The Green Eagle Score Read Online Free PDF

attendant pumped gas, Fusco went into the office and got a map. He brought it out and handed it to Parker, already folded to the area around Monequois.
    They were in an out-of-the-way northern corner of New York State, close to the Canadian border, about fifteen miles west of Malone, north of Route 11. The nearest city of any size was called Massena, farther west, large enough to have a commercial airport. The border was about twelve miles to the north. Dannemora, the New York State penitentiary, was about forty miles to the east.
    Fusco paid for the gas while Parker looked at the map. They drove out of the station and Parker said, “Let’s go north, toward the border.”
    Fusco looked at him in surprise. “We won’t want to go crossing any borders, Parker.”
    “I know that. But they’ll figure us to try, so let’s see what the road looks like.”
    Fusco shrugged and went back to driving.
    Monequois was a small town, overbalanced by the Air Force base just outside the town limits. There were more people on the base than in the town, so the influence showed up everywhere, in the names of bars and diners and motels, in the heavy preponderance of blue uniforms on the downtown streets, in the number of bars and movie houses. If the majority of people at the base had been permanent rather than transient, the effect on the town would have been even greater, but as it was the place was unmistakably a camp town.
    They had to go through town and out past the air base to Route 95. It was scrub country out here, hilly but not mountainous, heavily forested. Very little of the base could be seen from the road, only a few drab slant-roofed buildings glimpsed through the trees and then the sudden complex busy structure of the main gate, like a stage set in the sunlight, with a dark blue billboard on one side giving, in gold letters, the names of the military organizations here, all done in incomprehensible abbreviations.
    Fusco turned north on 95, went up to Bombay and took the unnumbered road up to Fort Covington. This was a smaller and less traveled road than to continue on to Massena or to take the bridge across the St Lawrence from Rooseveltown to Cornwall on the Canadian side.
    They went through Fort Covington, but stopped on the other side before reaching the border. Parker said, “All right, let’s go back.”
    It didn’t look good. No place had shown itself readily as a hideout. The forest was thick between the little towns, but it wasn’t empty. Most of the woods were posted against hunters, and the rest would be full of them. It didn’t look likely for them to come up here after the job and cool out somewhere short of the border.
    Of course, he couldn’t be sure yet, and anyway this was doing it backwards. If Devers couldn’t cover his embezzlements there wouldn’t be a job anyway. And even if he could, there was still the base to be looked at. The whole thing might be impossible because of some element long before the getaway or hideout.
    On the way back, Fusco said, “What if he can’t do it?”
    “Like you said before,” Parker told him. “If Devers isn’t solid, the job’s off.”
    Fusco frowned. Parker could feel him pushing for Devers to come up with something.

6
    Ellen opened the door again, gave them a sour look. “You two.” She stepped out of the way.
    Parker and Fusco went inside. As Ellen was shutting the door, Parker said to her, “What’s the problem?”
    Not looking at him, turning away, being busy about something else, she said, “Problem? No problem at all.” She walked away across the living room.
    Devers, sitting at the kitchen table with the remains of a pancake breakfast in front of him, waved his fork and called, “Be right with you.”
    Parker ignored him, saying after Ellen, “Is it just Devers? What’s on your mind?”
    She kept moving away, and Fusco, in the manner of somebody embarrassed and trying to avoid a scene, said quickly, “Parker, let it go.”
    “No.” Parker