Night Probe!

For a brief instant, Danielle stared at him in horror. Her color turned ghastly. She placed her free hand against the glass in a pleading gesture. Then slowly, her eyes mirrored an understanding look, and her mouth formed the words "Forgive me'.

The bucket was tipped again, the dirt fell and all sight of the car was blotted out.

At last the ditch was filled to ground level, and the exhaust of the front-end loader died into the night.

Only then did a saddened Charles Sarveux turn and walk away.

The airfield at Lac St. Joseph, deep in the hills northeast of Quebec City, was one of several belonging to the Royal Canadian Air Force that had been shut down because of budget cuts. Its two-mile runway was off limits to commercial aircraft, but was still used by the military for training and emergency landings.

Henri Villon's plane stood in front of a weathered metal hangar. A fuel truck was parked beside it and two men in raincoats were making a preflight check. Inside, in an office bare of furniture except for a rusting metal workbench, Charles Sarveux and Commissioner Fi

Foss Gly was stretched out comfortably on a blanket. His hands were clasped behind his head and he was oblivious to the water that splashed beside him on the cement floor. There was an air of smugness about him, of complacency almost, as he gazed up at the metal-beamed ceiling. The Villon disguise was gone and he was himself again. Outside, the pilot jumped from the wing to the ground and dog-trotted to the hangar. He poked his head in the office door.

"Ready when you are," he a

Gly came to a sitting position. "What did you find?"

"Nothing. We inspected every system, every square inch, even the quality of the gas and oil. Nobody's tampered with it. It's clean."

"Okay, start up the engines."

The pilot nodded and ducked back into the rain.

"Well, gentlemen," said Gly, "I guess I'll be on my way."

Sarveux silently nodded to Commissioner Fi

"Thirty million well-worn Canadian dollars," said Fi

Gly pulled a jeweler's eyepiece from his pocket and began studying a random sampling of bills. After nearly ten minutes he re pocketed the eyepiece and closed the suitcases.

"You weren't joking when you said 'well-worn.' Most of these bills are so wallet-battered you can hardly read the denominations."

As per your instructions," Fi

Gly walked over to Sarveux and held out his hand. "Nice doing business with you, Prime Minister."

Sarveux rebuffed Gly's gesture. "I'm only happy we caught onto your imposter scheme in time."

Gly shrugged and withdrew his empty hand. "Who's to say? I might have made a damned good President, better maybe than Villon."

"Pure luck on my part that you didn't," said Sarveux. "If Commissioner Fi

"A good reason why I keep records for insurance," Gly said contemptuously. "A chronological journal of my actions on behalf of the Free Quebec Society, tape recordings of my conversations with Villon, videotapes of your wife in wild postures with your minister of internal affairs. The stuff major scandals are made of. I'd say that's a fair exchange for my life."

"When will I get them?" Sarveux demanded.

"I'll send you directions to their hiding place after I'm safely out of your reach."

"What assurances do I have? How can I trust you not to keep blackmailing me?" Gly gri

"You're filth," Sarveux hissed angrily. "The excretion of the earth.

"Are you any better?" Gly snapped back. "You stood mute in all your sanctity and watched while I wasted your political rival and your cheating wife. And then you had the gall to pay for the job with government funds. You stink even worse than I do, Sarveux. The best of the bargain was yours. So save your insults and sermons for the mirror."

Sarveux trembled, the rage seething inside him. "I think you better get out get out of Canada."

"Gladly."

Sarveux got a mental hold on himself. "Goodbye, Mr. Gly, perhaps we'll meet in hell."

"We already have," grunted Gly.

He snapped the suitcases shut, carried them outside and entered the airplane. As the pilot taxied to the end of the runway, he relaxed in the main cabin and poured himself a drink.

Not bad, he thought, thirty million bucks and a jet airplane. Nothing like making an exit in style.

The phone on the bar buzzed and he picked it up. It was the pilot.

"We're ready for takeoff. Would you care to give me flight instructions now?"

"Head due south for the United States. Stay low to avoid radar. A hundred miles over the border, come to cruising altitude and set a course for Montserrat."

"Never heard of it."

"One of the Leeward Islands in the Lesser Antilles, southeast of Puerto Rico. Wake me when we get there."

"Sweet dreams, boss."

Gly slumped in his seat, not bothering to fasten the safety belt. At that moment he felt immortal. He gri

Sarveux was a fool, he thought. If he had been in the Prime Minister's shoes he would have hidden a bomb in the plane, rigged it to crash, or perhaps ordered the air force to shoot it down. The latter was still a possibility, though a slim one.

But there was no bomb and all the flight controls checked out from nose to tail. He had done it. He was home free.

As the aircraft picked up speed and disappeared into the rainy night, Sarveux turned to Fi

"How will it happen?"

"The automatic pilot. Once it's engaged the plane will begin a very gradual climb. The altimeters have been set to register no higher than 11,000 feet. The pressurization system and the emergency oxygen will not come on. By the time the pilot realizes something is wrong, it will be too late."

"Can't he disengage the autopilot?"

Fi

"So they lose consciousness from loss of oxygen."

"And eventually come down in the ocean when they run out of fuel."

"They could crash on land."

"A calculated gamble," Fi

Sarveux looked pensive for a moment. "The press releases?" he asked. "Written and waiting to be handed to the wire services."

Commissioner Fi

At the car Sarveux paused and looked up into the ebony sky as the last hum of the jet engines melted into the rain.