"That son of a bitch!" Silverman noticed at least two people stare at her, then turn their attention back to their tasks. "Have you told Judson?"
Baskins made a sour face. "The way I figure it, nobody around here much owes Judson the time of day. He came down here waving Justice paper that gave him the right to a case the local people have been trying to build for some time and had the authority to let an out-of-state biker gang ride with an unspecified amount of cocaine that reduced the size of this bust to almost nothing. On top of that, people around here don't like Yankees, Piper."
"Are you counting yourself as one of the local people, Roger?"
He smiled, but she knew he was aware she saw through his pretense and it vanished from his craggy face. He drank more water. "You got to remember that I'm about as local as the DEA gets in this area."
"So we're dealing with a bunch of fragile egos here? Is that what you're trying to tell me?"
"Damn it, Piper, I like you. You're a hell of a smart lady. If I didn't think that and respect it, I wouldn't even be talking to you now. You don't need me to tell you that over half the drug justice done in the United States is more of a grab for political ratings points than anything else. You know how the system works — you make the collars and you get the funding. If you don't, your department starves. Even Bennett hasn't been able to change that since he's taken over the drug scene. Everybody wants a piece of the action. The Coast Guard, U.S. Customs, the DEA, the State Department, the Department of Defense, local police and sheriff's departments — all of these people are hustling the business with as much gusto as the street dealers are hustling the merchandise. Figure on the amount of labor the druggies put into doing X amount of dollars a year in sales, and you can balance it with the man-hours these different agencies invest in trying to cut just as deeply into those dollars as they can. It's a goddamn big business, Piper. Bureaucracy at its finest. If we could put a halt to the drug business today, how many people would you be putting out of jobs? Jobs that are more or less financed by the amount of cash and property those agencies seize every year from the people they hunt. Face it — the system we've established in the courts is to legally strip the pushers and dealers of anything and everything we can — like shearing sheep — then turn them loose so they can put it all back on again." He wadded his cup and threw it into the basket, refusing to meet her gaze.
"So, why tell me Carruthers is organizing something like this?"
"I've been around the block, Piper, and this old nose still works pretty good. I don't smell this as just a play by Judson for the glory involved, though you can bet your ass I wouldn't put it above him. The way I got it smelled out, I see you guys coming into the area because you got a man in deep somewhere in the pipeline. With all the territory Judson's stepped across on this thing, and the type of lawman you got down here in Miami fighting for the funding involved, I see you guys holding a lid on a pressure cooker that's going to explode in your face." Baskins paused to light a cigarette, then blew the blue-gray smoke at the stained ceiling overhead. "You're good people, Piper, and one of the best damn operatives I've seen in the agency, bar none. I care about you. You've done me a good turn down here now and then, and an old codger like me remembers that. I also care about that guy you people have put in deep down here in this mess. I've been deep a few times — it's no fun."
Silverman didn't say anything as she returned his gaze full measure. It was something she had learned early in her career and it had been a major stride toward equality in a business that was still predominantly male.
"You've been deep, haven't you, Piper?"
"A few times," she said, trying to keep her mind from reaching out for the scum-slick memories that squirmed uneasily with even that small admission.
"You know how it feels, then. Cut off, existing in a world you thought you'd somehow sidestepped, one that you had made a decision to never enter. Yet, amazingly, someone in the agency decides you're the best person to go deep and there you are. Trying to fit. Scares you how quick you can let all those layers of morality slip away from you, doesn't it?"
"I never let it slip that far, Roger," she said. But she was lying and hoped it didn't show. The shadowy world of the deep side was different, and it was all too easy to remember the effortless slide you could make to join the level of people you were hunting. Raw passions existed at that level. Extreme passions that seemed like an emotional free-fall once you were not bound by the restrictions imposed by society and whatever agency you'd aligned yourself with. Freedom. That was what it was. To survive deep you had to learn to shelve those learned responses of morality and operate on baser instincts. Loyalty became something to kill or die for instead of being a product bandied about by the bureaucratic standards of the agency. If you were good, and you had to be good to even attempt to survive deep, chances were you could carve a niche for yourself in that put-on life if you wanted to. Maybe better yourself economically, assume a better life-style, play a more dangerous game than you'd first signed on for because playing those games-living life on that sharp and bitter edge — could become the most fascinating facet of your life. And love. More often than not, you could find love in the eyes of someone you'd never had the chance to meet before and would never meet again. She still felt the bittersweet ache of some of those memories and knew she always would.
"Piper?"
She glanced back up at Baskins, noting the concerned look on the man's face.
"Are you okay?"
"Sure."
"You looked like you were somewhere else there for a minute."
Silverman hugged herself more tightly, willing away those memories of confusion, trying to avoid the intricate confusion of the situation facing her. Wishing she could deny her responsibility for everything that was happening now. "Maybe I was. But I'm back now. You're not going to tell Judson about Carruthers's war party?"
"I'd rather not be the one to let the cat out of the bag. After you and Judson fly back to New York, I'm still going to have to live with this guy." Baskins flicked ash off the end of his cigarette onto the floor and then stepped on it, reducing it to a gray powder. "Fact is, I was sort of hoping you could handle this by yourself without involving Judson. You know, kind of cue your deep guy on the sly without anyone knowing."
