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This is a work of fi ction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in

this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fi ctitiously.

THOMAS DUNNE BOOKS.An imprint of St. Martin’s Press.

ONCE A CROOKED MAN. Copyright © 2016 by DavidMcCallum. All rights reserved. Printed in the United States

of America. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.

www . thomasdunnebooks . comwww . stmartins . com

Library of Congress Cataloging- in- Publication Data (TK)

ISBN 978-1-250-08045-5 (hardcover)ISBN 978-1-4668-9248-4 (e-book)

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First Edition: January 2016

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There was a crooked man and he walked a crooked mile,He found a crooked sixpence upon a crooked stile.

He bought a crooked cat, which caught a crooked mouse.And they all lived together in a little crooked house.

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DAVID  McCALLUM  

  1  

Harry left extra time for the taxi ride to Kennedy Airport in an effort to

avoid the rush-hour exodus from the city. As always, the Van Wyck was a

parking lot. But check-in and security went relatively smoothly and he was

able to get himself a bite to eat before it was time to board. At the gate he

was delighted to find that due to overbooking he had been upgraded. This

was clearly a sign that he had made the right decision to go and warn

Colonel Villiers.

The seat in Business Class had a series of levers that would angle the

head, body and feet to any desired position. A touchscreen television and

Bose headphones were provided for the inflight entertainment. As Harry

sipped from the little plastic glass of champagne, he amused himself by

reading the safety pamphlet telling what he should do if this massive plane

came down unexpectedly in the Atlantic.

“Good evening,” said a voice, soft and low.

Harry looked up.

Settling into the seat next to him was a woman with deep violet eyes.

Elizabeth Taylor eyes. She wore a smart suit and a Hermès scarf. The

current issue of Vanity Fair poked out from her carry-on.

“Good evening,” he said, marveling at his good fortune.

Harry took a moment to check out the other passengers in the cabin.

Could one of them be on his way to eliminate the Colonel? And need a

hired killer necessarily be a male? There had been several movies in the

last few years with diabolical women assassins. Would she, or he, be

traveling in Business? The more successful could certainly afford the

comforts of First, but Economy would be the most anonymous. Then Harry

reminded himself that what he was doing was not fiction but reality. He

should stick to facts.

Before takeoff, seat belts were fastened, the empty glasses were

collected and everyone was made aware of the necessary safety

ONCE  A  CROOKED  MAN  

  2  

instructions. The cabin gave a slight shudder, and right on schedule the big

jet was pushed back from the gate and slowly trundled over the bumpy

concrete like an elephant. But as the wheels left the runway the great jet

flew into the air like an eagle.

About twenty minutes later the Captain’s voice over the intercom

announced they had reached their cruising altitude. Harry’s companion

pushed the scarf from her head and said, “Excuse me.”

“Of course,” he replied.

“Do you know what time we land at Heathrow?” She had an odd

accent that Harry couldn’t place.

“About nine thirty,” he answered.

She smiled her thanks revealing teeth that were toothpaste-

commercial material. She stretched out her hand. “Marisa Vargas.”

Her hand was strong and cool.

“Harry Murphy.”

The flight attendant appeared with tablecloths and they both pulled

out their trays.

“Are you traveling on business?” Marisa asked, dropping the

magazine at her feet.

Harry took an instant to ponder the question. The last thing he

wanted to talk about was show business. He was sipping champagne next

to a drop-dead gorgeous woman en route to Europe. It was unlikely they

would ever meet again. Here was an opportunity for a little fabrication.

What could he be? Then he remembered, like the Blues Brothers, he was

on a “mission from God.”

“I’m in law enforcement,” he said confidentially.

“Really?” The dusky way she replied gave him goose bumps.

“INTERPOL?”

“Well, not exactly,” he said, and added, “I’m with an agency that

DAVID  McCALLUM  

  3  

deals with a select number of cases that are out of the normal areas of

police investigative work.”

“Really?” She was impressed. “Drugs?”

“Computer crime mostly.”

Harry was on a roll. “The criminal mind has become smart and

sophisticated. It’s tough to catch them these days.”

“Is what you do dangerous?” she asked.

He gave a slight shrug and smoothed out his tablecloth. “It’s a

living.”

As he had waited to board the flight Harry had passed the time

reading an article in The Week describing the deplorable foreign-policy

decisions of the current administration. All through dinner he talked

fluidly about his work as an undercover

operative, using plots and dialogue from scripts he’d done in the past. Two

more glasses of champagne and two of Sangiovese oiled his willing tongue.

Marisa was a good listener.

The creative fiction only ended when the overhead lights were

darkened for the movie. The efforts of the last two days and the flickering

images on the screen combined to lull Harry into a deep sleep…