"Take the Honey and Run"
May. 17th, 2022 02:40 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dochermes"Take the Honey and Run"
10/22/1962
I.
"What happened to the assassin who was following us?" asked McKenna.
Standing close by him on the crowded station platform, Lisa Po turned her head in a half-circle, making her waist-length black hair swing behind the motion. She was a remarkably beautiful Chinese woman in her late twenties. Tall, slim but with impressive curves in her white linen dress, she had delicately shaped lips and a short straight nose in a heart-shaped face. Her oblique eyes were a luminous jade green, like those of a cat. Green eyes in Chinese were rare but not completely unknown. "The Winter Snow fool, you mean?"
"Yeah. He kept giving himself away the past few days by looking away whenever I spotted him." At thirty-four, William McKenna was a trim, fit-looking man a shade over six feet tall and weighing just one hundred and eighty pounds. He was well dressed in a lightweight charcoal grey suit with narrow lapels and a black knitted silk tie over a white shirt with buttoned down collar points. McKenna's Scots ancestry on both sides was easy to see in his thick black hair and blue eyes, the straight nose and thin-lipped firm mouth. Above the outer edge of his right eyebrow, a thin white scar reached up into his hairline. Like Lisa, he kept his eyes moving.
"Perhaps he is merely being more careful, beloved." Lisa carried her own small valise, letting McKenna lug the two substantial suitcases around. The platform was swarming with well-wishers and family seeing travelers off, so someone occasionally got close enough to threaten to bump into her and she had so far managed to avoid that..
"I suppose," McKenna grudgingly admitted. "I hope he hasn't been replaced by someone better at his trade. I liked that our friend didn't get too close for comfort."
The familiar shrill whistle of the train whistle signaled it was time to board. Two elderly couples were ahead of them, debating some detail of where their luggage would be stowed. McKenna placed one of the suitcases down and unbuttoned his suit jacket. Under his left armpit in a diagonal shoulder holster was an M1911 automatic. Reliable, accurate, a reassuring piece of black metal he seldom allowed to be far from his reach. He did not expect the inevitable attempt on their lives to be tried here, with so many witnesses and more than a few police officers visible, but one never knew. He would be relieved when they were safely out of public exposure.
Was he being slack in his alertness? Could he have been more watchful? McKenna habitually reproached himself. The past two days with Lisa had left him slightly dazed in a sensual fog from so much lovemaking. That would be fine if he was on leave but...
The attendant touched his red cap and relieved him of the suitcases. McKenna gave Lisa a light supporting touch on the elbow as she stepped up into the open door of the sleeping car where they had their cabin. He himself paused for the merest second as he put his foot on the lowered metal steps, and one more time his eyes flicked back.
There. By the line of cars and taxis. That face was gone as soon as he spotted it, but it had triggered all sort of alarm bells in McKenna's mind. Where had he seen that man? A wide, strong-featured face with deep furrows from long exposure to the elements. Shaggy medium-brown hair. If he had only had a full second to get a better look, he was sure he could have identified the man. And in the shadowy world where William McKenna lived, every face which provoked such a reaction had to be considered a likely enemy.
"Come, dear, there are people behind you," Lisa called down gently.
More troubled than before, McKenna got aboard the Pegasus Line luxury train. He had two more days at least with Lisa before they would arrive in DC and he had to let her go. Under any other circumstances, he would have been giddy at the prospect but, knowing the Winter Snow killers were out there....
In the line of cars which had been left empty by the crowd on the platform, the man who had been spotted by McKenna opened the driver's door of a huge ugly canary-yellow Chrysler and examined the form behind the wheel. The corpse of the Winter Snow assassin had its eyes closed, no blood showed from any visible wound. Hawk propped the man up carefully, tilted the head back and placed the killer's fedora over its face. With luck, passers-by would assume this was merely someone taking a nap until the Pegasus Line was far enough away.
Michael Hawk was in his middle forties but his weathered face made him look considerably older and the habitual sour expression did not help that impression. Knowing he might have had a real duel on his hands, earlier he had removed his tie and left the top button of his shirt undone. Now, as he strode quickly up the steps onto the platform, Hawk straightened himself up. His overnight bag had already been stowed aboard. Hopping up onto the rear of the last of the four sleeping cars, he was sure he was not in line of sight of the first car where the two people he were shadowing might be watching. So many windows between them were filled with riders leaning out to shout farewells and declarations of undying love that he felt sure he had not been spotted.
As soon as the door closed, the attendant blew a whistle. In the distance, a wave from the station-master was returned by the engineer. By then, every door had been tapped by an employee to prove it was secured and no one was going to fall off as the locomotive moved. The engine belched a huge cloud of steam into the night air. The great machine began to roll forward on the start of its long journey across five states. Entering his cabin, Hawk did not even notice the plush furnishings which included carpeting, carved mahogany shelves for belongings, a print of a storm-tossed ship at sea and a sideboard with glasses, crushed ice and one bottle of bourbon, one of scotch. He dropped heavily onto one of the two comfortable padded benches facing each other. No one else realized how many real killers were on this train.
II.
At ten past three that morning, McKenna stepped out of his compartment and into the passageway which was narrow enough that people turned sideways when passing each other. The rhythmic clacking below his feet had become hypnotic. Wheels on rails. He wondered if he would get so used to that sound that he would miss it. He glanced out the windows at the trees and rocks racing by outside under cold white moonlight.
McKenna desperately wanted a cigarette, even though he was down to his last few Player's and would have to switch to an American brand. He also felt like having a drink. During dinner with Lisa, they had shared a bottle of white wine to go with the trout, but he missed having a good strong proper mixed drink.
Yes. He would go to the club car. There was someone on duty there twenty-fours and he could order a drink, then sit for a few minutes thinking. All the sex with Lisa was wonderfully energetic and imaginative but to be honest, he was solitary by nature. He needed some time to himself.
He had fully dressed again before leaving his compartment, changing his shirt and washing up. He felt lazy and contented, too much so. He was on an assignment to escort this woman to herquestioning, and he had to start being sharp and alert. All McKenna knew was that Lisa Po had valuable information about some obscure criminal organizer known to the Chinese underworld as 'the Spinner of Webs.' His Control back in London, the surly old curmudgeon who ran his Section, had warned McKenna that mercenaries from both the White Web and the Winter Snow School had been offered a substantial sum for proof of Lisa's death. 'Expect devious attacks with unsporting heathen weapons,' had been the way his chief had phrased it.