"I wish I could, Roger," Silverman said, and meant it.
Curiosity flared to green life in Baskins's eyes. "What are you talking about, Piper? I've turned some dirt on this operation you guys are heading up. Granted, there's not a hell of a lot of it, but I did find out you're the lifeline on this deep."
Silverman let her displeasure show, hoping it would keep Baskins at bay. She liked the man and didn't want to have to step on his toes. Especially not when the operation was still in Florida, and in view of the fact that Baskins might be dissuaded from making any further information contributions concerning local law enforcement efforts against Death's Enforcers. "You shouldn't have been able to get that much," she said.
Baskins shook his head, blew out an angry lungful of smoke as he looked away. He dropped his cigarette and crushed it out underfoot, jamming his hands deep in his pockets. "For Christ's sake, Piper, I'm not the enemy. We're on the same team."
"I know."
"You know?"
Silverman didn't say anything, feeling guilty that the man had been able to confide in her so much and she couldn't return the favor. Didn't want to, she amended. Damn it! At least be honest with yourself.
"You know?" Baskins's anger was evident in the way he held himself. "You know? Is that all you can say, Piper?"
"It is for now, Roger."
"Shit! Now I'm beginning to know how Carruthers feels, I didn't sign on to this operation just to get a polite thank-you and a hand job as I'm being shown out the door, kid. You got a serious problem brewing here because there's so many people anteing up for this pot. This isn't the time to be playing secrets. You hear what I'm saying?"
Silverman made her voice final and polite,
ignoring the stab of guilt lancing through her bowels, trying to decide if the guilt had been a product of what she was doing to Baskins or what she had done to help weave the spider web of sudden death and betrayal into an even more confused pattern. "I'll try to keep your name out of it as much as possible, Roger, but I'll have to let Judson know what's going on locally."
Baskins stared at her in stony silence.
Silverman wanted to turn away but found herself unable.
"You can handle it without involving Judson," he said in a low voice. "You're the contact officer on this operation. Call your guy and tell him what the score is. Pull the plug on it if you have to. No deep is so important that we got to risk this much flak in interdepartmental relations. You get something like that rolling through the ranks, and you may not end up with enough left of your guy to make a decent ink blotter out of. You know I'm telling you the way it is."
"You're right," she replied, letting some of the warmth drip back into her voice, hoping she could steer his thinking away from the darker perimeters of the operation. "But it's not easy to get in contact with our guy right now. He's having to move in unfamiliar territory, and he's already seen evidence that the local police aren't exactly the most trustworthy allies he's worked with."
Baskins was silent, staring into her eyes.
She tried to blank her mind of the guilt, wishing that sometimes you could go back and do things differently. But at the time, it had seemed so necessary, so vital, a reminder of life. So right. And yet so damnably wrong. She kept the tears from her eyes with effort.
"There's more to it than that, isn't there?" Baskins said.
"No."
"Bullshit, Piper. The first thing your deep would have done after seeing one of his compatriots go down under what was supposed to be friendly fire would be to call you guys at the first opportunity and ask what the hell was going down."
"I've got to go see Judson," she said as she turned away, hoping she could disrupt the man's chain of thought.
Baskins closed a beefy hand around her upper arm, stopping her. She whirled around, feeling herself slide to the edge of control. Anger outweighed the confusion, threatening to goad her into a more physical response. "Take your hand off my arm."
The hand dropped away. "What is it, Piper? What aren't you telling me?"
She tried to stare him down, failing because she knew she wasn't being backed by the inner sense of loyalty she demanded from people she worked with. To thine own self be true. She tried to live that when nothing else worked. When the marriage went bust. When the promotions didn't come through for her as easily as she felt they should have. When she looked out the windows of her apartment and wished there was someone else whose life would touch hers in ways she'd never experienced. The flush of guilt roiled over her in an almost physical presence. Images crowded into her mind, as did sensations of hands touching in the darkness, lips meeting, drinking in another ragged breath while searching for a solace she'd never known. She chased the mind pictures away, feeling her control fragment and slip. She maintained it, banished the guilt to deal with later.
"You can't get hold of the deep, can you, Piper?" Baskins looked incredulous.
She shook her head, not trusting her voice. Swallowed hard to loosen the muscles in her throat.
"That's it, isn't it?" Baskins was relentless.
Silverman recognized the investigator in the man now, a frantic beast trapped behind human eyes, driven by curiosity and guided by inspiration. She'd seen men as gifted as Baskins was, and women, too. People who would tap into another plane of cognizance that ran on parallels so close to that of their subjects that it was uncanny. She'd been fascinated with the process and with the results. But she'd never given thought to how the people being questioned felt. Until now. Until she was forced to feel how transparent she'd obviously become for Baskins. How flawed.
"This deep has turned rogue, hasn't he?" Baskins pressed. "Jesus. No wonder you and Judson are trying to save your asses on this one. You're managing a deep that's gone over, trailed him here and muscled your way into one of the hottest drug operations in Miami." He shook his head in disbelief. "One of the highest-stakes games being played out right now, and you guys cut yourself into the action backing a wild card. Are you being crazy, Piper, or are you just being a damn fool?"
