Frame Angel! (A Frank Angel Western) #7 by Frederick H. Christian Page B

his shoulder:
    SHERMAN MARSHAL SANTA FE STOP
GIVE INSTANT PRIORITY ASSISTING FRANK ANGEL STOP IDENTIFY
HIM BY CODED
SIGNATURE RECEIVED FROM HIM THROUGH YOU CONFIDENTIAL THIS
DEPARTMENT STOP BUT IF STILL IN DOUBT ASK HIM NAME HIS LANDLADY
STOP WAITING.
    It was signed by the attorney general.
    ‘ Mrs.
Rissick,’ Angel told them. ‘Mrs. Maureen Rissick.’
    The telegrapher tapped out the reply and
then switched off. They waited, imagining the looping wires that
hummed in the moaning winds across the thousands of miles to the
ugly old building on Pennsylvania Avenue. They jumped, startled,
when the key began chattering again, as if it were angry. The
telegrapher began to scribble furiously.
    ANSWER CORRECT
THAT ’S ANGEL
STOP ASK HIM WHERE THE HELL HE THINKS HE HAS BEEN QUESTION MARK NO
REPORT SINCE DEPARTURE STOP DOES HE THINK WE’RE TELEPATHIC QUESTION
MARK RENDER ALL NECESSARY ASSISTANCE ON MY PERSONAL AUTHORITY STOP
BY THIS I MEAN YOU WILL DO WHATEVER ANGEL SAYS YOU ARE TO DO STOP
TRUST MESSAGE CLEAR STOP AWAIT REPORT FROM ANGEL.
    Frank Angel grinned. He could visualize the
attorney general in his office, puffing furiously on one of his
awful cigars as he stamped up and down dictating his message to his
personal private secretary, Amabel Rowe. He let his thoughts linger
on the memory of her honey-blonde hair spilling back in the
sunlight and her light laughter. But only for a moment.
    Then he turned to Sherman.
    ‘ Happy?’
he asked.
    ‘ Hell,
Angel,’ Sheriff Hogben said. ‘We had to check. You understand, it
wasn’t anything personal.’
    ‘ Forget
it,’ Angel said brusquely. He didn’t have time for hurt feelings,
his own or anyone else’s. All he was conscious of now was the time
that had been wasted, the miles lost, the distance between him and
his quarry.
    ‘ I want
a telegraph sent to Trinidad,’ he said. ‘Whoever you know: deputy
US Marshal, local sheriff …?’
    ‘ Sheriff
up there’s a friend of mine,’ Hogben put in, eager now to make
amends. ‘Cecil Smith. Smithy, everyone calls him.’
    ‘ Good,
fine,’ Angel said. ‘I want the baggage office at the railway depot
covered by at least three men. They’re to watch for anyone like our
man coming in to claim a suitcase. I’ll write down a description
for you.’
    ‘ You
want him taken, or what?’ Sherman asked.
    ‘ Only if
he tries to leave Trinidad,’ Angel said. ‘I figure he probably
will, but I don’t know which way, so they’d better keep a damned
close eye on him.’
    ‘ I’ll
tell ’em,’ Sherman said grimly. ‘Don’t you worry none.’
    ‘ Something else,’ Angel continued. ‘I want the top local man
from the A. T & S. F. railway, and I want him fast!’
    ‘ Bob
Gray,’ Sheriff Hogben said. ‘I’ll go get him.’
    He started out but was stopped by a word
from Angel.
    ‘ Tell
him I want a special train,’ Angel said. ‘Fastest engine he’s got,
the best engineer. We’re going to break the record for getting from
here to Trinidad, and I don’t want anything fouling me up. Tell him
I’ll want every inch of the track from here to there clean.
Understand me? Clean! I don’t even want to see a dead chicken on it. Tell him I
want the track cleared so we can run up there the whole way, no
stops, nothing.’
    ‘ You’ll
need to stop for water,’ Sherman pointed out. ‘Fuel,
maybe.’
    ‘ Tell
him to lay it on,’ Angel said. ‘He’ll know where, how much. But
fast. Faster than he’s ever done it before.’
    ‘ It’ll
take a bit of doing,’ Hogben said, dubiously.
    ‘ Then
you’d best not waste any more time,’ Angel told him. The sheriff
blinked and nodded, turning to almost run out of the marshal’s
office into the darkening plaza outside. Angel watched him weaving
between the idling walkers and disappear around the obelisk
commemorating the soldiers who had fallen in the battle of
Valverde.
    ‘ You
want to let me have that description now, Angel?’ Sherman called
from the telegrapher’s room.