Moving between carriages, out into the chilly night air for a second to enter the next sleeping car, McKenna woke up more sharply. He knew Lisa would not open the compartment door to anything but the four quick knocks and a pause then one more that they had agreed on as a signal. Still, he would enoy his gin and tonic, puff quickly on a Player's and then return to guarding her. The agent closed the carriage door behind him and froze.
From the opposite end of the passage, an Asian man was walking toward him. Quite young, decently dressed, he was a thin figure moving with quiet determination. One hand was jammed into a side pocket but McKenna couldn't see what weapon if any was being readied. The man's face was impossible to read, especially in the dim light.
McKenna's right hand moved as if by itself under his jacket to close around the butt of his automatic. He didn't carry a silencer. They were as large as a Magnum champagne bottle and didn't really make the report inaudible. They merely subdued it enough that few civilians would recognize the deep cough as a gunshot. But he couldn't fire until this man made an actual threatening move. It wouldn't do to shoot down an innocent Chinese-American school teacher on holiday. Bad form.
Unexpectedly, as the man passed in front of the middle door, two sinewy hands darted out, one clamping down hard across his mouth and the other seizing the forearm which held the weapon. The Asian was yanked off his feet and into that compartment so quickly that it seemed like a stage magic act. There wasn't even an outraged yelp, only the click of the door closing.
McKenna was gobsmacked. He realized he had drawn his sidearm and was holding it up near his head with a two-handed grip ready to swing in any direction. What the hell had he just seen? He couldn't have imagined it. As silently as he could, the agent stepped up near that door and held his breath as he listened. Nothing. Not a whisper, not a rustle. No light showed under the door either.
This was unprecented. McKenna stayed there, straining his ears in vain, for another ten minutes before he felt there was too much risk a porter or insomniac passenger might happen by and ask why he would brandishing a firearm on a passenger train. Edging backwards as quietly as possible, he holstered his weapon and started back to his own carriage. From this moment on, he and Lisa must be all business. Even if that mysterious unseen person was working with the Asian assassin and had pulled him into the compartment to prevent a shootout, phenomenal strength and skill showed in the ease with which the man had been hauled bodily through the door. It was like seeing a nature film of a trap door spider pouncing upon its prey and vanishing in a blink.
The image of a trap door spider which had passed through his mind reminded him of the mastermind they were investigating, the so-called Spinner of Webs. McKenna felt a surge of anger there was so much about this situation he did not understand. That was going to change.
III.
The following day dragged unbearably. They had eaten a quick breakfast of scrambled eggs, bacon and toast with lots of black coffee and had not spent a minute more in the restaurant car than had been necessary before returning to their compartment. Lisa saw the tension which had changed McKenna. She was perceptive enough to accept it and she drew back from her romantic overtures.
They had ordered two packs of playing cards and begun racing each other to finish each round of solitaire. After the first few games, the solitaire became an end to itself. Conversation had dwindled down to a few murmured phrases as the cards were laid out and fretted over. So far she had beat him to a conclusion twice and then had admitted her third game was unwinnable.
Glancing up, seeing that delicate profile with the glossy hair falling like curtains on either side as she concentrated, William McKenna realized how lucky he was that she had been attracted to him. This assignment could easily have been a grueling ordeal of chilly silence and vigilance. Instead, it had become more heated than most honeymoons. Only now, slapping down a red Ten on a black Jack of Spades did McKenna have the breathing space to reflect how unlikely it all was.
He could not stop speculating. That unseen man in the next car who had dragged the Asian into his own compartment. How many men were that strong and that experienced to be able to do that? Was there a connection with that disturbingly familiar weathered face he had seen at the station?
Could it be the same man? There had been enough time for that man to have boarded a car further down the train. There were two second-class carriages and a baggage car further down the length of the train, he knew. While they had been eating, McKenna had tried to pick up every snatch of conversation around him but he had caught nothing out of the ordinary. Certainly nothing about a dead man found on the train or any passenger missing. Then McKenna remembered wondering what had happened to the Asian man who had been trailing them as they reached the station, how he had noticed the shadower's absence at the same time he had glimpsed that weatherbeaten man fading back into the crowd.
What was going on? Was the mysterious man calling off the assassins? It certainly seemed so. To save McKenna and Lisa for something else? Has the Spinner of Webs brought in a white faced killer to be less conspicuous here in North Carolina? William McKenna fought his thoughts racing in tight circles but not making any progress.
Hours crawled by grudgingly. Finally putting the cards away, Lisa Po had announced she did not feel like lunch. She could wait for an early supper instead. Excusing herself, the beautiful Chinese had stretched like a cat and gone into their adjoined room where two bunks awaited. She had left the sliding door between rooms opened as she curled up and went immediately to sleep.
McKenna checked that the hard rubber wedge was firmly under the door, loosened the automatic in its holster and allowed himself to drift off as well. They had been too busy making love to get much sleep the past thirty-six hours. He woke from troubled dreams to see twilight outside the compartment windows. At least he felt refreshed, he must have been more exhausted than he had realized.
Lisa was smiling down at him. She had washed and changed into a tan crewneck shirt with a brown sweater open over it and a rust-colored skirt that modestly reached mid-knee. Her hair had been tied up in a swirl atop of her head and skewered into place with ivory pins. "Evidently we both needed some slumber," she said.
"I do feel more clear-headed." He shot out a wrist to check his Rolex. "Seven-fifteen," he said with surprise.
The Chinese woman perched daintily on the edge of the bench beside him. "I took the liberty of calling the restaurant car for reservations. The lady informed me there are several tables available."
"What a splendid idea." McKenna sat up and rubbed his eyes, then undid his tie and reknotted it more precisely. He buttoned his jacket as he rose, deciding not to mention the weird incident he had witnessed the night before. They made their way back the length of the train and as they passed that particular compartment, he could not help but give it a suspicious glare. Tomorrow morning, they would be in Washington DC. Tonight was the crucial period to survive. If everything went smoothly, he would regretfully say farewell to Lisa as FBI men took her in their keeping. Maybe this time next week, he would be toiling through routine paperwork in his office overlooking Regents Park, waiting for the next crisis.
