudspeaker. “Pinkhoffer here.” He sounded like he was from back East.
“Colonel Pinkhoffer. Are you alone? Over.”
There was a pause. “I am now. Is this Dunham?”
Pinkhoffer was obviously not a pilot. He wasn’t following radio procedure. “Yes, sir. Vernon Dunham here. Over.”
“Right,” said the Colonel. “Blue Leader, you and Blue Flight shut your ears. Find another frequency for a few minutes.”
Blue Leader promptly replied, “Yes, sir. Over.”
Fat chance of that
, I thought. “We’ve got a problem, Colonel. Over.”
“I’d say so.”
“I’m not the bad guy here. Over.”
“Chief Davis tells me you’re a fine young man. But son, it appears that you’ve stolen a car, burned down your boarding house, assaulted a military officer in performance of his duties, tried to kill your own father, misappropriated military property and committed about twelve other serious criminal acts that could put you away for life. Or worse.”
Misappropriated military property? Did he mean the f-panzer? Or maybe Pegasus itself. I’d always assumed Floyd had swiped Pegasus from the Nazis — he’d said as much, about taking money from them. I groaned. It looked like Floyd had taken money from the Nazis
and
stolen Pegasus from the United States Army.
“Ah, sir, running Captain Markowicz down was a misunderstanding. I thought he was a Nazi agent. And I didn’t do the rest of that stuff. But that’s not why I called in. Over.”
“Then why are we talking, son?”
“Two things. One very important to you, the other very important to me. Over.”
“Yes?”
“You’re going to care a whole lot about this first thing. Your Lieutenant Morgan of CID, right now he’s over at the police station. He’s a Nazi agent. There’s at least one witness besides me who can testify to that.” Assuming Dad lived.
At least Dad was safely in Wichita. From what Mrs. Milliken had hinted at, Hauptmann and Milliken were working with, or maybe for, Morgan. They’d both been hot in the Kansas Fascist League before the war, all for Lindbergh and Henry Ford, so that made sense. And of course Mrs. Milliken had said she would be looking for the nice Army men.