Free Assault on the Empress by Jerry Ahern Page A

scheduled for tomorrow. The second officer is a friend of your friend.”
    â€œHow does it look for the second officer?”
    â€œJust common knowledge and newspaper and television coverage is all I have. And the general consensus of that is that the second officer was part of a conspiracy and things went wrong and that’s why he got caught. He’s already been suspended and departmental charges have been filed. According to the press, he’s guilty as sin.”
    â€œAnd what about my other friend?” Hughes asked.
    â€œNothing on him yet. Dropped out of sight, but we may get a lead as soon as we’re able to contact his employer. Where can I reach you, Hughes?”
    â€œChicago. I’ll call you from there. Thanks.” He hung up, raised the receiver again as he flipped through the Rolodex, then dialed his travel agent. He hated getting gouged on airline tickets. “Hello. Is Millie in yet? … Right. This is Darwin Hughes. I’ll hold.” Lewis Babcock had always struck him as a crusader, and there was nothing wrong with that. “Millie? Darwin Hughes here. I need the first available flight out to Chicago. Maybe out of Athens and transfer at Charlotte? … Right. I’ll need a couple of hours to get ready and get myself to Athens…. Well, do the best you can. And it will be round trip, but if it’s a matter of saving a few bucks and leaving later, I’ll spend the extra…. Right. I’ll hold on.” He daubed at his perspiration with the towel again.
    She got him a flight and a ticket price that sounded ridiculously high, but under the circumstances he couldn’t hold out for anything better. He looked at his Rolex. “Yes. I can make it. But I know I’ll be running behind. Can I prevail on you for a favor, Millie? … No…. Could you meet me at the airport if it’s at all possible? Meet me with the tickets?” She said she could and not to tell anybody because it might set a dangerous precedent. He doubted he knew any of her other clients anyway, gave her a credit card number and told her “Thanks,” then hung up.
    It wasn’t even half past eight in Chicago because of the time difference and he dialed the hotel number and asked for Mr. Lewis Babcock’s room. The Hilton operator tried the room and said there was no answer. He asked for the manager, got the assistant and told her that it was urgent he speak with Mr. Babcock. It concerned a death. He held the line while a bellboy was sent up to knock on Mr. Babcock’s room door and another sent to page him in the hotel restaurants in case Mr. Babcock was having breakfast. After seven minutes, the assistant manager came back on the line and told him there had been no luck finding Mr. Babcock. Could they take a message? Hughes told her that the death was rather close to Mr. Babcock and that he—Hughes—wouldn’t want Mr. Babcock to hear of it from anyone but him. Then he made a reservation, giving her a credit card number; she graciously handled it all personally. He said good-bye and hung up.
    The next call was to the other number. A woman, young sounding with a pretty voice, answered. “You don’t know me—”
    â€œI won’t talk to any reporters—”
    â€œI’m not a reporter. I’m a friend of Lewis. He may have mentioned me. Darwin Hughes is my name. I tried Lewis at the hotel and didn’t have any luck. Is he at your place?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œYou’re the wife of Lewis’s policeman friend?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œIs it as bad as the news media says, Mrs.—”
    â€œMrs. Hayes. Thelma Hayes. Ernie’s in terrible trouble, Mr. Hughes. And he wouldn’t do a thing like that. He’s been a wonderful husband and father. He’s been honest all his life and the man they say he shot was a good friend. They were on the same bowling team, and had been partners in the