The dining car was tastefully appointed, with tables lined up along the inner wall. The linen was spotless and the cutlery gleamed in the overhead lamps. A uniformed waiter with a cloth draped over one bent forearm greeted them and showed them to a table farthest from passengers already dining.
Even as he held Lisa's chair for her, McKenna's eyes were moving around the scene. The door at the other end opened and a sturdy figure stood there staring back. It was the man he had glimpsed at the station.
IV.
Without realizing it consciously, McKenna stepped to one side to draw any possible gunfire away from Lisa. From the corner of his eye, he saw her give him a quizzical look. His attention remained fixed on the man who was confidently walking toward them.
That broad flat face with its tight mouth and deepset dark brown eyes was not handsome. The skin was leathery, the shaggy brown hair seemed overdue for a barber's attention. But the man stood slightly over six feet tall, wide shouldered and narrow waisted, and he moved with a stride that suggested peak fitness. The man had charisma. He would stand out in a crowd just by his presence.
As the stranger drew near, the corners of his mouth turned up in a wry smile that did not extend to his eyes. "Mind if I join you folks?" he asked in a flat accent that McKenna identified as coming from the American West. Montana, North Dakota, somewhere around there.
McKenna kept his hand away from his armpit holster with an effort. Surely here in front of a dozen people, on a speed train with no way of getting off, was not the place for the assassination attempt.
"Yes," he said in as normal a tone as he could manage. "I believe it's time we talked."
The stranger nodded politely to Lisa and took the chair next to her, while McKenna seated himself across the table from the two of them. "My name is Michael Hawk. It's my real name. My grandfather was an Injun named Little Clay Hawk and the family simplified the name."
"Glad to meet you. I'm Sam Windsor and this is my wife Eleanor."
"Please. Let's get this started right. You're William McKenna, from MI 6's field service unit, in this country as a security escort. The lady calls herself Lisa Po but I believe she might have something to reveal about herself." At that point, the waiter came to offer menus and the three of them had a normal conversation for a few minutes. Lisa began by explaining she had been pining for Italian food. She opted for Eggplant Parmesan and McKenna agreed to try it. Hawk ordered the Lasagna Bolognese and they all agreed on an unpretentious red wine.
While they waited for their meals, Hawk continued. "You look like you're trying to figure where you've heard of me. I try to keep my name out of the papers and my picture even more so. I'm a consulting criminologist who's sometimes called in to help out in tough homicides or the serial killers who have been getting more numerous lately."
"Yes of course." McKenna nearly snapped his fingers at the revelation but now he realized he had seen that face more than once in Top Secret files about madmen like Samhain and Karl Eldritch. "You had an unusual upbringing, I believe."
"You might say that," Hawk replied, watching as the hot China plates were placed dextrously in front of them, the chilled bottle of Chianti left in its basin of crushed ice near the wall at their side.
"I was home schooled by my uncle Arthur. He had me tutored in specific skills for a career that I had decided on a child."
They began working on the food, which was simple but fresh and tasty. A tiny wicker bowl of sliced garlic bread had been provided. As she finished a mouthful and took a sip of her ice water, Lisa spoke for the first time. "Do go on, Mr Hawk. What were these skills?"
He nodded. "I thought every kid had experts brought in for a week or two to teach them stuff. Like an Apache from Arizona who showed me survival skills in the desert. Or a lockpick expert from France. Or that Hindu Yogi who could slow his heartbeat and breathing to stay underwater for six minutes. Uncle Arthur also brought me traveling around the world to meet with other teachers. It was an interesting childhood."
"Really," said McKenna. "Mr Hawk, I recall now you have had considerable success in tracking down some notorious killers and underworld types. How is it we find you here on this train heading to Washington DC?"
"Our business should wait until we have some privacy," the manhunter replied. "This is on a level with one of the better restaurants."
"It's an unexpected delight," agreed McKenna. He took his last Player's from his cigarette case and fired it up. "I take it you have a sleeping compartment?"
"Yes. I can't travel second class, too many folks bearing me a grudge. Once we've had a minute to digest, I believe we should head for your rooms to do some parlay." Hawk sipped the wine slowly, having barely taken half a glass. This close, it could be seen that his dark eyes had little spokes and flecks of yellow in them which gave them a striking appearance when light hit them.
Finishing his smoke and stubbing it out in the round ceramic ashtray, McKenna met Lisa's gaze and found her expression cryptic. If he didn't know better, he'd swear she was amused by the situation when she should have been apprehensive. After all, she was running for her life from the killers sent by an infamous crimelord and here was this stranger who seemed to knew all about it.
"Quite right," he said, rising and pushing his chair back. Hawk beat him to leaving a tip for the waiter, then got to his feet as well and stood back to allow Lisa exit. They left the restaurant car, passed through the next sleeping carriage and stood before the door where the brass plate said 1-4. McKenna opened the door, ushered Lisa through and then Hawk before entering himself.
As the famous manhunter's back was to him to that split-second, McKenna drew his automatic and thumbed the safety off. He immediately felt much happier about the situation. Lisa had positioned herself on the far end of the left bench, leaning up against the wood paneling beside her while Hawk had obligingly dropped down opposite her. There was a space of five feet between the benches, enough to be out of reach.
McKenna dropped down next to Lisa and raised his weapon. "Hold very still, Mr Hawk.. if that is your name."
The weathered face broke into a grin. "Oh, I'm Michael Hawk all right, agent McKenna. The question is, what is her real name?"
"None of that," McKenna snapped. "I want some answers right smartly. What happened to that Oriental gentleman you pulled into your compartment early this morning?"
"Heh, I thought you saw that but I was a mite busy at the moment. That fella was a hatchetman for Winter Snow all right. Wiry little devil. At a quarter to four AM, this train passed along a trestle overlooking the Harrison River and my guest did a little dive out the window. He cleared the bridge nicely, considering he was already dead."
"Did he now? Please keep both hands in full sight, if you don't mind."
