Fifteen minutes later, he parked a block away from his destination, noting with satisfaction that it was still an hour or more to go until dark. His intuition, working doubletime now, told him that they'd probably wait until nightfall to start their money-laden trucks to rolling.
He hesitated momentarily before turning on the phone and dialing the Boss' home address.
When the other's face faded in, it failed to display pleasure when the caller's identity was established. His superior growled, “Confound it, Woolford, you know my privacy is to be respected. This phone is to be used only in extreme emergency.”
“Yes, sir,” Larry said briskly. “It's the Movement—”
The other's face darkened still further. “You're not on that assignment any longer, Woolford. Walter Foster has taken over and I'm sympathetic to his complaints that you've proven more a hindrance than anything else.”
Larry ignored his words, “Sir, I've tracked them down. Professor Voss is at the Greater Washington Trucking Corporation garages here in the Alexandria section of town. Any moment [pg 061] now, they're going to start distribution of all that counterfeit money on some scatterbrain plan to disrupt the country's exchange system.”
Suddenly alert, the department chief snapped, “Where are you, Woolford?”
“Outside the garages, sir. But I'm going in now.”
“You stay where you are,” the other snapped. “I'll have every department man and every Secret Service man in town over there within twenty minutes. You hang on. Those people are lunatics, and probably desperate.”
Inwardly, Larry Woolford grinned. He wasn't going to lose this opportunity to finish up the job with him on top. He said flatly, “Sir, we can't chance it. They might escape. I'm going in!” He flicked off the set, dialed again and raised Sam Sokolski.