ready to scoot straight across to Long Island City where the getaway car was stashed.
"Closing with it now," Mickelmuss said.
"Of course, if I went in the winter" Dortmunder said, beginning to feel as desperate as Hradec and Lusk and Terment, "I suppose there'd be places to go skiing."
The idea of John Dortmunder on skis was on the face of it too ludicrous to be entertained, but that's the task Hradec and Lusk and Terment had set themselves, and they stood up to it as best they could, Hradec gaining confidence in his answer as he climbed through it, saying,
"Well, yes, of course, we have mountains, many many mountains, and the winter, you say the winter, certainly we have snow in the winter, a great deal of snow on the mountains, yes, of course, certainly, opportunities for skiing, absolutely, I don't see why not."
"Of course," said Lusk. But the best Terment could do was nod.
This time, Stan Murch was the self-portrait in the mural's corner. All clear on the slip, rumpled guards down at the far end by the gate, strutting back and forth, trying to act as though nothing at all had recently occurred.
"Therel" Mickelmuss said. Then: "Oh, blast, I think I moved it. Best give it one more."
Dortmunder clutched the manila folder of Votskojek information to his chest with his left hand while shaking hands generally with his right.
"I appreciate this," he assured them all. "Appreciate the time, hope I didn't take you from, from, from…"
"Not at all, not at all."
"Our pleasure."
"-Do enjoy Votskojek."
"I'm sure I will," Dortmunder said. And I'm sure Kelp's out of there by now, he thought. He has to be.
"I'll see you down," Hradec said with more obvious relief than diplomats usually show. Has to be out of there by now; has to be.
But, no. "Hm hm hm hm hm," said Mickelmuss, bending over the equipment, while Kelp's hand reached out to a knobby fist sized machine on a nearby table. Enough, one way and another, was enough. Kelp lifted the machine.
"Got it! At last," Mickelmuss announced, and turned his smiling face to observe the machine in Kelp's hand. "Ah!" he said in delight.
"Spectropolaric analysis! That ought to clear up a few matters."
"Yeah, it ought to," Kelp said.
"Well, she's all yours," Mickelmuss told him, with a careless wave at the bone, while with his other hand he patted his tummy and said,
"Frankly, that coffee seems to go right through one. Perhaps I should have alerted you. Pardon." And he left.
Dortmunder and Hradec zoomed down the ship's innards. Hradec wouldn't even leave the elevator. "You'll know your way," he said, smiling blankly, and waited for Dortmunder to exit. Which Dortmunder did, and the elevator door slid shut. Dortmunder crossed to the open door leading outside the ship, looking all around as he went, hoping to see Kelp lurking, but not.
From beneath his lab coat, Kelp took the shoe box containing the fake femur, provided by Grijk Krugnk. "It's a real bone, from a real zevendeen-year-old girl," Krugnk had assured him. "Oat's all I know."
"Dat's all I want to know," Kelp had assured him right back.
The shoe box, with a rubber band around it to keep the top on and the bone in, had been suspended all this time from a hook stuck through one end of the box and then attached to a preexisting loop in the middle of the lab coat's back, at waist level. Wearing the loose garment with the shoe box in position had made Kelp look rather lard-assed for such an otherwise slender guy, but science is a pretty sedentary occupation, so it was okay.
Kelp put the shoe box on the table near the real bone. He slid off the rubber band, opened it, and removed the copy. The two bones looked remarkably similar to the naked eye, except that the real one was slightly less shiny and had somewhat deeper shadows at its knuckly ends.
Being very careful to keep it clear in his mind which bone was which, Kelp made the switch, closed the shoe box, put the rubber band on it, and had a hell of a time trying to hook
"Closing with it now," Mickelmuss said.
"Of course, if I went in the winter" Dortmunder said, beginning to feel as desperate as Hradec and Lusk and Terment, "I suppose there'd be places to go skiing."
The idea of John Dortmunder on skis was on the face of it too ludicrous to be entertained, but that's the task Hradec and Lusk and Terment had set themselves, and they stood up to it as best they could, Hradec gaining confidence in his answer as he climbed through it, saying,
"Well, yes, of course, we have mountains, many many mountains, and the winter, you say the winter, certainly we have snow in the winter, a great deal of snow on the mountains, yes, of course, certainly, opportunities for skiing, absolutely, I don't see why not."
"Of course," said Lusk. But the best Terment could do was nod.
This time, Stan Murch was the self-portrait in the mural's corner. All clear on the slip, rumpled guards down at the far end by the gate, strutting back and forth, trying to act as though nothing at all had recently occurred.
"Therel" Mickelmuss said. Then: "Oh, blast, I think I moved it. Best give it one more."
Dortmunder clutched the manila folder of Votskojek information to his chest with his left hand while shaking hands generally with his right.
"I appreciate this," he assured them all. "Appreciate the time, hope I didn't take you from, from, from…"
"Not at all, not at all."
"Our pleasure."
"-Do enjoy Votskojek."
"I'm sure I will," Dortmunder said. And I'm sure Kelp's out of there by now, he thought. He has to be.
"I'll see you down," Hradec said with more obvious relief than diplomats usually show. Has to be out of there by now; has to be.
But, no. "Hm hm hm hm hm," said Mickelmuss, bending over the equipment, while Kelp's hand reached out to a knobby fist sized machine on a nearby table. Enough, one way and another, was enough. Kelp lifted the machine.
"Got it! At last," Mickelmuss announced, and turned his smiling face to observe the machine in Kelp's hand. "Ah!" he said in delight.
"Spectropolaric analysis! That ought to clear up a few matters."
"Yeah, it ought to," Kelp said.
"Well, she's all yours," Mickelmuss told him, with a careless wave at the bone, while with his other hand he patted his tummy and said,
"Frankly, that coffee seems to go right through one. Perhaps I should have alerted you. Pardon." And he left.
Dortmunder and Hradec zoomed down the ship's innards. Hradec wouldn't even leave the elevator. "You'll know your way," he said, smiling blankly, and waited for Dortmunder to exit. Which Dortmunder did, and the elevator door slid shut. Dortmunder crossed to the open door leading outside the ship, looking all around as he went, hoping to see Kelp lurking, but not.
From beneath his lab coat, Kelp took the shoe box containing the fake femur, provided by Grijk Krugnk. "It's a real bone, from a real zevendeen-year-old girl," Krugnk had assured him. "Oat's all I know."
"Dat's all I want to know," Kelp had assured him right back.
The shoe box, with a rubber band around it to keep the top on and the bone in, had been suspended all this time from a hook stuck through one end of the box and then attached to a preexisting loop in the middle of the lab coat's back, at waist level. Wearing the loose garment with the shoe box in position had made Kelp look rather lard-assed for such an otherwise slender guy, but science is a pretty sedentary occupation, so it was okay.
Kelp put the shoe box on the table near the real bone. He slid off the rubber band, opened it, and removed the copy. The two bones looked remarkably similar to the naked eye, except that the real one was slightly less shiny and had somewhat deeper shadows at its knuckly ends.
Being very careful to keep it clear in his mind which bone was which, Kelp made the switch, closed the shoe box, put the rubber band on it, and had a hell of a time trying to hook
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