Silverman stepped forward, letting the anger guide her, channeling it into something that would manifest itself in something less than physical violence. She poked a forefinger at the man's chest. "You're wrong, Roger. And if you don't keep out of this thing as you were requested to, I'm going to put a bug in Judson's ear to see if we can't make it something a little more permanent."
"Judson doesn't scare me."
"Well, maybe I can, Roger. Remember that bust you had in '88 involving the Harrington kid? I helped you work that one because the kid was making New York connections with some of his rich friends. You made your case against the Harrington kid down here. But you didn't exactly play by the rules, did you? You found a square peg and a round hole where you were expecting a square hole, so you found a bigger hammer and made the case stick. A few words in the right places might reopen that case, you know, and maybe make the agency reconsider your last few evaluations. You might end up with some spot less desirable than the Miami area. If you didn't end up drawing unemployment somewhere."
"You wouldn't…"
"I would," she asserted with venom. "You push me, Roger, I push back harder. That's one thing you should know about me. And I don't stop pushing once I start." She waited, letting it sink in, seeing the flaring nostrils signaling the man's restrained anger. "I also stand beside the people who stand by me because I don't like staring over my shoulder all the time. Do we understand each other?"
"I never thought I'd see this side of you, kid."
"I never thought I'd see the day you tried cutting corners with me, Roger. A few minutes ago you were the one putting down all the competition between the different departments, yet now you seem to be the one reaching for the scum."
"I'm not reaching, kid. There's plenty of cesspool to go around for everybody. You and Judson can keep this deep for yourselves if you think you can, but you remember there's going to be a lot of players in this game once things start going wrong."
There already are, Silverman thought. But she didn't say anything.
"I didn't mean to step on your toes, Piper. But just the same, if I'd known how fucked your operation was, I'd have taken some vacation about now and kept myself clear of it. When it blows up, you and Judson are going to get more ink than you can stand. I don't think I'll feel as regretful for you now as I would have before we had this talk."
She watched Baskins walk away, feeling the loneliness and insecurity she'd experienced since Toronto scratch at her soul like fingernails against a blackboard of guilt.
5
Mack Bolan stayed well within the fringe reaches of the grounds surrounding the private beach house. The light rain had transmuted into a soft mist that blew in from the sea, bringing a briny smell with it. Everything still dripped, and with the humidity what it was, the big warrior knew the area wouldn't even start drying out for hours. That made it even easier to glide toward his objective like the shadow he resembled, because the few branches the landscapers left on the manicured grounds were too damp to snap out in warning.
Togged out in the nightsuit, with his features tiger striped by blackface, he knew he would be almost impossible to separate from the backdrop of the palms. Even by the men who would be posted around the perimeters by Hunsaker.
He moved under a palm, melding with it as he reached for the small high-powered binoculars at his waist. Cold rain fell across his shoulders and tightened the skin briefly before he put it out of his mind. He focused on the nearest lighted window, searching for details.
The woman had told him everything she knew about Hunsaker before he'd released her, revealing a tale that was both simplistic and twisted. But the bottom line was opport
unity and greed, underscoring a profit margin that had been soaring for months.
Elongated shadows moved within the cabin, stuttering across the closed blinds as Bolan mentally set up the hard probe.
Hunsaker was a talented organizer with all the right connections. As Ronny Hunsaker, he was a big contributor to the Miami community's social improvement projects as well as a public backer of a harsh legal penalty against drug smugglers and street dealers. Yet as Ronald J. Hunsaker, he was a gifted attorney often found on retainer for a handful of the larger criminals trolling Miami's beaches. The woman hadn't hesitated to drop names after Bolan convinced her she wasn't going to be harmed. Some of those names belonged to people the Executioner had been expecting his raids to turn up. Ronny Hunsaker, good old boy lawyer and cocaine speculator, hadn't even been in the picture until the woman put him there.
Shadows drifted across the blinds again, more forcefully this time. Bolan tracked the movement, estimating where his quarry might show up next. He swept his view across the virgin white surface of the beach house, pausing at a large plate-glass window overlooking the sea and most likely offering a spectacular view of a sunrise that was only a handful of hours away.
The view, the beach house and the sixty-foot yacht moored at a private dock cost a lot of money. According to the woman, Hunsaker'd had all of it before moving onto the drug scene. Now, she assumed, it was just easier to afford the upkeep. She said Duncan had hired people to backtrack the attorney at different times and had found out about the beach house. Duncan had been hoping to turn up something he could use to blackmail Hunsaker, but hadn't managed to come up with anything. Hunsaker kept a quiet operation and a smooth one, with plenty of insurance to see that he was neither implicated nor troubled by the people he dealt with.
A man stepped into view on the other side of the plate glass window. He was dressed in a white turtleneck, white duck pants and a dark blue blazer. The blond hair had just the right amount of gray in it to be photogenic and still not add ten years to the guy's age. The closing curtains blurred away the angry look filling the tanned face.
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