"Thank you," said McLeod. "If Miss Kent should check in, will you tell her Darius wants to save Cripp's life if he can? Will you tell her Darius has come to his senses?"
"Darius wants to save Cripp's life if he can. Darius has come to his senses. Yes, sir."
McLeod had left the Star-Times after a hurried lunch in the newspaper cafeteria. He'd placed the call to Tracy's apartment from his own because the wires might or might not be tapped in his office.
Suddenly he began cursing silently.
Overman had rigged receivers in various apartments—including Darius'—to uncover the Anti-News cell. If Overman had heard his conversation with Tracy's recorder, Weaver Wainwright wouldn't be the only one gunning for McLeod.
He found the receiver rigged to his TV set, unhooked it, but the damage had been done. He doubted that Overman would constantly monitor the set, yet Overman would see the damning evidence eventually. McLeod could save Cripp's life by simply not killing him, but then what? He smiled grimly. It posed a considerable problem for Overman too, for the City Editor wanted to dump a fat wrongo in the World's lap but now would also want to see McLeod dead. One seemed to preclude the other ... unless Overman decided to give McLeod a week of grace, then kill him. McLeod was still smiling. Perhaps the situation confronting the fictional lady-or-tiger man had been more aggravating, but it was less deadly.
McLeod taped a second parabeam to his right arm and took the escalator to the roof and his copter.
"Hi," the weaponcheck girl greeted him as he entered the Fourth Estate. "How are you today, Mr. McLeod?"
"Never better." As she approached him, McLeod removed the first parabeam from his trick sleeve and handed it to her. "I'm ticklish today," he told her and saw that she was about to say something until she noticed the folded bill wedged between trigger and trigger guard. She nodded, patted his shoulders quickly without searching, and wagged away. It happened all the time, McLeod knew. He wouldn't be the only one.