"He was the third Winter Snow member I've had to get rid off so far. I've been quite the guardian angel for you two," said Hawk. "First was a sniper on the building opposite where you folks met up. Then there was the joker at the train station in Wilberton. He had a poisoned shiv up his sleeve, I guess he was trying to get close enough to perforate your ribs with it.'
McKenna did not lower his gun at all. "Is that so? Why do you take an interest in my safety, Mr Hawk?"
The deeply lined face looked sad. A sigh escaped the broad chest. "You figured this was a simple mission, youngster. Take the honey and run, watch out for the bad boys and get her to home base for an easy win. But there's something about the lady there you don't know."
Resisting the urge to take his eyes off the man to look at Lisa beside him, McKenna said, "Go on."
"She's Olivia Wang, the daughter of the Spinner of Webs. Don't move. Right now she's got the barrel of a .25 caliber Beretta two inches away from your hard head."
V.
Moving only his eyes and then turning head an inch, McKenna saw it was true.
"Put the safe on with your thumb," Olivia said in a different, silkier voice than the one she had been using. "Drop it next to you. Gently. There's that better."
"I misjudged her, son," Hawk said. "Sorry about that. I calculated she would first deny everything, then slowly admit bits and pieces."
"Why should I? My father will be pleased with this outcome. He has never forgiven you for that affair with the Oriental Curios export firm, William."
"The...? That was a Spinner of Webs operation? My chief thought it was only a smuggling ring moving heroin in antique statuettes."
"Oh, it was much more than that," Olivia said. "My father spent years building it up. He intended to start moving microfilm and documents from Red China to Mao's agents in the States. And you broke it all up in a week."
McKenna gave a short sharp laugh. "Those boys were working for the Commies? Then I'm even more glad I smashed the ring. It's worth it."
"My father holds grudges but you were not worth pursuing for that offense," Olivia told them. "It was the Zhune relics that angered him beyond overlooking you."
The British spy had unconsciously held his open hands up at the chest level. Now he tried lowering them to see her reaction and was rewarded with a vicious smack to the back of his head from the gun barrel.
"The Zhune artifacts are of no use to anyone but Karl Eldritch," the daughter of the Spinner of Webs told them. "But he pays handsomely for them. You did not realize what a fortune you threw away when you dropped them off Long Island Sound. Our divers have still not recovered them."
"Seems to me that's another instance of the deed being worth any penalty. Eldritch is the most dangerous lunatic in the world right now. Keeping those toys out of his hands is something I'd die for doing."
"So you shall." One elegant eyebrow raised in amusement. "Time spent with you has not been entirely unpleasant, except for your hideous taste in literature. How you can recommend Joseph Conrad is beyond me."
Hawk cleared his throat. "I want to mention that we'll be stopping at the Anderson depot at nine o'clock. People will disembark, buy snacks from the vendors, walk up and down and pretend they're getting exercise."
"What might your point be, if you have one?" she asked.
"Three FBI men will flash their ID cards and board the train to check with me about any progress I've made on this case," Hawk responded. "They have no sense of humor, young lady."
Olivia smirked. "All this has been planned for. I'm quite nimble, and when this locomotive slows for the station, there are woods on the side opposite the depot. Out the window I go, like a butterfly. By the time your carcasses have been discovered, I will be comfortably riding in a limousine that waits for me."
"Wait, before I die, at least let me understand what happened. I'm seriously confused." McKenna shifted his butt a few inches away from Olivia, turning his upper body to face her. She did not shoot him then. "Were you planning on Mr Hawk here showing up? Is he part of the conspiracy?"
"No. I was startled to see him approach us," Olivia said, adjusting her aim. "But my father will be greatly pleased to hear of the death of the great Michael Hawk. He has been an intolerable nuisance to the Spinner of Webs."
"Hawk, what on Earth do you have to smile about?" McKenna demanded.
That was a trick. Hawk was in fact not smiling, but the remark was enough to get Olivia to move her eyes toward the manhunter. When McKenna had shifted his weight on the bench, he had managed to place the tip of his shoe under his fallen automatic and now he kicked it up in the air within Hawk's reach.
Reacting as smoothly as if he had rehearsed this scenario a thousand times, Michael Hawk caught the gun and immediately hurled it right into Olivia Wang's face with the full intention to crack her skull. Her finger was on the trigger but it never contracted. The heavy metal smacked into the space between her eyebrows with a sharp thump.
A split-second later, William McKenna pounced on the woman, wrestling the Beretta out of her limp hand and grabbing her by the throat. Hawk picked up the fallen automatic and said, "Did you see her eyes get crossed when she was hit? Kinda comical, if you asked me."
"She's alive, just stunned," McKenna said. "I think she'll be all right. I say, I wish I had your reflexes. I expected at least one of us to be shot trying to disarm her."
"I been through so much in life that I have plans for near any possible tight spot." Hawk produced a pair of regulation handcuffs from the back of his belt. "See how these look on her."
Securing Olivia with her hands behind her, McKenna then went to her travel bag and took a crimson silk scarf, with which he gagged her. "Perhaps it would be best to turn her over to your FBI friends."
"If there were any," Hawk admitted. "In a squeeze like that, a man's likely to say most anything to keep his hide intact. There's no more assassins on the train, far as I can tell. Tomorrow morning, we'll arrive in DC. She didn't really expect to end up there, it's pure irony that she will be handed over for interrogation."
Seeing the lovely woman groan and stir as she recovered, McKenna exhaled sadly. "What a roundabout this assignment has gone on. I felt something was wrong but I couldn't quite put my finger on it."
"You're resourceful, son. You would have puzzled it out in time." Hawk got back on the bench facing the two. "Hope your feelings aren't hurt by her deceiving you like that."
"It's part of the business," McKenna said. He waited as Olivia's green eyes fluttered open. After a few seconds, the daughter of the Spinner of Webs realized she was bound and gagged with two armed men watching her, so she remained still. McKenna added, "I'm still not sure why she wanted to take this train to Washington, though. She said it was safer than driving there but I don't see why."
Hawk snorted. "Son, you ought to be flattered. She simply took a hankering to you and she wanted a few days together to get her fill before making you dead and moving on."
