"—number 3765. Left about ten minutes ago, supposedly for the hospital. Officer Powers in the 'copter with him."
He cut off and looked at Karnes, who was standing over him. His gun was out before he spoke. "Who are you, buddy."
Karnes told him who he was. The cop looked skeptical. Karnes didn't have his hat on, and his clothes were a bit rumpled after his nap on the floor.
Karnes didn't need to say anything; another policeman was going through his pockets, and he found the billfold. As soon as they saw the forgeproof identity card, they relaxed.
"Sorry, Mr. Karnes," said the man at the transceiver, "but we've already let one man get away."
Karnes nodded. "I know. Pure blind luck that his suit was almost the same shade as that gray uniform you guys wear, or he'd never have got away with it. All he needed was the jacket and cap."
"Have any idea which way he went?"
The cop shrugged. "He came up here and told us that three men had been shot down below and some more gassed. He said Mr. Lansberg had sent him for a hospital call. Then he jumped in a 'copter with Powers and headed northeast. We didn't pay much attention. After all, he was wearing a sergeant's stripes."
Northeast. That would be toward Long Island. But, naturally, he would circle; he wouldn't be dumb enough to head in the right direction until he was out of sight. Or would he?
"Get on that radio again," he told the radioman, "—and tell them I want that man alive. Get that—alive!"