“Well, it would make me feel a lot better to work it that way,” the Chief of U.S. Intelligence said. “And of course, I’ll arrange—and not from this office—for a couple of my men to keep an eye on you when you arrive in Albuquerque. Then if somebody gets on your tail down there my agents can close in and grab him. But—”
Colonel Welsh let the rest hang in mid air and sat chewing on his lower lip in brooding silence.
“So what?” Freddy Farmer said. Then catching himself and blushing slightly. “I mean, sir, what were you going to say?”
“Supposing we have all the luck in the world,” the senior officer said, as though talking to himself. “Supposing we catch, the Axis rat at this end, and at the Albuquerque end. What then? Notwithstanding what we read in the papers lately, I don’t think we’ll be able to learn a lot from our two prisoners. Most certainly, nothing that would make it possible either to get our hands on this confounded Seven-Eleven, or to learn the secret poor Tracey was never able to reveal. And that, of course, is our real goal. That is, if it’s possible to have a goal in this mess.”
“Well, we’ve just been talking about this end of things, sir,” Dave said. “Just a way to clear up a couple of puzzling details. When Freddy and I reach Albuquerque, we certainly don’t intend to stop there.”
“What’s that again?” Colonel Welsh asked sharply.
“Quite!” Freddy Farmer echoed. “I don’t get the point of that one, myself.”
Dave turned to him, and grinned.
“Ever see the Panama Canal, Freddy?” he asked.
“Eh?” the English youth ejaculated as his eyes flew open wide. “Why, no, never. But I’ve always heard it’s quite a wonderful sight to see.”