Sergeant Ignatius Loyola McKenna--customarily known and addressed as
Mick--piled out almost before it had stopped. The driver, a stocky,
blue-eyed Finn with a corporal's chevrons, followed him, and two privates
got out from behind, dragging after them a box about the size and shape
of an Army footlocker. McKenna was halfway up the drive before he
recognized Rand. Then he stopped short.
"Well, Jaysus-me-beads!" He turned suddenly to the corporal. "My God,
Aarvo; you said his name was Grant!"
"That's what I thought he said." Rand recognized the singsong accent he
had heard on the phone. "You know him?"
"Know him?" McKenna stepped aside quickly, to avoid being overrun by the
two privates with the equipment-box. He sighed resignedly. "Aarvo, this
is the notorious Jefferson Davis Rand. Tri-State Agency, in New Belfast."
He gestured toward the Finn. "Corporal Aarvo Kavaalen," he introduced.
"And Privates Skinner and Jameson.... Well, where is it?"
"Right inside." Rand stepped backward, gesturing them in. "Careful; it's
just inside the doorway."
McKenna and the corporal entered; the two privates set down their box
outside and followed. They all drew up in a semicircle around the late
Arnold Rivers and looked at him critically.
Pages:
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139