Night Probe!

There was silence. Then Pitt spoke slowly and distinctly. "Tell him the odds have dropped from a million to one to a thousand to one."

"You found something?"

"I didn't say that."

"Then what are you working on?"

"Nothing more than a gut feeling."

"What do you need from me?" asked Sandecker.

"Please get ahold of Heidi Milligan. She's staying at the Gramercy Park Hotel in New York. Ask her to dig into old railroad archives for any maps that show New York Quebec Northern Railroad tracks, sidings aivd spurs between Albany and the Deauville-Hudson bridge during the years eighteen eighty to nineteen fourteen."

"Okay, I'll take care of it. Got her number?"

"You'll have to get it from information."

Sandecker took a long puff on the cigar. "How does it look for Monday?"

"Grim. You can't rush these things."

"The President needs that treaty copy."

"Why?"

"Don't you know?"

"Moon clammed up when I asked."

"The President is speaking before the House of Commons and the Senate of the Canadian Parliament. His speech centers around a plea for merging our two countries into one. Alan Mercier let me in on it this morning. Since Quebec went independent, the Maritime Provinces have been considering statehood. The President is hoping to talk the Western Provinces into joining too. That's where a signed copy of the North American Treaty comes in. Not to coerce or threaten, but to eliminate the red-tape jungle of the transition and stonewall any objections and interference from the United Kingdom. His pitch for a unified North America is only fifty-eight hours away. You get the action?"

"Yes…..." Pitt said sullenly. "I've got it now. And while you're at it, thank the President and his little group for letting me know at the last minute."

"Would it have mattered otherwise?"

"No, I guess not."

"Where can Heidi get in touch with you?"

"I'll keep the De Soto moored at the bridge site as a command post. All calls can be relayed from there." There was nothing more to say. So Sandecker simply said, "Good luck."

"Thanks," Pitt came back. And then the line went dead.

Sandecker had the number of Heidi's hotel in less than a minute. He dialed direct and waited for the co

"Good evening, Gramercy Park Hotel," a sleepy female voice answered.

"Commander Milligan's room, please."

A pause. "Yes, room three sixty-seven. I'll ring."

"Hello," a man answered.

"Is this Commander Milligan's room?" Sandecker demanded impatiently.

"No, sir, this is the assistant manager. The commander is out for the evening."

"Any idea when she'll return?"

"No sir, she didn't stop at the desk when she left."

"You must have a photographic memory," said Sandecker suspiciously.

"Sir?"

"Do you recognize all your guests when they pass through the lobby?"

"When they're very attractive ladies who stand six feet tall and wear a cast on one leg, I do."

"I see."

"May I give her a message?"

Sandecker thought a moment. "No message. I'll call again later."

"One minute, sir. I think she passed by and entered the elevator while we've been talking. If you'll hold on, I'll have the switchboard ring her room and transfer your call."

In room 367 Brian Shaw laid down the receiver and walked into the bathroom. Heidi lay in the tub, covered by a blanket of bubbles, her cast-enclosed leg propped awkwardly on the edge of the tub. Her hair was covered by a plastic shower cap and she lazily held an empty glass in one hand.

"Venus, born of the foam and the sea." Shaw laughed. "I wish I had a picture of this."

"I can't reach the champagne," she said, pointing to a magnum of Tattinger brut reserve vintage in an ice bucket perched on the washbasin. He nodded and filled her glass. Then he poured the remainder of the chilled champagne over her breasts.

She yelped and tried to splash him, but he ducked nimbly back through the doorway. "I owe you for that," she shouted.

"Before you declare war, you've got a call."

"Who is it?"

"I didn't ask. Sounds like another dirty old man." He nodded at a wall phone mounted between the tub and the commode. "You can take it here. I'll hang up the extension."

As soon as her voice came on the line, Shaw clicked the co

Smart girl, he thought. She didn't trust him.

After ten seconds he finally heard the disco

"May I help you?"

"Yes, could you ring room three sixty-seven in a minute and ask for Brian Shaw? Please don't say who you are."

"Nothing else?"

"When Shaw himself answers, just punch off the co

Shaw returned to the bathroom and peered around the door. "Truce?"

Heidi looked up and smiled. "How'd you like it if I did that to you?"

"The sensation wouldn't be the same. I'm not built like you. "Now I'll reek of champagne."

"Sounds delicious." The phones in the suite jangled.

"Probably for you," he said casually.

She reached over and answered, then held the handset toward him. "They asked for Brian Shaw. Perhaps you'd like to take it in the other room."

"I have no secrets," he said, gri

He muttered through a one-sided conversation and then hung up. He made an angered expression.

"Damn, that was the consulate. I have to meet with someone."

"At this time of night?" she asked.

He leaned down and kissed her toes that protruded from the end of the cast. "Revel in anticipation. I'll be back in two hours.

The curator of the Long Island Railroad Museum was an elderly retired accountant who nourished a lifelong passion for the iron horse. He walked yawning through the relics on display while grumbling incessantly about being abruptly awakened in the dead of night to open the building for an FBI agent.

He came to an antique door whose glass was etched with an elk standing on a mountain, looking down on a diamond stacked locomotive puffing a great billow of smoke as it rounded a sharp curve. He fished around with a large ring until he found the right key. Then he unlocked the door, swung it open and switched on the lights.

He paused and stuck out an arm, blodking Shaw's way. "Are you sure you're an FBI man?"

Shaw sighed at the stupid wording of the question and produced a hastily forged ID card for the third time. He waited patiently for the curator to read the fine print again.

"I assure you, Mr. Rheinhold."

"Rheingold. Like the beer."

"Sorry, but I assure you the bureau wouldn't have put you to all this bother if the matter wasn't most urgent."

Rheingold looked up at him. "Can you tell me what this is all about?"

"Afraid not."

"An Amtrak scandal. I bet you're investigating an Amtrak scandal."

"I can't say."

"A train robbery maybe. Must be pretty confidential. I haven't seen any mention on the six o'clock news."