“Yeah.”
“Eddie, it’s Andrew Falcon.” He could have called from the apartment. After this morning he wasn’t going to be back there for a long time. But if they were listening, if they had the apartment tapped, which, now knowing who “they” were, he had no doubt but that they did, they would be able to track down Martinez. And that couldn’t happen. He had to have Martinez.
“Oh, hey, Mr. Falcon. I’m glad to hear from you.”
But Falcon could tell from Martinez’s voice that he was definitely not glad to hear from him. “Anything yet?”
“You mean on the wires?” he asked.
“Yes.” Of course that was what he meant. Martinez was stalling.
“No.” Martinez did not want to tell Falcon that he hadn’t even attempted to locate the transfers since the last time they had spoken.
“It is of the utmost importance that you find the money and then find where it came from. I can’t impress upon you how important it is.”
“Maybe you could just tell me what this is all about, Mr. Falcon.”
“No! I mean it wouldn’t be a good idea. It’s just routine, I promise you.”
“Uh-huh.”
Falcon could hear the hesitance in Martinez’s tone. “Eddie, it’s worth two thousand dollars to you. Cash, my friend.”
Martinez held the phone away from his ear and stared at it. Two thousand dollars! There was definitely something going on here that wasn’t on the up-and-up. And he shouldn’t be a part of it. All the same, he could use that money. Martinez’s eyesight blurred. He shouldn’t even be thinking this. But they didn’t pay him very much for his long hours at the bank, and the station wagon was on its last wheels. The engine and the transmission were shot. Beyond repair. He’d have to put down just about that amount for the replacement car they were going to have to buy very soon. And he didn’t have any savings. None. He, his wife, and the four children lived paycheck to paycheck. Martinez brought the phone back to his ear.
“Five thousand dollars, Eddie,” Falcon said, becoming impatient. He was negotiating against himself, but time was of the essence.
Martinez swallowed. “Five thousand?” His voice cracked.
“Yes. In cash.”
Martinez looked around the room. Was anyone watching him?
“Going once, Eddie!”
“Okay, okay.” The woman at the next desk glanced at him. Martinez turned away. “Okay.”
Falcon took a deep breath. Everyone had his price. Eddie’s was five thousand. His had been five million. And both of them would probably pay for accepting that price. “Transfers have to be identified, don’t they, Eddie?”
“Of course. Otherwise nobody would know where they came from.”
“All right, then look for transfers which have a notation on them about Penn-Mar. You know, Penn, PM, or something like that.” Falcon paused and looked around the lobby. “Or maybe they have a seven as a notation.”
“A seven?”
“Yeah.”
“You’re saying they’re coded. That the notations are a code.”
“Yes.”
“What’s going on here?” His voice was filled with self-doubt.
“Don’t ask, Eddie. It isn’t worth knowing about. Don’t worry. Just find the transfers.”
But Martinez was still worried. He had a family to think about. On the other hand, there was five thousand dollars on the line too.
Falcon sensed Martinez second-guessing his decision. “Look, Eddie, nobody’s ever going to give you a hard time about this. But on the off chance they do, you know I’m an officer of the bank. I can request an inquiry into a transfer anytime. I mean, it isn’t as if you’re doing anything wrong.”
“Yeah, sure,” Martinez said, unconvinced.
“So you’ll do it, Eddie? For five thousand, you’ll do it? Right?”
There was a long pause. “I want the money this afternoon.”
“Half this afternoon. Half if you find the wires.”
There was another long pause. “Okay.”
“Just one more thing, Eddie. Don’t tell anyone about this, you got that?”
“Yeah.”
“I’ll call you later to set up a time to give you the money.”
“Okay.”
“Bye.” Falcon hung up the phone. Martinez had to come through. It was the link he had to have to nail these people.
* * *
—
“Hello.”
“Do you know who this is?” Rutherford spoke slowly so the woman would recognize his voice.
“Yes.” He had a distinctive voice, and she had heard it a great deal lately.
“Good.”
She was nervous.
“Is Falcon in New York?”
There was an edge to the man’s voice she had not heard before. “No, he’s in Dallas. He called yesterday to say that he was going to go straight from Toledo to Dallas. It was a last-minute thing.”
“Are you sure that he actually went to Dallas?”
“I think so.” She hesitated. “I haven’t heard from him since yesterday. I expect him to call me at some point this morning.”
“Where was he going to stay?”
“At the Dallas Hilton.”
“Give me the number there.”
She hesitated, wondering if this was information she ought to give. The voice at the other end of the line sounded strange today.
“Give it to me!”
She did but transposed two numbers. Perhaps Falcon would need the few seconds it would take the man to find the correct number.
“I’ll be back in touch within the hour.”
“Okay.” She replaced the telephone. Something terrible had happened.
* * *
—
Falcon dialed Cassandra’s number.
“Hello.”
“Cassandra?”
“Yes?”
“It’s me.” He looked out of the boardinghouse window at the bodega across 132nd Street. A large cockroach crawled along the windowsill. He flicked it off, then leaned out of the open window and watched it fall to the pavement three stories below.
