"I'm Kotzwinkle."
This one didn't even try to hide his surprise. "You?" Duh, Jane Kotzwinkle thought. Like this wasn't the 1990s.
She got down to business using her best ramrod voice, the one she used on her boys when they wouldn't turn in at bedtime.
"We're digging in back of this building," she said, walking away. "Come on. I'll show you!'
"My name's Larry," he said, clutching his rolled-up blueprints. "Larry Lugerman."
Like I care, you waxy-eared dip, Jane thought. She took him around to the side and pointed to the spot. They were in the shadow of one of the few new buildings in upper Manhattan. Her crew stood around drinking Dunkin' Donuts coffee, looking bored in the early-morning light.
"Is this a line break?" Larry asked, his voice a little nervous.
"Client wants a gas line put in. That's what we're going to do. Hook him up."
They came to the spot. Jane Kotzwinkle indicated it with a disdainful toss of her head. "We've got a gas pipe that runs north-south, right here," she said. "We're going to tap it and run a line into the basement. According to DigSafe, we're okay."
Larry looked at the spot and unrolled his blueprints, holding them so Jane couldn't read them over his shoulder. Like the location of NYNEX trunk lines was a fucking national-security secret, she thought. "Let's see..." he muttered. He looked from the blueprints to the spot in the concrete that Jane was impatiently tapping with her work boot and back to the blueprints.
"You're in the clear if you don't disturb anything beyond twenty yards in either direction," he said finally.
"Good. Thanks," she said dismissively. DigSafe had told her the exact same thing.
Larry Lugerman looked stricken. "I'm supposed to stay."
"Fine. Can you manage a jackhammer?"
"No."
"Then what's the use of you staying?"
"In case there's a problem with the phone lines."
"You just said if we stay within a forty-foot box, we're okay."
Larry swallowed. "Sometimes the blueprints aren't updated as well as they should be."
"Then what's the point of all this hoop jumping?"
He took a step backward. "I'm just doing my job."
"Fine. Just stay out of the way while men are working.
Jane walked away from his melting face. She knew he had been thinking of asking her if she was free for lunch. He had that gooey look in his eye.
Like she'd date a guy who wore a coat and tie to work.
An hour later the stuttering of the jackhammer had died down, and they were into the shovels and pickaxes portion of the excavation.
"Got something here," Melvin Cowznofski called out.
Jane beat the NYNEX suit to the hole. Partially buried in the dirt was a braided steel cable, half-severed. Twisted strands of copper wire lay exposed to the early-morning light. The strands were protected by bright red rubber tubing.
"Looks like a phone line," Jane muttered.
"Let me see," Larry said anxiously, pushing through the ring of gas company workers.
"That look like a phone line to you?" Jane demanded.
"Yeah. But an old one. It's a copper analogue line. All the cable on the island is fiber-optic."
"Is it a problem?"
"I gotta call this in. Don't do a thing till I get back." Three minutes later Larry Lugerman came back, relief on his youthful face. "It's okay. They have no record of it."
Jane Kotzwinkle looked at him pointedly. "So?"
"That means you can cut through it, work around it, do anything you want."
"Just because they don't have a record of it?"
Larry shrugged. "If there's no record, it doesn't exist, as far as we're concerned."
"But it's a phone line. You said so yourself. How can it not exist?"
"It's probably an old test line upgraded or abandoned years ago that some lazy SOB forgot to remove."
"You're the authority," Jane said aridly, picking up a pickax and chopping away. The line parted. Nothing happened. There was no spark of complaint, not that anyone expected a spark.
As a piece of the copper wire came flying out of the hole, Larry picked it up and said, "Boy, this is really old. They haven't used two-wire lines like this for carrying voice since I don't know when." He noticed the red rubber sheathing, looked into the hole and saw that every line in the cable was protected by the exact same red rubber coating.
"This makes no sense," he muttered. "They always color code the individual lines. Otherwise, how would the linemen know which lines were which?"
Nobody paid him any mind. They were busy excavating the gas pipeline. After a while Larry dropped the utterly fascinating copper telephone wire and stared at Jane Kotzwinkle's ass as she bent to her work.
He was wondering if she was up for lunch.
Chapter 12
After Harold W Smith got IRS agent Bryce Ballard squared away and out of his office, ledgers in hand, he returned to his desk to punch the concealed stud of the CURE computer system.
His finger stopped short of the button when a muffled ringing came from the right-hand desk drawer. It was the red presidential phone.
Smith dug it out of the drawer and brought the receiver to his ear. "Yes, Mr. President?"
The Chief Executive's tone was hoarse and urgent. "Smith, I need an update for the hounds of hell."
"The White House press corps. Someone leaked the Harlequin story. I've gotta to issue a statement to settle things down."
"Mr. President, I regret to say I've not been able to get to the matter."
"What?"
"Sir, an IRS revenue agent unexpectedly walked in."
"For God's sake, why?"
Smith cleared his throat unhappily. "Er, it appears I have been targeted for audit."
"What the hell do you do up there that the IRS would want to target you? Scratch that. I don't want to know. If I don't know where you operate out of or your cover, I have limited deniability."
"Very wise, Mr. President."
The President pitched his voice low and conspiratorial. "Want me to pull a few strings? Squash the audit? I can do that-I think."
"I am tempted, Mr. President, but for the White House to order the audit squashed would be so highly unusual as to call undue attention to my cover operation."
"Yeah. Good point. Now, let's get back to this submarine thing."
Smith hesitated. "Mr. President, there has been another difficult development."
"Yeah ... "
"It appears that the CURE operating fund has been possibly, ah, embezzled."
"Embezzled! I thought you and only you controlled that fund."
"I do. It appears to be a bank embezzlement."
"Well, can't it wait until this Harlequin incident is dealt with?"
"Without operating funds, I cannot replace the missing gold the Master of Sinanju is demanding in order to start the next contract."
"You telling me you don't have any agents?" the President asked sharply.
"I'm afraid so."
"And you're caught between contracts?"
"Yes."
"Smith, what kind of operation are you running there?"
"One that has suffered a regrettable cluster of setbacks," Harold Smith admitted, trying to keep the embarrassment out of his voice.
"Well, they couldn't have come at a worse time."
"I know."
"You know I have serious reservations about this operation," the President continued. "If it wasn't for the fact that the past President I most admire set you up, I would have shut you down my first week in office."
"I have had that sense," Smith admitted.
"Goddamn it. The country is spending a billion dollars a day servicing the national debt, and you've let twelve million slip through your fingers. Not to mention another five million in gold bullion lost with that sub."