«Little Joseph, it’s the general.»
«Hey, fazool, what took you so long? The big man wants to talk to you, but he don’t want to call that swamp place ’cause he don’t know what could be on the Ameches!»
«That dovetails with my strategy, Little Joseph. I want to talk with him.» The Hawk looked down at the number of the pay phone. «Can you reach him?»
«Yeah. Every half hour he walks by a phone on Collins Avenue in Miami Beach. That’s in about ten minutes from now.»
«Should I call him direct?»
«No win, place, or show, fazool. He calls you, not the revoice, that’s the word.»
«All right, tell him to call this number in New York, but give me twenty minutes, I’ll be here.» Mac gave the number of the Waldorf’s pay phone and hung up. He then reached into his coat pocket and withdrew a small notebook; he fingered through the pages until he found the one he wanted. Again, he went through the credit card procedure. «Hello there, Angus, how’s the bull of the North Korean Pampas who just happened to blow up our buried beach radio stations in Wonsan?»
«Who the hell are you?» replied the harsh voice of a three-martinied former naval admiral.
«One guess, Frank. You want to go over the sixteen-incher coordinates?»
«Hawk? Is that you?»
«Who else, sailor?»
«You know damned well I had faulty intelligence—»
«Or you misread the figures—eyes-only figures, for you only, Frank.»
«Cut it out, Hawk! How the hell could I know you were there? Give or take a few miles or so, who knew, who cared?»
«My ass cared, Frank, along with my team. We were way behind the lines.»
«It’s over! I’m retired!»
«But you’re a consultant, Frank, a big respected expert to the State Department on Far East military affairs. All those parties, the perks, the private planes and vacations, courtesy of the contractors.»
«I’m damned well worth it!»
«Except that you can’t tell one beach from the other—give or take a few miles or so. That’s an expert?»
«Hawk, give me a break! Bringing up old stuff won’t do either of us any good. Jesus, I saw on television that you were getting a big Swedish award, so what do you want from me? I pick up a few goodies and look after my garden—arthritis and all. So what?»
«So you talk to State.»
«That I do, and I give them my best input.»
«Here’s additional input you’re going to give them, Frank, or the Soldier of the Century is going to blow the whistle on one of the biggest military blunders in Korea.» The Hawk then detailed his addendum.
The call to Beverly Hills started off poorly. «Mrs. Greenberg, please?»
«There’s no Mrs. Greenberg at this residence,» said the cold male British voice from California.
«I must have dialed the wrong number—»
«No, you simply used the wrong name, sir. Mr. Greenberg left over a year ago. Did you, by chance, care to speak with Lady Cavendish?»
«That’s Ginny?»
«That’s Lady Cavendish. May I ask who’s calling?»
«Hawk’s good enough.»
«‘Hawk’? As in the revolting predatory bird, sir?»
«Very revolting and very predatory. Now tell Lady Caviar or whatever the hell her name is that I’m on the line!»
«I’ll tell her, but I guarantee nothing.»
The abrupt silence of a telephone on hold was broken by the loud, excited voice of Mac’s first wife. «Sweetie, how are you?»
«I was better before I talked to that clown who should have his adenoids taken out. Who the hell is he?»
«Oh, he came with Chauncey; he’s been the family butler for years.»
«Chauncey?… Cavendish?»
«Lord Cavendish, sweetie. Oodles of money and everyone wants to meet him. He’s on everybody’s A list.»
«A list?»
«You know, invitations, sweetie.»
«What happened to Manny?»
«He got bored with an older woman so I set him free for a large hunk of change.»
«Goddamn, Ginny, you’re not old!»
«In Manny’s eyes, any girl over sixteen is also over the hill… But enough about me, darling, you’re the one. I’m so proud of you, Hawk—the Soldier of the Century! All the girls are proud of you!»
«Yeah, well, hold up the parties, kid, it all could be a con.»
«What? I won’t have it—we won’t have it!»
«Ginny,» interrupted MacKenzie, «I don’t have time. The D.C. pricky-shits have got my ass in a sling again and I need help.»
«I’ll call the girls together this afternoon. What can we do and whom can we do it to?… Of course, I can’t get hold of Annie; she’s back in one of those leper colonies, I think, and Madge is on the East Coast—New York or Connecticut or someplace like that—but I’ll get her and Lillian on a conference call.»
«I was really just calling you, Ginny, because I think you’re the one who can help me.»
«Me, Hawk? Look, I appreciate your chivalry, but I really am the oldest. It doesn’t exactly thrill me to admit it, but Midgey and Lil are probably better suited to your needs. They’re both still darling to look at. Of course, Annie remains the champ in that department, but I think the clothes she prefers these days would scare the hell out of anybody in a pair of vulnerable pants.»
«You’re a fine and generous woman, Ginny, but it’s nothing like that… Do you still talk to Manny?»
«Only through the lawyers. He wants some of the paintings we bought, but I’ll be damned if I let the horny little bastard scrape the paint off the cheapest frame.»
«Goddamn, there goes the shot I was hoping for!»
«Spell it out, Hawk. What is it that you need?»
«I need one of those screenwriters he hires at the studio to put something together for me.»
«Are they going to do another movie about you?»
«Hell, no. Never!»
«I’m relieved to hear it. So what do you need a writer for?»
«Some pretty incredible material, all true, that I want to dangle in front of those Hollywood buddhas, only it’s got to look good and I’ve got to do it quickly. Like in a day, maybe.»
«A day?»
«Hell, boiled down it wouldn’t be any more than five or ten pages, but pages of pure dynamite, Ginny. I’ve got it all on a few tapes. Manny would know someone who could do it—»
«So do you, sweetie! What about Madge?»
«Who?»
«Your number three, mon général.»
«Midgey? What about her?»
«Don’t you read the trades?»
«The what?»
«The Hollywood Reporter and Daily Variety, those bibles of soaked-orange land.»
«I’m not so hot on the real Bible, either. What about them?»
«Madge is one of the hottest writers in town! She’s so hot she can get out of town and write in New York or Connecticut. Her last screenplay, Mutant Homicidal Lesbian Worms, cleaned up!»
«I’ll be damned. I always knew Midgey had a literary bent, but—»
«Don’t use that word ‘literary’!» Lady Cavendish broke in. «Out here it’s death… Here, I’ll give you her telephone number, but you give me a couple of minutes to reach her first and tell her to expect your call. She’ll be so excited!»