7/2/2020
10/22/1962
I.
"What happened to the assassin who was following us?" asked McKenna.
Standing close by him on the crowded station platform, Lisa Po turned her head in a half-circle, making her waist-length black hair swing behind the motion. She was a remarkably beautiful Chinese woman in her late twenties. Tall, slim but with impressive curves in her white linen dress, she had delicately shaped lips and a short straight nose in a heart-shaped face. Her oblique eyes were a luminous jade green, like those of a cat. Green eyes in Chinese were rare but not completely unknown. "The Winter Snow fool, you mean?"
"Yeah. He kept giving himself away the past few days by looking away whenever I spotted him." At thirty-four, William McKenna was a trim, fit-looking man a shade over six feet tall and weighing just one hundred and eighty pounds. He was well dressed in a lightweight charcoal grey suit with narrow lapels and a black knitted silk tie over a white shirt with buttoned down collar points. McKenna's Scots ancestry on both sides was easy to see in his thick black hair and blue eyes, the straight nose and thin-lipped firm mouth. Above the outer edge of his right eyebrow, a thin white scar reached up into his hairline. Like Lisa, he kept his eyes moving.
"Perhaps he is merely being more careful, beloved." Lisa carried her own small valise, letting McKenna lug the two substantial suitcases around. The platform was swarming with well-wishers and family seeing travelers off, so someone occasionally got close enough to threaten to bump into her and she had so far managed to avoid that..
"I suppose," McKenna grudgingly admitted. "I hope he hasn't been replaced by someone better at his trade. I liked that our friend didn't get too close for comfort."
The familiar shrill whistle of the train whistle signaled it was time to board. Two elderly couples were ahead of them, debating some detail of where their luggage would be stowed. McKenna placed one of the suitcases down and unbuttoned his suit jacket. Under his left armpit in a diagonal shoulder holster was an M1911 automatic. Reliable, accurate, a reassuring piece of black metal he seldom allowed to be far from his reach. He did not expect the inevitable attempt on their lives to be tried here, with so many witnesses and more than a few police officers visible, but one never knew. He would be relieved when they were safely out of public exposure.
Was he being slack in his alertness? Could he have been more watchful? McKenna habitually reproached himself. The past two days with Lisa had left him slightly dazed in a sensual fog from so much lovemaking. That would be fine if he was on leave but...
The attendant touched his red cap and relieved him of the suitcases. McKenna gave Lisa a light supporting touch on the elbow as she stepped up into the open door of the sleeping car where they had their cabin. He himself paused for the merest second as he put his foot on the lowered metal steps, and one more time his eyes flicked back.
There. By the line of cars and taxis. That face was gone as soon as he spotted it, but it had triggered all sort of alarm bells in McKenna's mind. Where had he seen that man? A wide, strong-featured face with deep furrows from long exposure to the elements. Shaggy medium-brown hair. If he had only had a full second to get a better look, he was sure he could have identified the man. And in the shadowy world where William McKenna lived, every face which provoked such a reaction had to be considered a likely enemy.
"Come, dear, there are people behind you," Lisa called down gently.
More troubled than before, McKenna got aboard the Pegasus Line luxury train. He had two more days at least with Lisa before they would arrive in DC and he had to let her go. Under any other circumstances, he would have been giddy at the prospect but, knowing the Winter Snow killers were out there....
In the line of cars which had been left empty by the crowd on the platform, the man who had been spotted by McKenna opened the driver's door of a huge ugly canary-yellow Chrysler and examined the form behind the wheel. The corpse of the Winter Snow assassin had its eyes closed, no blood showed from any visible wound. Hawk propped the man up carefully, tilted the head back and placed the killer's fedora over its face. With luck, passers-by would assume this was merely someone taking a nap until the Pegasus Line was far enough away.
Michael Hawk was in his middle forties but his weathered face made him look considerably older and the habitual sour expression did not help that impression. Knowing he might have had a real duel on his hands, earlier he had removed his tie and left the top button of his shirt undone. Now, as he strode quickly up the steps onto the platform, Hawk straightened himself up. His overnight bag had already been stowed aboard. Hopping up onto the rear of the last of the four sleeping cars, he was sure he was not in line of sight of the first car where the two people he were shadowing might be watching. So many windows between them were filled with riders leaning out to shout farewells and declarations of undying love that he felt sure he had not been spotted.
As soon as the door closed, the attendant blew a whistle. In the distance, a wave from the station-master was returned by the engineer. By then, every door had been tapped by an employee to prove it was secured and no one was going to fall off as the locomotive moved. The engine belched a huge cloud of steam into the night air. The great machine began to roll forward on the start of its long journey across five states. Entering his cabin, Hawk did not even notice the plush furnishings which included carpeting, carved mahogany shelves for belongings, a print of a storm-tossed ship at sea and a sideboard with glasses, crushed ice and one bottle of bourbon, one of scotch. He dropped heavily onto one of the two comfortable padded benches facing each other. No one else realized how many real killers were on this train.
II.
At ten past three that morning, McKenna stepped out of his compartment and into the passageway which was narrow enough that people turned sideways when passing each other. The rhythmic clacking below his feet had become hypnotic. Wheels on rails. He wondered if he would get so used to that sound that he would miss it. He glanced out the windows at the trees and rocks racing by outside under cold white moonlight.
McKenna desperately wanted a cigarette, even though he was down to his last few Player's and would have to switch to an American brand. He also felt like having a drink. During dinner with Lisa, they had shared a bottle of white wine to go with the trout, but he missed having a good strong proper mixed drink.
Yes. He would go to the club car. There was someone on duty there twenty-fours and he could order a drink, then sit for a few minutes thinking. All the sex with Lisa was wonderfully energetic and imaginative but to be honest, he was solitary by nature. He needed some time to himself.
He had fully dressed again before leaving his compartment, changing his shirt and washing up. He felt lazy and contented, too much so. He was on an assignment to escort this woman to herquestioning, and he had to start being sharp and alert. All McKenna knew was that Lisa Po had valuable information about some obscure criminal organizer known to the Chinese underworld as 'the Spinner of Webs.' His Control back in London, the surly old curmudgeon who ran his Section, had warned McKenna that mercenaries from both the White Web and the Winter Snow School had been offered a substantial sum for proof of Lisa's death. 'Expect devious attacks with unsporting heathen weapons,' had been the way his chief had phrased it.
