“So try Pennsylvania.”
“I’ve already asked. They will tomorrow. Now what about Lavois?”
“Tonight I’ll type out a report for your eyes only. Process as you think fit.”
“Don’t take too big a bite.”
“It seems like I always do.”
“Keep in touch.”
I put the phone back, stepped out of the booth and carried my bag outside and walked two blocks before I picked up a cab and had him drop me a few blocks away from Fifty-sixth. When I was sure I didn’t have a tail I cut east until I saw the sign that said Shigley’s, found the doorbell and pushed it.
I had seen these strange people Martin Grady had in his employ before — funny little people who were well paid, asked for nothing, and did what they were told. I said, “Hallmark,” and the little old man in the worn sweater barely gave me a second glance over his glasses before taking a single key from his pocket and pointing upstairs.
Grady took good care of his operatives. The three-room apartment had every convenience anybody could ask for, completely antithetical to the outside of the house or the neighborhood. The kitchen windows led to an exterior fire escape and a steel ladder going to the roof had been recently installed outside the bathroom, not visible unless you looked up to spot it. Two escape ways and a normal entrance. The back of the door was steel plated and fitted with a massive slide bolt designed to give the occupant time to clear out before it could be battered down.
I threw my bag down beside the bed, undressed, and got into bed. For an hour I lay there thinking of the times Don Lavois and I had had together since the first drop into occupied France in ’43 and all I could picture was him lying there on the floor with a damn .22 bullet through his skull.
Okay, buddy. The old ones are fading away, but we’ll even the sides up little by little. Virgil Adams didn’t have to tell me what I already knew... that Niger Hoppes was the man without a face whose prints were on file, but of whom no photo existed. He could come and go as he pleased and no one would recognize his face. Except people on his own side.
I met Dave Elroy at Newark Airport, told Mason Armstrong to stand by and took Dave into the lounge where I briefed him on events up to date. He was a tall, lean kind of guy, his face weatherbeaten out of season, a little older looking than the thirty-two years his staff card indicated. He wasn’t the talkative type, preferring to listen and to look, but every question was pointed and direct.
He knew most of those involved in the international narcotics cartel who lived out of reach of the law, but he enjoyed working on a local level where his attitude and personality could make his work profitable to the Grady organization. I didn’t have to ask for his record — he was fast with a gun and would go in anywhere low and quick, able to make snap decisions and make them right. In a way I envied him the plus ten years he had on me — he had that much longer to go before something gave out that made you want a quiet life with a place in the country.
Dave wrote nothing down, committing it all to memory, then said, “That big a buy of H Salvi made would leave some taking behind it. No pusher handles that much stuff so it probably was made direct with the importers.”
“Know who to contact?”
“For the kind of money I’m authorized to pay for information, I know a lot of them.”
“Okay then, take it from there. We’ll stay in touch through Newark Control. Adams will assign you quarters and you can handle it on your own.”
“How’re you going to play it?”
“From Hamilton’s end. He’s still the key.” I gave him a copy of the Agrounsky photos and let him study them. “Show them around and see what you come up with. If Salvi was after him and Salvi was involved in a narcotics transaction there might be a three-way connection. We can’t afford to pass up any possibilities. If you do get anything, contact me before moving in.”
“Suppose there isn’t time?”
“You know the answers then. Just make sure you leave a record behind in case you feel like keeping company with Don.”
“Hell, you’re a happy one,” he said sourly, hiding a grin.
“It’s happened before,” I told him.
“All right, Tiger. Good to see you again. Sorry Don caught one, but we all know the risks involved. Nice to be working with you.”
“Same here.”
We shook hands briefly and split up at the cashier’s counter. I started out to the cab stand, stopped just inside the door, then turned back to the telephone booths and called Charlie Corbinet. The police had already been notified about the body in my room, but I.A.T.S. had kept a lid on the news and Hal Randolph was raising hell about my involvement, threatening everything he could think of if I didn’t show.
I said, “Relax, Charlie, I’ll come in when I have something going for me. Look, I forgot to ask you something... Doug Hamilton filed reports on everyone he investigated including the unsatisfactory ones. Washington has copies of his information. You know what bureau handles that sort of thing?”
“I can find out.”
“Then get me the names of those not considered fit for jobs requiring security. I’d say hit the reports dated from the last two months. How long will it take?”
“If I call now and it’s available it will be in the mail tomorrow and here the day after.”
“Good. Suppose we meet at the Blue Ribbon for lunch then... twelve o’clock.”
“In the open? I have a feeling Hal Randolph is going to be watching me a little closely now.”
“So I’ll give you something to ease the pain. You know the shot that killed Don?”
“ .22 Magnum. Nobody heard it so the gun probably had a silencer.”
“Throw a net out for Niger Hoppes. That’s his trademark and he’s in this country now.”
“Hoppes!”
“You remember him, don’t you?”
“Certainly. He’s been suspected of being the gun in quite a few high-level political kills in Europe.”
“Check through ballistics. Interpol can get you a telephoto of the slugs they have there and if they match you know who to go after.”
“Nobody’s ever seen him.”
“Don Lavois did,” I said. “Somebody else will. I hope it’s me.”
“Okay, Tiger, if this matches out maybe some of the heat will come off you. Just do me one favor.”
“What?”
“Pass on any information. Don’t go into this alone.”
“That’s too big a favor to ask, Colonel. Don’t forget, I have an official position now.”
“And I outrank you.”
“So I’ll resign,” I laughed and hung up.
It had started to rain again, a dreary, slow rain that seemed to ooze out of the cloud cover overhead. There was a chill in the air too, but I couldn’t tell if it was the temperature or what I was thinking.
And what was I thinking?
An annoying little faraway thought that was always there because I was playing in a dangerous game where the stakes were beyond comprehension and the rules limitless. If there were any rules at all.
By now the committee in Moscow would know how Vito Salvi died. They had their own ways of finding out things just as we did and the orders would be out. No matter where I went I would be a target whether on assignment or not. They wouldn’t know just how I got involved... they wouldn’t know what Vito Salvi had told me in a vain attempt to stay alive. They’d figure I was in at the beginning the same as they were and an obstacle to be eliminated in the search for Agrounsky.
Unlike Niger Hoppes, my photos were on file. I wasn’t exactly unknown in the operational areas and until now could be reached without too much trouble. The only thing that slowed the process of elimination was that the Soviets had too much to lose by knocking me off as a direct project because they could expect the entire Martin Grady machine to grind into action and take their men out of play ten for one.