“Hi, there. Listen, Andrew, I tried to call you at the office about an hour ago. I had a few more questions regarding the article….”
“Forget the article.”
“What?” She laughed. “What are you talking about?”
“Things have happened.”
“What kind of things?”
“I need your help. Do I get it?”
She was silent.
“Do I?” He raised his voice.
“Of course, of course. But why? Andrew, what’s wrong?” Cassandra’s voice became serious.
“I don’t want to tell you over the phone. I need to meet with you.”
“When?”
“Probably tomorrow.”
“Where?”
“I’ll let you know. I’ll call you in the morning.”
“Fine. But what’s this all about?”
“I’ll tell you tomorrow. Just keep watching the screens. Penn-Mar and NASO will be front and center. Not in a positive light either.” He paused. “I need a favor.”
“What?”
“I need you to do a little research.”
“Okay.”
“Two names. William Rutherford and Bailey Henderson. I need to know everything about them.”
There was a silence as she wrote down the names. “Well, I can tell you who—”
“I don’t have time now,” Falcon interrupted her. “I’ve got to get going. I’ll call you. Oh, by the way, you can’t run the article.”
“What?” She was instantly upset. She had deadlines. “But you gave your word that I could.”
“I know, but
I care about you. Running the article might get you killed.”
28
The loud banging continued relentlessly. For several moments Turner Prescott believed he was dreaming, and then suddenly he realized he wasn’t. Immediately he swung his feet over the side of the bed and grabbed for the pistol in the middle drawer of the nightstand. He glanced at the clock on top of the table. Four in the morning. What the hell was going on?
Prescott quickly moved out into the hallway and down the long stairway. He reached the foyer, flicked on the outside lights, and pulled aside the curtains. “Christ Almighty!” Prescott rushed to the door and yanked it open.
Granville Winthrop pushed past Prescott into the foyer of the opulent home. “Is your wife here?” Winthrop did not bother with pleasantries.
“No. She’s in Martha’s Vineyard. Look, why didn’t you call to tell me you were coming?”
“I tried. There was no answer.”
“Oh, Jesus, I’m sorry. I disconnected the phone because I was working. We’re really coming down to it in the trial. I was just doing some last-minute prep for tomorrow.” Prescott paused. “Well, come in. Would you like something to eat or drink?”
“No.”
The two men moved into Prescott’s living room. It reminded Winthrop of the Harvard Club. Lots of horse prints and antiques. Winthrop and Prescott sat at opposite ends of a long couch.
“What the hell are you doing here, Granville?”
“We have a problem.” Winthrop wasted no time in getting to the point. “A serious problem.” Winthrop’s voice was determined, and there was an atypical strain to it.
Prescott heard the strain. He scanned Winthrop’s face for further clues, but there was nothing. “What is it?”
“Chambers had several files stolen from his office at Penn-Mar.” Winthrop’s eyes narrowed as he gauged Prescott’s reaction.
“What! What files?”
“Files relating to the Sevens, to the environmental information you are supposed to present to the court today, to our real estate partnerships, and to Lodestar. Everything.”
Prescott felt a burst of heat flash through his entire body. Perspiration began to form on his forehead immediately. “Are you kidding me?” He rose and moved to the large fireplace which dominated the room, placing his hands on the mantel to steady himself.
“Do I sound as if I’m kidding?”
“Well, how the hell did this happen?” Prescott’s temper exploded to the surface.
“Easy, Turner. Easy…” Winthrop had known Prescott for thirty years and had never encountered an eruption like this before. He had always known Prescott to remain as calm as he in the face of anything. It was what he valued most about Turner.
“Was there enough in those files to take us down? To prove conspiracy? We’re talking about my career. My life! Jesus Christ Almighty!” Prescott picked up a vase from the mantel and hurled it into the hearth. “That guy Chambers is an idiot! How could he let this happen? What kind of moron keeps files as sensitive as those where someone can get to them? Granville, I’m not going down for this! I’m not going to see my career and my life destroyed because of his stupidity!”
“Calm down. Nobody’s career is going to be destroyed. Nobody is going down.” Winthrop was as steady as ever. “Look, there’s nothing we can do about it now. We need to go forward. We need to proceed as if nothing happened while we reacquire the documents.”
“My God!” Prescott took a series of short breaths. He felt a pain in his chest. This couldn’t be happening. Not in a million years could this be happening. “They broke into Chambers’ office at Penn-Mar, is that right?”
“Yes.”
“And whoever broke in took Chambers’ files.” He was beginning to regain his composure. “I mean, is Chambers certain he didn’t take them back to his hotel in Toledo?”
“Chambers is certain the files were not and are not at the hotel. He was keeping them at the company because he didn’t want them at the hotel. He was afraid one of the cleaning people might discover them while he wasn’t there. And he didn’t want to keep transporting them back and forth each day. He figured that would be an easy way to lose them. And he was occupying an office in a wing of the Penn-Mar building that was not being used, so he figured they’d be safe there.” Winthrop spotted the wet bar in the corner of the room next to a walnut corner cabinet. “Maybe I will take that drink now.” Winthrop stood and moved toward the bottles.