Moving between carriages, out into the chilly night air for a second to enter the next sleeping car, McKenna woke up more sharply. He knew Lisa would not open the compartment door to anything but the four quick knocks and a pause then one more that they had agreed on as a signal. Still, he would enoy his gin and tonic, puff quickly on a Player's and then return to guarding her. The agent closed the carriage door behind him and froze.
From the opposite end of the passage, an Asian man was walking toward him. Quite young, decently dressed, he was a thin figure moving with quiet determination. One hand was jammed into a side pocket but McKenna couldn't see what weapon if any was being readied. The man's face was impossible to read, especially in the dim light.
McKenna's right hand moved as if by itself under his jacket to close around the butt of his automatic. He didn't carry a silencer. They were as large as a Magnum champagne bottle and didn't really make the report inaudible. They merely subdued it enough that few civilians would recognize the deep cough as a gunshot. But he couldn't fire until this man made an actual threatening move. It wouldn't do to shoot down an innocent Chinese-American school teacher on holiday. Bad form.
Unexpectedly, as the man passed in front of the middle door, two sinewy hands darted out, one clamping down hard across his mouth and the other seizing the forearm which held the weapon. The Asian was yanked off his feet and into that compartment so quickly that it seemed like a stage magic act. There wasn't even an outraged yelp, only the click of the door closing.
McKenna was gobsmacked. He realized he had drawn his sidearm and was holding it up near his head with a two-handed grip ready to swing in any direction. What the hell had he just seen? He couldn't have imagined it. As silently as he could, the agent stepped up near that door and held his breath as he listened. Nothing. Not a whisper, not a rustle. No light showed under the door either.
This was unprecented. McKenna stayed there, straining his ears in vain, for another ten minutes before he felt there was too much risk a porter or insomniac passenger might happen by and ask why he would brandishing a firearm on a passenger train. Edging backwards as quietly as possible, he holstered his weapon and started back to his own carriage. From this moment on, he and Lisa must be all business. Even if that mysterious unseen person was working with the Asian assassin and had pulled him into the compartment to prevent a shootout, phenomenal strength and skill showed in the ease with which the man had been hauled bodily through the door. It was like seeing a nature film of a trap door spider pouncing upon its prey and vanishing in a blink.
The image of a trap door spider which had passed through his mind reminded him of the mastermind they were investigating, the so-called Spinner of Webs. McKenna felt a surge of anger there was so much about this situation he did not understand. That was going to change.
III.
The following day dragged unbearably. They had eaten a quick breakfast of scrambled eggs, bacon and toast with lots of black coffee and had not spent a minute more in the restaurant car than had been necessary before returning to their compartment. Lisa saw the tension which had changed McKenna. She was perceptive enough to accept it and she drew back from her romantic overtures.
They had ordered two packs of playing cards and begun racing each other to finish each round of solitaire. After the first few games, the solitaire became an end to itself. Conversation had dwindled down to a few murmured phrases as the cards were laid out and fretted over. So far she had beat him to a conclusion twice and then had admitted her third game was unwinnable.
Glancing up, seeing that delicate profile with the glossy hair falling like curtains on either side as she concentrated, William McKenna realized how lucky he was that she had been attracted to him. This assignment could easily have been a grueling ordeal of chilly silence and vigilance. Instead, it had become more heated than most honeymoons. Only now, slapping down a red Ten on a black Jack of Spades did McKenna have the breathing space to reflect how unlikely it all was.
He could not stop speculating. That unseen man in the next car who had dragged the Asian into his own compartment. How many men were that strong and that experienced to be able to do that? Was there a connection with that disturbingly familiar weathered face he had seen at the station?
Could it be the same man? There had been enough time for that man to have boarded a car further down the train. There were two second-class carriages and a baggage car further down the length of the train, he knew. While they had been eating, McKenna had tried to pick up every snatch of conversation around him but he had caught nothing out of the ordinary. Certainly nothing about a dead man found on the train or any passenger missing. Then McKenna remembered wondering what had happened to the Asian man who had been trailing them as they reached the station, how he had noticed the shadower's absence at the same time he had glimpsed that weatherbeaten man fading back into the crowd.
What was going on? Was the mysterious man calling off the assassins? It certainly seemed so. To save McKenna and Lisa for something else? Has the Spinner of Webs brought in a white faced killer to be less conspicuous here in North Carolina? William McKenna fought his thoughts racing in tight circles but not making any progress.
Hours crawled by grudgingly. Finally putting the cards away, Lisa Po had announced she did not feel like lunch. She could wait for an early supper instead. Excusing herself, the beautiful Chinese had stretched like a cat and gone into their adjoined room where two bunks awaited. She had left the sliding door between rooms opened as she curled up and went immediately to sleep.
McKenna checked that the hard rubber wedge was firmly under the door, loosened the automatic in its holster and allowed himself to drift off as well. They had been too busy making love to get much sleep the past thirty-six hours. He woke from troubled dreams to see twilight outside the compartment windows. At least he felt refreshed, he must have been more exhausted than he had realized.
Lisa was smiling down at him. She had washed and changed into a tan crewneck shirt with a brown sweater open over it and a rust-colored skirt that modestly reached mid-knee. Her hair had been tied up in a swirl atop of her head and skewered into place with ivory pins. "Evidently we both needed some slumber," she said.
"I do feel more clear-headed." He shot out a wrist to check his Rolex. "Seven-fifteen," he said with surprise.
The Chinese woman perched daintily on the edge of the bench beside him. "I took the liberty of calling the restaurant car for reservations. The lady informed me there are several tables available."
"What a splendid idea." McKenna sat up and rubbed his eyes, then undid his tie and reknotted it more precisely. He buttoned his jacket as he rose, deciding not to mention the weird incident he had witnessed the night before. They made their way back the length of the train and as they passed that particular compartment, he could not help but give it a suspicious glare. Tomorrow morning, they would be in Washington DC. Tonight was the crucial period to survive. If everything went smoothly, he would regretfully say farewell to Lisa as FBI men took her in their keeping. Maybe this time next week, he would be toiling through routine paperwork in his office overlooking Regents Park, waiting for the next crisis.
