Swimming to Catalina

doesn’t know that I’m alive,” he said at last.
    “We’re not absolutely certain of that,” Rick said. “Remember, Ippolito’s yacht captain knows you by sight.”
    “But not by name. O’Hara doesn’t think Ippolito knows I’m alive.”
    “Okay, maybe he doesn’t know,” Rick agreed.
    “Why don’t I pay him a visit? Have a talk with him? You could wire me.”
    Rick was shaking his head. “You heard O’Hara say yesterday that when he went to Ippolito’s office he was searched for weapons and a wire.”
    “Good point,” Stone said.
    Cable spoke up. “What size shoe do you wear, Stone?”
    “A 10 D,” Stone replied. “Why?”
    “Maybe there’s a way. Tell you what: you go back to your hotel, get some breakfast, a shower, and a change of clothes, and I’ll meet you there in a couple of hours.”
    Stone arrived back at the Bel-Air to find Dino still sound asleep. He got undressed, shaved, and got into the shower. When he came out, Dino was up.
    “Where the hell have you been all night?” Dino asked. “I was worried.”
    “Sorry I didn’t call home, Mom; I was at an all-night interrogation.”
    “Of who?”
    Stone brought him up to date while he got dressed.

    “What’s this about shoes?” Dino asked.
    “Beats me,” Stone said. “Let’s get some breakfast.”
    They had just finished eating when Hank Cable and Rick Grant arrived. Cable had a shoebox under his arm.
    “Take off your shoes and pants,” Cable said. “Your underwear, too.”
    Stone followed his instructions. “No pictures,” he said.
    Cable opened the shoebox and took out a pair of wingtips. “They’re 9½ C’s,” he said. “It was the best I could do.”
    “I take it these are some sort of federal high-tech wingtips,” Stone said.
    “Good guess. Put them on.”
    Stone put on the shoes. “They’re tight,” he said.
    “You’ll live,” Cable replied. He took some wires and a roll of tape out of the shoebox. “Here’s how it works,” he said. “In the heel of one shoe is a tape recorder; in the heel of the other shoe is a transmitter.” He plugged a very slim wire into a tiny receptacle at the top rear of each shoe. “Turn around.”
    Stone turned around.
    Cable began running a wire up the back of Stone’s right leg, taping it in place, then he followed with the left leg. “Okay, now put your shorts and your pants on.”
    Stone got dressed.
    “Now we tape the wires running around your waist to the front,” Cable said, “and we attach these two little microphones to the two wires.” He did so, then he taped the tiny microphones to Stone’s belly. They were nestled in his navel.
    “Now you can stick your shirttail in and buckle your belt.”

    Stone did as he was told.
    “Now,” Cable said, “if they frisk you for a wire they’ll be looking for a small transmitter taped to your chest or in the small of your back, or maybe even in your crotch. They won’t be looking at the heels of your shoes. Even if they pat you down very thoroughly, the wires are too thin to feel through the fabric of your suit.”
    “I see,” Stone said. “That’s pretty good; I might just get away with it.”
    “I’d be willing to bet that you will,” Cable said.
    “How do I turn on the transmitter and the tape recorder?” Stone asked.
    “All you do is stamp each heel firmly on a hard surface, like concrete. It might not work on carpet. The transmitter we can pick up from as much as ten miles away; the tape in the recorder will last for two hours.”
    “I don’t understand about the recorder,” Stone said. “Why don’t you just record it at the receiving end?”
    “Oh, we will, but we need a backup, in case there’s any interference that screws up some part of the transmission.”
    “Here’s what we do,” Rick said. “You go down to the headquarters building of the Safe Harbor Bank and take the elevator up to the top floor, where Ippolito’s office is. Tell the receptionist or secretary who you are and ask to see Ippolito.”
    “Suppose he won’t see me?”
    “Don`t take no for an answer. I’m betting that his curiosity will be too much for him, especially if he still thinks you’re dead. He’ll see you, I’ll give you odds.”
    “Then what?”
    “Engage him in conversation; get him to incriminate himself.”

    “How the hell am I supposed to do that?”
    “You’re a good talker, Stone; you’ll figure a way. Just get him talking and keep him talking for as long as