for at least another hour. Mel listened impatiently; at the moment, other things seemed more important.
When he hung up, Mel repeated the information about Flight Two's position to the D.T.M.
Tanya came off the other phone. She reported, "Operations found Captain Kettering. He's coming."
"That woman---the passenger's wife," the D.T.M. said. "What was her name?"
Ned Ordway answered. "Inez Guerrero."
"Where is she?"
"We don't know." The policeman explained that his men were searching the airport, although the woman might be gone. He added that city police headquarters had been alerted, and all buses from the airport to downtown were now being checked on arrival.
"When she was here," Mel explained, "we had no idea..."
The D.T.M. grunted. "We were all slow." He glanced at Tanya, then at Customs Inspector Standish, who so far had not spoken. The D.T.M., Tanya knew, was remembering ruefully his own instructions to "Forget it!"
Now he informed her, "We'll have to tell the captain of the flight something. He's entitled to know as much as we do, even though so far we're only guessing."
Tanya asked, "Shouldn't we send a description of Guerrero? Captain Demerest may want to have him identified without his knowing."
"If you do," Mel pointed out, "we can help. There are people here who've seen the man."
"All right," the D.T.M. acknowledged, "we'll work on that. Meanwhile, Tanya, call our dispatcher. Tell him there's an important message coming in a few minutes, and to get a Selcal circuit hooked into Flight Two. I want this kept private, not broadcast for everybody. At least, not yet."
Tanya returned to the telephone.
Mel asked Bunnie, "Are you Miss Vorobioff?"
As she nodded nervously, the eyes of the others turned to her. Automatically, those of the men dropped to Bunnie's capacious breasts; the D.T.M. seemed about to whistle, but changed his mind.
Mel said, "You realize which man we're talking about?"
"I... I'm not sure."
"It's a man named D. O. Guerrero. You sold him an insurance policy tonight, didn't you?"
Bunnie nodded again. "Yes."
"When you wrote the policy, did you get a good look at him?"
She shook her head. "Not really." Her voice was low. She moistened her lips.
Mel seemed surprised. "I thought on the phone..."
"There were many other people," Bunnie said defensively.
"But you told me you remembered this one."
"It was someone else."
"And you don't recall the man Guerrero?"
"No."
Mel looked baffled.
"Let me, Mr. Bakersfeld." Ned Ordway took a pace forward; he put his face near the girl's. "You're afraid of getting involved, aren't you?" Ordway's voice was a harsh, policeman's voice, not at all the gentle tone he used earlier tonight with Inez Guerrero.
Bunnie flinched, but didn't answer.
Ordway persisted, "Well, aren't you? Answer me."
"I don't know."
"Yes, you do! You're afraid to help anyone for fear of what it might do to you. I know your kind." Ordway spat out the words contemptuously. This was a savage, tough side of the lieutenant's nature which Mel had never seen before. "Now you hear me, baby. If it's trouble you're scared of, you're buying it right now. The way to get out of trouble---if you can---is to answer questions. And answer fast! We're running out of time."
Bunnie trembled. She had learned to fear police interrogation in the grim school of Eastern Europe. It was a conditioning never totally erased. Ordway had recognized the signs.
"Miss Vorobioff," Mel said. "There are almost two hundred people aboard the airplane we're concerned with. They may be in great danger. Now, I'll ask you again. Did you get a good look at the man Guerrero?"
Slowly, Bunnie nodded. "Yes."
"Describe him, please."
She did so, haltingly at first, then with more confidence.
While the others listened, a picture of D. O. Guerrero emerged: gaunt and spindly; a pale, sallow face with protruding jaw; long scrawny neck; thin lips; a small sandy mustache; nervous hands with restless fingers. When she got down to it, Bunnie Vorobioff proved herself a keen observer.
The D.T.M., now seated at Mel's desk, wrote the description, incorporating it with a message for Flight Two which lie was drafting.
When Burmie came to the part about D. O. Guerrero barely having enough money---and no Italian money; the man's nervous tension, the fumbling with dimes and pennies; his excitement on discovering a five-dollar bill in an inside pocket, the D.T.M. looked up with a mixture of disgust and horror. "My God! And you still issued a policy. Are you people mad?"
"I thought..." Bunnie started to say.
"You thought! But you didn't do anything, did you?"
Her face drained and white, Bunnie Vorobioff shook her head.
Mel reminded the D.T.M., "Bert, we're wasting time."