She caught a glimpse of one of Boston's more annoying newspaper photographers; he was always hounding her. Must have seen Vanguard (of course, a blind schnauzer could have seen Vanguard). She saw him move into range for a good shot, bring up his camera—
    And a passerby walked in front of his camera just as the flash went off; an argument began.
    She smiled. They were such good people.
    "Situation secure," the soft radio voice reported.
    "Have you encountered this person before?" she asked the Rose, putting the photographer out of her mind.
    "Well, whoever it is they're the same person who stole the yacht. The clue they left in Philadelphia was on a playbill identical to the one being used for the production of Oedipus Rex that's opening tonight."
    "Should be easy enough to track that down."
    "Do you know anything strange about the star of that play?" Vanguard asked.
    "Mr. Fitzgerald?"
    "I heard a few strange things about him—he used to have a bodyguard?"
    "That's not that strange."
    "Would you like me to call up information on it?" Nigel asked from back at the base.
    "Yes, do that," she replied.
    "A mid-level stage actor?" Vanguard seemed skeptical. Noticing that their hostess' attention appeared to be elsewhere, Vanguard fiddled with the frequencies on his own radio gear.
    The information was quick in coming. "Roger Fitzgerald is the son of Robert Fitzgerald, a professor emeritus of Greek literature at Harvard. His father is also a millionaire. There was a split in the family about ten years ago; it wasn't a public divorce but more of a well-known separation. Rather than having any sort of scandal, the wife—Alexandra—left with son Roger. The battle was over whether Roger was going to go into academia or the stage. He did have a problem several years ago, apparently involving some sort of gambling debts, though he's constantly claimed that it was because someone was attempting to kidnap him."
    "Fascinating."
    "Well that was interesting. It probably was the gambling debts," Vanguard said.
    Argus was glad that her helmet hid most of her expression, as it was slightly curdled at the moment.
    "In which our heroes arm themselves for the siege ahead," the Rose said thoughtfully.
    "So they're going after some sort of weapons, it sounds."
    "Or potentially a strong point."
    "That plus the 'great protections relied on in defense of my home...'" She trailed off.
    "Well the obvious answer to the second one is Troy."
    "Hm," Vanguard remarked. "Somebody named Troy, Troy, New York?"
    Something went click in Argus' head. "Trojan Security." They ran guns for the Irish mob among other things—a tempting if dangerous target for a couple of out-of-towners.
    "What about it?" Vanguard asked.
    "11 First Street. Perhaps we should pay them a visit, then."
    "Certainly would be nice to go take a look at the building," the Rose agreed.
    "Very well, then. Shall we?" Glancing at Captain Vanguard she added, "Is it at all possible for you to look a little less conspicuous?"
    "Depends on the situation. But at the moment, no."
    "Oh." She gave a little sigh.
    "That's not the way we do things in LA."
    "My relationship with the authorities here is... a slightly uneasy one."
    "Yes, I had a little conversation with the police last night myself. They didn't really like me breaking in over their radio frequency."
    "I can imagine how they feel."
    "I'm sure I can have a discussion with them if need be," he promised offhandedly. "All you have to do is inspire the best in people." While neither's expression was visible, their skepticism was palpable. "Of course, it helps if you have lots of sunny days and orange juice. Not really an option around here."
    As if to punctuate, it began to rain.
    "Not something Boston is known for," Argus agreed.
    At a radio signal, Vanguard's autogyro left its hiding place and homed in on his location. The White Rose went with him as a passenger; Argus dove down into the tunnels (less traffic).
    "After you, my good man," Vanguard said, dropping a rope over the side and scanning the area with his radar as the Rose slid down to the roof of the two-story structure. There was a car behind the building, and others in the front. The White Rose looked over the roof edge; there were lights on below.
     A gunshot echoed, and a crash. Captain Vanguard drew his radio gun and went to check the cars in the front of the building while the White Rose checked the back. In the front seat of one sat a rather attractive young woman. Upon seeing him, she opened the car door and got out.
     "Oh, thank God!"
     "Ma'am, can I help you?"
     "You're Captain Vanguard, aren't you?"
     "Yes, I am."
     "I saw you in Los Angeles once, before I moved out here. My car went dead," she explained. "And I've been stuck out here, and it's not a good neighborhood," she glanced around nervously, "and I've been hoping a police cruiser would come by, or somebody, could you give me a hand?"
     "Well, I suppose I could take a look." He opened the car's hood and radioed Argus. "Argus, do you see anything?"
     "I'm in the alley behind the building."
     "There's a young lady here who needs some help with her car." He kept his eyes open, but the girl was still in plain sight, fluttering helplessly and radiating innocence.
    

| Top |