Stalking Point by Duncan Kyle

Author:Duncan Kyle [Kyle, Duncan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Canelo
Published: 2021-04-15T00:00:00+00:00

* * *

Having spent a wakeful night, Von Galen fell into weary sleep at six in the morning. Full daylight, spreading across the city, did not penetrate the heavy velvet curtains of his room and it was almost ten before he awakened, sticky and uncomfortable. Rubbing his eyes, he drew the curtains, opened the window, hoping for air. Somewhere in this damned city, he thought savagely, lay the information he wanted. Somewhere within a mile of where he stood. There, in the White House, whose roof he could see. His eyes flickered and refocused. There was movement on the roof… men in uniform… moving to the flagpole.

As he watched, the Presidential flag was lowered. No need to inquire what that meant: the flag flew when the President was there.

It came down only when he wasn’t!

Von Galen dragged on a dressing-gown and hurried to the Press department, where a bored-looking junior attaché was reading small-ads in the Sunday Post.

‘Any news about Roosevelt?’

‘He’s going on holiday. Announced last night. Details are on the wire.’

The attaché handed him a torn-off sheet of teleprinter roll.

Von Galen’s eyes raced over the message. ‘Leaving today… joining Potomac at New London, Connecticut… cruising off the New England coast.’

‘Map.’

‘On the wall there.’

He searched with his finger. New London? Where the hell was New London? He found it and his finger traced the route. The wire service report said Roosevelt was going by train, so… Almost a straight line on the map, probably through New York or round it. Journey of several hours, anyway.

O’Hara! He must set O’Hara on Roosevelt’s track!

Limping back upstairs to dress, he looked longingly at the phone at his bedside. But if the FBI were listening, if they caught only a hint… no, he daren’t risk that. Dressed, he hurried for the side door.

‘Oh, Herr von Galen.’ One of the secretarial girls stood in his path.

‘Not now,’ he said.

She blinked. ‘But there’s a message for you. Just a minute ago. You weren’t in your office.’

He stopped. ‘What message?’

‘An American,’ she said. ‘He wouldn’t leave his name. He said he was—’ she glanced at her notebook – ‘off and running. He said you’d understand.’

‘What exactly did he say?’

She read the words carefully. ‘He was off and running. Heading home first. Flying. Then by car.’

Von Galen closed his eyes, trying to picture the map he’d been looking at. O’Hara’s home was actually in Boston: so he was flying to Boston, then going on by car.

‘Thank you, Fräulein.’

He went back upstairs to his own map. Boston was roughly a hundred miles from New London, but O’Hara was probably right; by flying to Boston, he’d make the journey almost as quickly as Roosevelt.

Von Galen headed for the radio-room.

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