“Did whoever broke in take anything besides the files?” Prescott moved behind the bar to fix the drink. “Scotch mist?”
Winthrop nodded. “No, that was it. It was as if he knew what he was looking for. The intruder was interrupted by one of the security guards, so I suppose that the person might have taken other things if he had had time. But I think the intruder got what he came for.”
“But the guard must have stopped what was happening. How did the intruder get away?” Prescott handed the glass to Winthrop.
“The guard was killed.”
“Killed?” Prescott looked up from the drink he was pouring for himself.
“Yes. Killed with his own gun. So we can assume that whoever broke in was not armed but somehow managed to take the guard’s gun away and kill him with it.”
“This all happened last night?”
Winthrop hesitated. “The night before last. I’ve been trying to recover the files since then. I didn’t want to alarm you, which is why I didn’t contact you right away. I had hoped that we would have recovered them by now. But we haven’t, and I know you are planning to present the new environmental evidence today.”
“The night before last. Tuesday…That was the day Barksdale and Falcon were in Toledo,” Prescott said.
“That’s correct.” Granville sipped the drink as he sat on a barstool.
“Do you think that’s a coincidence? That Barksdale and Falcon were out there the same day?”
“I don’t think it’s a coincidence at all.”
A shooting pain seared through Prescott’s chest. “Jesus!” He bent over slightly.
“What’s the matter?” Winthrop rose to his feet.
“Nothing.” Prescott breathed deeply, then waved a hand at Winthrop. “Look, you said you thought it wasn’t a coincidence. What are you saying? That Barksdale and/or Falcon is involved?”
“Not Barksdale. He’s too stupid. It’s Falcon.”
“I can’t believe that. Damn it, I knew that guy was bad news. I told you that a long time ago. If he is involved, and this whole thing somehow unravels, it’s going to be your…” Prescott didn’t finish. He glanced away from Granville and out a window into the darkness beyond. Even at this point he wasn’t willing to confront Winthrop.
“What are you saying?” Winthrop’s voice rose noticeably.
“Nothing.”
“That’s what I thought, Turner.” Winthrop took a huge gulp of the drink. “It’s done. There’s nothing we can do now. We have to move forward.” He was angry.
“How do you know it was Falcon?”
Winthrop did not respond. He was concentrating on a painting behind Prescott, trying to control his outward emotion. Inside he was seething. Not at Prescott—though Prescott would bear the brunt of Winthrop’s temper if the man pushed any further—but at himself. Suddenly, he sensed that Falcon was more formidable and resourceful than he had ever given him credit for. And for the first time in as long as he could remember, Granville felt panic. Only a hint of it, but unmistakable just the same. They had been right. He shouldn’t have combined the project and his personal vendetta. But he had disregarded their advice. Because he felt himself beyond reproach. He was Granville Winthrop. Worth over three billion dollars. A man of supreme power. Able to make or break Fortune 500 companies at will. He needn’t heed anyone’s advice. But now he was paying the price for that attitude. And because of him, they
might all pay. So the hell with the insider-trading charge and a slow death in prison for Andrew Falcon. The hell with the painful revenge for Falcon turning his back on Winthrop, Hawkins and him. It was time for Phoenix Grey to use his deadly talent to its utmost.
“Granville?”
“Yes, yes…what?”
“You were saying, about Falcon.”
“I know I was. You don’t have to tell me.” Winthrop’s eyes bored into Prescott.
“All right.” Prescott breathed deeply. Winthrop was distracted. This was bad. Very bad. He had never seen this anger.
“Chambers said good-bye to Barksdale and Falcon Tuesday afternoon at Penn-Mar. After that Barksdale and Falcon drove to the Toledo airport. At the last minute, just as they were boarding the plane, Falcon tells Barksdale he’s going to Dallas to work on a deal he has just originated. Barksdale thinks nothing of it because he’s an idiot. He just says okay and gets on the flight. But Falcon never goes to Dallas. He stays in Toledo. He has his secretary make a reservation at the Dallas Hilton, and he buys a ticket on a flight for Dallas that was scheduled to leave at seven-thirty Tuesday evening. It connected with another flight in Memphis. He also makes a reservation on a flight out of Dallas that was to leave for New York at six o’clock yesterday evening. He was very careful.”
“But how do you know he didn’t go to Dallas?”
“The reservation at the hotel wasn’t used. He never checked in.”
“Maybe he stayed in another hotel. Was the ticket to Dallas used?”
“It was.”
“So then he did go to Dallas, and we’ve got nothing.”
“Not quite nothing. At seven twenty-four Falcon used his corporate AT&T card to call the National Weather Service in Washington, D.C.”
“The National Weather Service?”
“Yeah, I haven’t figured that out yet.”
“Maybe he was concerned about thunderstorms on the way to Dallas.”
“Maybe, except he made the call from a strip mall very close to Penn-Mar’s headquarters. And Penn-Mar is at least a half hour drive from the Toledo airport.”
“Then the plane left Toledo late.”
The Takeover Page 29