«No, I mean it!» continued Devereaux rapidly. «What could you have done being incarcerated for fifty years, if you’d lasted fifty minutes with the skinheads?»
«That was my rationalization, and it’s also why I broke out with Roman Z. This kind of crap has got to stop, man!»
«And you believe a variation of what you experienced is happening now to General Hawkins?» asked Aaron, leaning forward in his chair. «The evidence being the newscast we just witnessed.»
«I’ll tell you what I won’t and can’t believe is that there’d ever be a Nobel prize for the Soldier of the Century. Secondly, why did this so-called committee fly into Boston, the only airport in the vicinity, where you’ve already been attacked, which means you’ve been tracked by superior high-tech government intelligence? Thirdly, that quartet of confused psychopathic crazies who tried to take you in Hooksett were strictly out-of-sanction moronic lowlifes—someone you’ll never find bribed a stockade warden, is my guess. You figured that out by a stenciled prison laundry mark inside a pair of trousers and sent them back in body bags.»
«Goddamned slugs!» roared MacKenzie Hawkins. «What we sent back was a message!… Will somebody tell me what we’re talking about?»
«We’ll fill you in later, Mac,» answered Sam, his hand on Cyrus’s shoulder. «If I read you right,» said Devereaux, «we have to find out who’s now running this operation, am I correct?»
«You’ve got it,» said the mercenary. «Because the assault on you in New Hampshire may have the same origins, but they’ve gone upscale—maybe too upscale, and that means they could be vulnerable.»
«Why do you say that?» asked Pinkus.
«These came in on Air Force Two,» replied Cyrus. «They’re foreign civilians accorded the second highest aircraft in the country, which means it has to be cleared by one of three sources: the White House, which we can dismiss because they’ve got enough trouble with that kid; the CIA, which we should reject out of hand, ’cause half the country rightfully thinks the initials mean Caught in the Act, and they probably wouldn’t risk another embarrassment; and lastly the State Department, which nobody knows what the hell they’re doing but they do it anyway. My guess is one of the last two; and if we can find out which it is, we’ll narrow down the possible people who could order out that plane. Among them is the big bad cannon.»
«Perhaps both the Department of State and the CIA?» suggested Pinkus.
«No way. The Agency doesn’t trust State and vice versa. Also, there’s too much risk of leaks by combining forces.»
«Suppose we find out it’s one or the other?» asked Sam. «What then?»
«We shake the bones of every conceivable Washington big shot until they rattle. We have to find out who’s behind this operation—I mean really nail him or her down: name, rank, and serial number—because it’s the only way to insure your safety.»
«How?»
«Exposure, Sam,» said Jennifer. «We’re still a nation of laws, not maniacs in Washington.»
«Who says?»
«Moot point,» agreed Redwing. «What should we do, Cyrus?»
«The optimum would be to send someone impersonating the general to that hotel they mentioned, with me and Roman Z as his civilian aides. It’s standard that a retired general with two Congressionals would have aides.»
«What about Desis One and Two?» asked Aaron. «They’ll be hurt.»
«Why? They’d be with the real Hawkins.»
«Oh, of course. This feeble mind is aging. Everything’s happening so fast.»
«Also, they’re good boys, and you people should be covered here.» Cyrus stopped, suddenly aware of Eleanor Devereaux’s withering stare from the couch. «Man, that lady doesn’t like me,» he whispered.
«She doesn’t know you,» said Sam in a low voice. «Once she does, she’ll make a large donation to the United Negro College Fund, I promise.»
«Sure, a black mercenary is a terrible thing to waste… Damn, there’s no one here who could pass for the general. We’ve got to think of something else.»
«Wait a minute!» broke in Pinkus. «Shirley and I support the local theater groups—she likes to have her picture taken at the opening nights. There’s a particular favorite, an elderly performer who’s been in a great many Broadway plays; he’s in what you might call semiretirement. I’m sure I could convince him to help us out, for a fee, of course… But only, of course, if he was completely safe.»
«You have my word on that, sir,» said Cyrus. «No possible harm could come to him, because Roman Z and I will be on either side of him.»
«An actor?» exclaimed Devereaux. «That’s crazy!»
«In truth, he frequently appears a touch that way.» The telephone rang on the table beside Aaron’s chair; instantly he picked it up. «Yes?… It’s for you, Sam. I believe it’s your maid, Cousin Cora.»
«Oh, my God, I forgot all about her!» said Devereaux, walking around the table to the phone.
«I didn’t,» interrupted Eleanor. «I spoke to her last night, but I didn’t tell her where we were or give her this number.»
«Cora,» cried Sam. «How are … you talked to her, Mother? Why didn’t you tell me?»
«You didn’t ask. However, everything’s fine at the house. The police have been around constantly and I think she’s been feeding the entire force.»
«Cora? Mother says everything’s all right over there.»
«The hoity-toity’s fulla tea, Sammy. The damn phone’s been ringing off the hook all day and nobody could or would tell me where the hell you were.»
«How did you find out?»
«Paddy Lafferty’s daughter Bridget. She said Erin gave her this number in case there was any trouble with the grandkids.»
«That makes sense. What is it? Who’s been calling me?»
«Not you, Sambo—everyone but you!»
«Who?»
«First that nut general you’re always talking about, then that long-legged Indian girl who shouldn’t be let out in the streets. And I tell ya, there’s been at least twenty calls for each of ’em, all from the same two fellas, like every half hour or so.»
«What are their names?»
«One wouldn’t tell me and the other you wouldn’t believe. The first sounded panicky as all blazes, kinda like you get sometimes, Sammy. He keeps screaming that his sister should call her brother right away.»
«Okay, I’ll tell her. What about the other guy, the one for the general?»
«Well, yer gonna think I’ve been nippin’ again when you hear it, but I ain’t ’cause there’s been too many cops around… Boy, what a butcher’s bill yer gonna get—»
«The name, Cora?»
«Johnny Calfnose, can you swallow that, Sammy?»
«Johnny Calfnose?» said Devereaux softly.
«Calfnose …?» gasped Jennifer.
«Calfnose!» shouted the Hawk. «My security’s been trying to reach me? Get off the phone, Lieutenant!»
«My former client’s trying to reach me!» cried Redwing, colliding with the general as each ran to Sam.
«No!» yelled Devereaux, turning and holding the phone out of reach. «Calfnose is for Mac. Your brother wants you to call him.»
«Give me that phone, boy!»
«No, me first!»
«If you’ll all calm down,» said Pinkus, raising his voice. «My brother-in-law has at least three, possibly four, lines on his phones, two at least for Shirley’s sister, and there are telephones all over the place. Just find one, each of you, and push an unlit button.»