Run into Trouble

apparently unconcerned. “You’re fully recovered from that, aren’t you?”
    “Except for my back. I still have spasms; I’m always going to have to be careful of it. But I want to discuss how it happened. Everybody agrees that it was intentional. That being the case, somebody paid the truck driver to cause it. My contacts tell me that my previous employer had nothing to do with it. Any enemies I might have made in the world would have acted years ago.”
    “So what do you think happened?”
    “One of my contacts has come up with something. All of the evidence points to one person.”
    “And that is…?”
    “You.”
    Drake’s eyes bored into Casey’s. He was enjoying this, even though Casey had on his poker face.
    “Me? Surely you jest. I’m paying you to be in this race. As they say on Perry Mason, what’s my motivation?”
    Drake shrugged. “Damned if I know. But then I never did understand all the ins and outs of politics. I think I’ll have a talk with my father about this. He’s a lot more politically tuned in than I am.”
    Drake continued to watch Casey. Did he see a slight change in his expression? Had he gotten to him? Casey shifted in his seat. Drake waited for him to speak. Casey took a deep breath.
    “I have a confession. I really did want you in the race. When we approached you, you agreed to run, but not with the wholehearted enthusiasm of most of the other runners. I was afraid you’d fall behind and drop out. I needed a way to get you to stay. I decided to frighten you into thinking that someone from your past was trying to hurt you, and that the safest place for you was in the race.”
    “Frighten me? Hurt me? You damn near killed me.”
    “That was a terrible mistake. The truck driver was overzealous. I just wanted him to bump the taxi—to give you a warning. He didn’t get the right message. Look, I want to make it up to you. Starting today, I’m going to double your per diem to two thousand dollars—a thousand apiece.” He managed a smile. “I’m sure you won’t have to mention any of this to your father.”
    It was concession time. Drake would be a fool not to milk it. “There’s one other thing you can do.”

“What’s that?”
    “Give Melody and me a tour of the submarine.”
    “It’s off-limits.”
    “Melody and I both had top secret clearances, as I’m sure you know. You’ve got a lot of strings you can pull. It’s not too much to ask. How about after dinner?”
    Casey appeared to be thinking that over.
    “You drive a hard bargain. I’ll see what I can arrange.”
    Casey excused himself and went to a payphone.
    ***
    The boat was moored in a corner of the Monterey marina, surrounded by makeshift tarpaulins to hide it from the view of the common people, and guarded by armed sailors in uniform who patrolled the pier leading to it. Casey had apparently talked to the right authorities, because when he flashed his badge to the naval officer in charge, he was waved through, along with Drake and Melody.
    Drake wondered what the officer thought about Casey escorting a man casually dressed in civilian clothes and a pretty, miniskirted blond. Melody’s youthful good looks had gotten her into places when they worked together that would have been denied to somebody who aroused suspicions.
    The boat looked larger than Drake remembered, but he had seen it from a distance. It probably could hold a crew of six, perhaps more. A makeshift gangplank had been extended from the pier to the boat.
    Melody was glad she had worn flat shoes with nonskid soles. She and Drake had decided to attempt to find a way to see the boat up close, and so they were prepared. Even the short skirt was part of the plan. When they reached the boat, they had to descend a metal-runged ladder to the interior.
    Drake said, “Let Melody go first so we won’t be looking up her skirt.”
    Melody didn’t wait for Casey’s consent; she swung her foot onto a rung and climbed down as fast as she could. At the bottom she found herself in what must be the control room. The interior lights were turned on; it should be bright enough. She reached into her bra and pulled out a tiny Minox camera that she had used for her work in England. She had brought it to California because it was the only camera she owned.
    She began snapping pictures as fast as she could, trying to photograph the instruments and the dials, and anything else that might be of interest. She kept an eye on the ladder. When she saw