The dining car was tastefully appointed, with tables lined up along the inner wall. The linen was spotless and the cutlery gleamed in the overhead lamps. A uniformed waiter with a cloth draped over one bent forearm greeted them and showed them to a table farthest from passengers already dining.
Even as he held Lisa's chair for her, McKenna's eyes were moving around the scene. The door at the other end opened and a sturdy figure stood there staring back. It was the man he had glimpsed at the station.
IV.
Without realizing it consciously, McKenna stepped to one side to draw any possible gunfire away from Lisa. From the corner of his eye, he saw her give him a quizzical look. His attention remained fixed on the man who was confidently walking toward them.
That broad flat face with its tight mouth and deepset dark brown eyes was not handsome. The skin was leathery, the shaggy brown hair seemed overdue for a barber's attention. But the man stood slightly over six feet tall, wide shouldered and narrow waisted, and he moved with a stride that suggested peak fitness. The man had charisma. He would stand out in a crowd just by his presence.
As the stranger drew near, the corners of his mouth turned up in a wry smile that did not extend to his eyes. "Mind if I join you folks?" he asked in a flat accent that McKenna identified as coming from the American West. Montana, North Dakota, somewhere around there.
McKenna kept his hand away from his armpit holster with an effort. Surely here in front of a dozen people, on a speed train with no way of getting off, was not the place for the assassination attempt.
"Yes," he said in as normal a tone as he could manage. "I believe it's time we talked."
The stranger nodded politely to Lisa and took the chair next to her, while McKenna seated himself across the table from the two of them. "My name is Michael Hawk. It's my real name. My grandfather was an Injun named Little Clay Hawk and the family simplified the name."
"Glad to meet you. I'm Sam Windsor and this is my wife Eleanor."
"Please. Let's get this started right. You're William McKenna, from MI 6's field service unit, in this country as a security escort. The lady calls herself Lisa Po but I believe she might have something to reveal about herself." At that point, the waiter came to offer menus and the three of them had a normal conversation for a few minutes. Lisa began by explaining she had been pining for Italian food. She opted for Eggplant Parmesan and McKenna agreed to try it. Hawk ordered the Lasagna Bolognese and they all agreed on an unpretentious red wine.
While they waited for their meals, Hawk continued. "You look like you're trying to figure where you've heard of me. I try to keep my name out of the papers and my picture even more so. I'm a consulting criminologist who's sometimes called in to help out in tough homicides or the serial killers who have been getting more numerous lately."
"Yes of course." McKenna nearly snapped his fingers at the revelation but now he realized he had seen that face more than once in Top Secret files about madmen like Samhain and Karl Eldritch. "You had an unusual upbringing, I believe."
"You might say that," Hawk replied, watching as the hot China plates were placed dextrously in front of them, the chilled bottle of Chianti left in its basin of crushed ice near the wall at their side.
"I was home schooled by my uncle Arthur. He had me tutored in specific skills for a career that I had decided on a child."
They began working on the food, which was simple but fresh and tasty. A tiny wicker bowl of sliced garlic bread had been provided. As she finished a mouthful and took a sip of her ice water, Lisa spoke for the first time. "Do go on, Mr Hawk. What were these skills?"
He nodded. "I thought every kid had experts brought in for a week or two to teach them stuff. Like an Apache from Arizona who showed me survival skills in the desert. Or a lockpick expert from France. Or that Hindu Yogi who could slow his heartbeat and breathing to stay underwater for six minutes. Uncle Arthur also brought me traveling around the world to meet with other teachers. It was an interesting childhood."
"Really," said McKenna. "Mr Hawk, I recall now you have had considerable success in tracking down some notorious killers and underworld types. How is it we find you here on this train heading to Washington DC?"
"Our business should wait until we have some privacy," the manhunter replied. "This is on a level with one of the better restaurants."
"It's an unexpected delight," agreed McKenna. He took his last Player's from his cigarette case and fired it up. "I take it you have a sleeping compartment?"
"Yes. I can't travel second class, too many folks bearing me a grudge. Once we've had a minute to digest, I believe we should head for your rooms to do some parlay." Hawk sipped the wine slowly, having barely taken half a glass. This close, it could be seen that his dark eyes had little spokes and flecks of yellow in them which gave them a striking appearance when light hit them.
Finishing his smoke and stubbing it out in the round ceramic ashtray, McKenna met Lisa's gaze and found her expression cryptic. If he didn't know better, he'd swear she was amused by the situation when she should have been apprehensive. After all, she was running for her life from the killers sent by an infamous crimelord and here was this stranger who seemed to knew all about it.
"Quite right," he said, rising and pushing his chair back. Hawk beat him to leaving a tip for the waiter, then got to his feet as well and stood back to allow Lisa exit. They left the restaurant car, passed through the next sleeping carriage and stood before the door where the brass plate said 1-4. McKenna opened the door, ushered Lisa through and then Hawk before entering himself.
As the famous manhunter's back was to him to that split-second, McKenna drew his automatic and thumbed the safety off. He immediately felt much happier about the situation. Lisa had positioned herself on the far end of the left bench, leaning up against the wood paneling beside her while Hawk had obligingly dropped down opposite her. There was a space of five feet between the benches, enough to be out of reach.
McKenna dropped down next to Lisa and raised his weapon. "Hold very still, Mr Hawk.. if that is your name."
The weathered face broke into a grin. "Oh, I'm Michael Hawk all right, agent McKenna. The question is, what is her real name?"
"None of that," McKenna snapped. "I want some answers right smartly. What happened to that Oriental gentleman you pulled into your compartment early this morning?"
"Heh, I thought you saw that but I was a mite busy at the moment. That fella was a hatchetman for Winter Snow all right. Wiry little devil. At a quarter to four AM, this train passed along a trestle overlooking the Harrison River and my guest did a little dive out the window. He cleared the bridge nicely, considering he was already dead."
"Did he now? Please keep both hands in full sight, if you don't mind."
