Wading Into War: A Benjamin Wade Mystery Read Online Free PDF Page A

wanted to be.
    Then a new thought occurred me. There was one place Rosenblatt could have
hidden his notes. I turned to Donnelly. “Do you trust me?”
    He scowled, more at the headlights behind us than my pointed question.
“Mr. Wade, I barely know you. Why would I?”
    “Because I think I know where Rosenblatt might have hidden the
documents.”

Chapter
Nine
     
    Donnelly snapped his head toward me. “Where?”
    I jerked my thumb out the rear window. “With those clowns chasing us,
we’ll never have a chance to find out if I’m right.” I gave him a mischievous
grin. “But if I can get out without being seen, you can lead them on a wild
goose chase while I follow up my hunch.”
    Donnelly considered it for a moment. “Where’s the car?”
    Gregson replied, “He’s moved a few car lengths closer.”
    Donnelly tapped the shoulder of the other soldier. “Give me the radio.”
    He complied. Donnelly gave the chase car instructions to move up and
temporarily block the Nazis’ car from us. He checked his watch and timed it.
    He pointed. “You’d better be right. Where do you want to meet?”
    I thought it over. “Where are your offices?”
    He gave me the address and phone number. I committed them to memory.
    Behind us came the sounds of screeching tires. A pick up truck had tried
to turn and had clogged the street.
    I frowned. “When did the Army start issuing pick up trucks?”
    Donnelly grinned. “We don’t always use just what the government gives us.
Turn here,” he said to the driver.
    Gregson took a right turn onto Elgin and slowed. I opened the door and
dove onto the street, taking cover behind a few parked cars. Donnelly closed
the door behind me and the car sped off.
    Less than a minute later, another car turned right. Keeping my head low, I
caught the silhouettes of two men in a black car speeding to catch up with
Donnelly’s car.
    Holy cow , I thought, it worked .
    I doubled back onto Main and hailed a taxi. It took me back to the Rice
Hotel. My car was still where I had parked it. I climbed in and threaded my way
through Houston traffic back to the house on Oak Street. I took a roundabout
route, turning and doubling back, trying to see if I had a tail and, if so,
trying to lose it. Finally, sure I wasn’t followed, I entered the neighborhood.
I drove down Oak Street, giving the house the once over. A few other cars were
parked on the street. I couldn’t tell if any of them held Donnelly’s men or the
police. I assumed Burman didn’t know about Donnelly.
    I parked on the next street and crept up the driveway of the house
directly behind the one where Rosenblatt died. No dogs barked as I passed the
living room window of the rear neighbor. It was around 8:30. I heard the
distinctive opening monologue of the Superman radio show muffled through
the walls. Since nearly getting shot today, I couldn’t help envying Superman’s
invulnerability to bullets.
    Opening the gate of the chain link fence between the two houses, I
quickly found myself at the back door. I loosened the police tape, letting it
hang on the wall. I would replace it when I left. Taking out my small pocket
tools, I easily picked the lock and entered the quiet room.
    I took out my lighter and snapped on the flame. The small light was all I
needed. I could easily keep it from being seen from the front of the house on
the off chance there was surveillance. It wasn’t like I was going to make a
long canvas of the house. I knew exactly what I needed and exactly where it
was.
    The pile of debris was right where gravity had left it. I crouched down
and held the lighter close to the floor, sifting through the stamps and other
paraphernalia of this little home post office. I found what my eyes had seen
earlier today but my brain hadn’t registered at the time: receipts for a post
office box.
    My assumption was that if Rosenblatt knew he was being followed by the
Nazis, he needed to get the documents into an easily accessible location.