“Damn it! He hung up,” Hardcastle said. To Vincenti he said, “Someone calling telling us Cazaux’s whereabouts.” “Another one? This makes… what, the one-thousandth…?”
“This sounded more genuine to me.”
“Just let the FBI have it, Ian, and let’s get back to—” Hardcastle ignored him. “Deborah…?”
“Got the phone number from caller ID,” Harley said. All phone calls going to any federal government office are automatically traced, using caller ID, which instantly reports the caller’s phone number, and by instantaneous computer phone-record checks. “Manhattan exchange. I can run the address through the FBI… but let me take this one, okay?” Harley smiled. “It might tie into some stuff I’ve heard. The Marshals Service interviewed a Wall Street investor at an aircraft reclamation firm in Mojave who was acting as a third-party broker buying several large aircraft for an aerial firefighting firm in Montana. He mentioned a part of their investigation on this sent them to a secretarial service in north-central New Jersey. Their investigation dead-ended there—”
“But maybe it’s just come alive again,” Hardcastle said. “Wonder why we never heard anything about this investigation?”
“Because the Marshals said they turned everything over to the FBI,” Harley said. “Briefed Director Wilkes personally.” Hardcastle nodded. “Ian, if we dump this on Wilkes, it’ll get pushed into the wacko pile. Let me have it. I’ll give it to the Marshals Service. They deserve a try at Cazaux for what happened to them in California.”
Hardcastle looked decidedly uncomfortable. He said, “I’m not sure, Deborah. I’m not averse to letting the Marshals redeem their reputation after the Chico raid, but I’m not winning any points butting heads with Lani Wilkes and the President.”
“You handed the wacko call to me and told me to notify the authorities,” Harley suggested. “You meant the FBI; I took it to the Marshals Service. I can handle the heat from the Justice Department, believe me.”
“I believe you,” Hardcastle said. “Okay, you got it. Notify the proper authorities about this call immediately, Miss Harley.”
uYes, sir,” she responded with a smile.
“As long as I’m sticking my neck out, Deborah, I might as well stick it out all the way,” Hardcastle said. He made two phone calls from his desk, quickly typed out a letter on Office of the National Security Advisor letterhead, and handed it to Harley. She read it quickly, her smile becoming brighter and wider by the moment. “You’ve received blanket authorization from me to requisition some hardware the ‘authorities’ will need for their operation. Take the Executive shuttle to the Pentagon heliport — an NSC helicopter will take you. The crews at Patuxent River Naval Weapons Center are waiting.”
“Yes, sir, ” Harley said. “I’m on my way. Thanks, Ian.”
New York City
That Same Time
“Who the hell are you calling this time of night?”
Ted Fell nearly fell over backwards in his seat in surprise. Harold Lake never prowled the hallways and never stopped in Fell’s tiny office — until tonight. Fell could feel his heart hammering away in his chest, and he had to fight to control his tone of voice: “Jesus, Harold, what are you skulking around for?”
“I needed the option contract summary on the Isakawa house holdings — the Japanese markets open in thirty minutes. Who were you on the phone with?”,
“Kim,” Fell said. Lake briefly recalled that Fell had a somewhat steady girlfriend whom he brought on occasion to a cocktail party — that must be her. “Told her I wouldn’t be home tonight.”
“Thought you called her after we got back from Jersey.” Fell shrugged. “Doesn’t hurt to make her feel included, I guess.” It was ambiguous enough, and Fell hoped that would disinterest Lake enough to drop this line of questioning. Harold Lake never showed an ounce of interest in anyone else’s personal life — it was strange he was asking questions about it now. “I put the summary in your E-mail folder. We’re looking good, as long as Isakawa doesn’t think we’re on the ropes because we’re selling our portfolio. If he does, we’ll be down around the fifteen-percent range again.” Fell remembered when making 15 percent a day was considered incredibly good. Now it was one-half to one-third of what they were making, and would be considered a very bad day.
“We’re liquidating, but it doesn’t mean we gotta take any bullshit from the Japanese or from that asshole Quek Poh Liao in Singapore,” Lake said. He studied Fell for a moment, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. “That crazy fucker Ysidro really rattled you, didn’t he?”
“I don’t see how you could just sit there and watch him play with that… that human heart,” Fell said, his eyes growing distant. “It was horrible, disgusting.”
“You gotta detach yourself from their world, Ted,” Lake said, but even as he said that, his mind’s eye was obviously replaying that gruesome sight. “Forget about it.”
That was the understatement of the year, Fell thought, remembering his bizarre encounter with the woman in Cazaux’s place. She obviously got her kicks out of setting men up to die. “How did you ever get involved with those animals, Harold?”
Lake shrugged, then leaned against the door as if the very thought had taken all his strength away. “The money, at first,” he replied. “Cazaux had a guy on his payroll whose job it was to launder money, except he was a jerk. He was openly skimming at least ten percent from Cazaux’s funds, I mean, he didn’t even try to account for the loss. Cazaux eventually caught him — you saw a heart, Ted, but my first meeting with Henri Cazaux, he was carrying this banker’s severed fucking head in a bag. I got the old ‘ploma o plata' offer then — lead or silver, a bullet in the head or wealth beyond reason, if I joined him. It’s a hard offer to refuse.
“Hey, I know who I work for. A bigger assassin than the Jackal, bigger terrorist than Abu Nidal, a bigger arms dealer than Adnan Khashoggi. It’s like being the chief designer for Lee Iacocca or Ralph Lauren. You’re working for the best—”
“Harold, think about what you’re saying,” Fell interrupted. “You’re working for a killer, a murderer, a terrorist. He kills without thinking, without caring. He kills for money.”
“So what? We all do something for money, one way or another. If I think about it, I’ll go fucking nuts.” Fell noticed that Lake had all but lost his sophisticated accent and speech pattern, and had digressed almost all the way back to his New Jersey accent. It was a fitting signal of how he had slid into the depths of the criminal world. “Check on the plane and the security setup again, Ted.”
“It’s too early, Harold.”
“I want them ready in twenty-four hours,” Lake said. “They’re ready when I say they’re ready. And no more calling your bimbos. We’ll be out of the damned country and out of her and everyone else’s life in just a few days. Ted… get used to the idea.” He stepped away from Fell’s door and back down the hallway, but glanced back at his attorney. Fell was staring blankly at the telephone again, as if trying to check on something — or someone — far away.
Lake couldn’t stand it any longer. He charged back into Fell’s office, reached Fell’s desk before the attorney’s eyes even registered that he was back in the room, and hit the REDIAL button on Fell’s phone. On the small LCD screen at the top of the phone, a number with a 202 area code popped up. “All right, Ted, what in hell’s going on? That’s Washington, D.C. Your girlfriend lives here in Manhattan. We don’t have any brokers in D.C. Whose fucking number is that?”