"He was the third Winter Snow member I've had to get rid off so far. I've been quite the guardian angel for you two," said Hawk. "First was a sniper on the building opposite where you folks met up. Then there was the joker at the train station in Wilberton. He had a poisoned shiv up his sleeve, I guess he was trying to get close enough to perforate your ribs with it.'
McKenna did not lower his gun at all. "Is that so? Why do you take an interest in my safety, Mr Hawk?"
The deeply lined face looked sad. A sigh escaped the broad chest. "You figured this was a simple mission, youngster. Take the honey and run, watch out for the bad boys and get her to home base for an easy win. But there's something about the lady there you don't know."
Resisting the urge to take his eyes off the man to look at Lisa beside him, McKenna said, "Go on."
"She's Olivia Wang, the daughter of the Spinner of Webs. Don't move. Right now she's got the barrel of a .25 caliber Beretta two inches away from your hard head."
V.
Moving only his eyes and then turning head an inch, McKenna saw it was true.
"Put the safe on with your thumb," Olivia said in a different, silkier voice than the one she had been using. "Drop it next to you. Gently. There's that better."
"I misjudged her, son," Hawk said. "Sorry about that. I calculated she would first deny everything, then slowly admit bits and pieces."
"Why should I? My father will be pleased with this outcome. He has never forgiven you for that affair with the Oriental Curios export firm, William."
"The...? That was a Spinner of Webs operation? My chief thought it was only a smuggling ring moving heroin in antique statuettes."
"Oh, it was much more than that," Olivia said. "My father spent years building it up. He intended to start moving microfilm and documents from Red China to Mao's agents in the States. And you broke it all up in a week."
McKenna gave a short sharp laugh. "Those boys were working for the Commies? Then I'm even more glad I smashed the ring. It's worth it."
"My father holds grudges but you were not worth pursuing for that offense," Olivia told them. "It was the Zhune relics that angered him beyond overlooking you."
The British spy had unconsciously held his open hands up at the chest level. Now he tried lowering them to see her reaction and was rewarded with a vicious smack to the back of his head from the gun barrel.
"The Zhune artifacts are of no use to anyone but Karl Eldritch," the daughter of the Spinner of Webs told them. "But he pays handsomely for them. You did not realize what a fortune you threw away when you dropped them off Long Island Sound. Our divers have still not recovered them."
"Seems to me that's another instance of the deed being worth any penalty. Eldritch is the most dangerous lunatic in the world right now. Keeping those toys out of his hands is something I'd die for doing."
"So you shall." One elegant eyebrow raised in amusement. "Time spent with you has not been entirely unpleasant, except for your hideous taste in literature. How you can recommend Joseph Conrad is beyond me."
Hawk cleared his throat. "I want to mention that we'll be stopping at the Anderson depot at nine o'clock. People will disembark, buy snacks from the vendors, walk up and down and pretend they're getting exercise."
"What might your point be, if you have one?" she asked.
"Three FBI men will flash their ID cards and board the train to check with me about any progress I've made on this case," Hawk responded. "They have no sense of humor, young lady."
Olivia smirked. "All this has been planned for. I'm quite nimble, and when this locomotive slows for the station, there are woods on the side opposite the depot. Out the window I go, like a butterfly. By the time your carcasses have been discovered, I will be comfortably riding in a limousine that waits for me."
"Wait, before I die, at least let me understand what happened. I'm seriously confused." McKenna shifted his butt a few inches away from Olivia, turning his upper body to face her. She did not shoot him then. "Were you planning on Mr Hawk here showing up? Is he part of the conspiracy?"
"No. I was startled to see him approach us," Olivia said, adjusting her aim. "But my father will be greatly pleased to hear of the death of the great Michael Hawk. He has been an intolerable nuisance to the Spinner of Webs."
"Hawk, what on Earth do you have to smile about?" McKenna demanded.
That was a trick. Hawk was in fact not smiling, but the remark was enough to get Olivia to move her eyes toward the manhunter. When McKenna had shifted his weight on the bench, he had managed to place the tip of his shoe under his fallen automatic and now he kicked it up in the air within Hawk's reach.
Reacting as smoothly as if he had rehearsed this scenario a thousand times, Michael Hawk caught the gun and immediately hurled it right into Olivia Wang's face with the full intention to crack her skull. Her finger was on the trigger but it never contracted. The heavy metal smacked into the space between her eyebrows with a sharp thump.
A split-second later, William McKenna pounced on the woman, wrestling the Beretta out of her limp hand and grabbing her by the throat. Hawk picked up the fallen automatic and said, "Did you see her eyes get crossed when she was hit? Kinda comical, if you asked me."
"She's alive, just stunned," McKenna said. "I think she'll be all right. I say, I wish I had your reflexes. I expected at least one of us to be shot trying to disarm her."
"I been through so much in life that I have plans for near any possible tight spot." Hawk produced a pair of regulation handcuffs from the back of his belt. "See how these look on her."
Securing Olivia with her hands behind her, McKenna then went to her travel bag and took a crimson silk scarf, with which he gagged her. "Perhaps it would be best to turn her over to your FBI friends."
"If there were any," Hawk admitted. "In a squeeze like that, a man's likely to say most anything to keep his hide intact. There's no more assassins on the train, far as I can tell. Tomorrow morning, we'll arrive in DC. She didn't really expect to end up there, it's pure irony that she will be handed over for interrogation."
Seeing the lovely woman groan and stir as she recovered, McKenna exhaled sadly. "What a roundabout this assignment has gone on. I felt something was wrong but I couldn't quite put my finger on it."
"You're resourceful, son. You would have puzzled it out in time." Hawk got back on the bench facing the two. "Hope your feelings aren't hurt by her deceiving you like that."
"It's part of the business," McKenna said. He waited as Olivia's green eyes fluttered open. After a few seconds, the daughter of the Spinner of Webs realized she was bound and gagged with two armed men watching her, so she remained still. McKenna added, "I'm still not sure why she wanted to take this train to Washington, though. She said it was safer than driving there but I don't see why."
Hawk snorted. "Son, you ought to be flattered. She simply took a hankering to you and she wanted a few days together to get her fill before making you dead and moving on."
7/2/2020
