by Eddy Shah
The first police car, an unmarked Ford with a red flashing light strapped to it roof, was at the scene two minutes later.
By then, Frankie, having slid himself and his wheelchair back into the car with surprising ease, was turning towards Canal Street and back to the safety of the hotel.
Ch. 46
Georgetown
Washington. D.C.
'This had better be good at this time of the morning.'
'The Russians know who the Lucy Ghosts are,' said the DDA into the phone receiver. He'd just received that message at home from Nowak. He'd stayed there, trying to coordinate the problem in New Orleans while his assistant, Carter had been sent on ahead in a private Agency jet to take over from Tucker.
'Who are they?' asked the Exec Director as he struggled out of bed.
'They're not prepared to give that information over the telephone. But they say it needs executive approval.'
The Exec Director knew that meant the President. Damn it. The last thing he wanted was this blowing up in the White House and on Capitol Hill. One always followed the other. 'Why?'
'Because that’s how they want it. It's sensational, according to Nowak.'
'Does he know?'
'He says not. Just what his contact tells him.'
'Okay. I'll take it from here.'
'They want urgent action.'
'I'm not waking the Pres...anybody...at this time of the morning. I'll put a call through at seven.'
'That's four in the afternoon over there.'
'I told you. First thing.'
'I've also had a call from Tucker...' The DDA'd saved the best for last.
'Tucker?'
'Our man in New Orleans.'
'And?'
'Trimmler's been assassinated.'
'Shit. You're...I don't believe...When?'
'About two hours ago.'
'Why wasn't I called immediately?'
'I rang, sir. There was no answer.'
The Exec Director, recently married to a twenty six year old daughter of one of the leading society hostesses in Washington, remembered that he had switched his phone off when he set about proving his youth in their nightly bedtime romps. He'd forgotten to switch it back on and only remembered when he went to relieve himself in the bathroom fifteen minutes earlier.
'What happened?'
'Killed him and his wife. With a knife. Then hacked of Trimmler's arms.'
'What?'
'That's right. Left them shaped in the form of a swastika.'
'Jesus!' came the unbelieving answer.
'Maybe you should take executive advice, sir.'
'Okay. You at home?'
'Yes sir. I'm running it from here.'
'You told the DDI?'
'No. I wanted to talk to you first.'
'Okay. You tell him. Call him over to your place. And don't use the phone too long. I'll have to get back to you. We need a stenographer. I want a full report faxed here straight away.' The Exec Director was about to call the Head of the CIA, the Director himself. If anyone was going to ring the President of the United States of America at three a.m. in the morning, it sure as hell wasn't going to be his arse out on a sling.
The phone went dead in the DDA's hand. He put down the receiver. He'd already called in a stenog. She was next door, in his living room. Before he could get up from his desk the phone rang. He picked it up.
'Yes,’ he barked.
'Tucker, sir.'
'What is it, Tucker?'
'More trouble.'
'It can't get any worse.'
'The Englishman went out after he discovered Trimmler. Our driver took him up into the French Quarter. They just got back. I've had the Chief of Detectives call me. Says there was a shootout in the Quarter. Machine guns and grenades. Says one of our people was involved. I'd like to remind you that we authorised the Englishman to carry arms. He had a machine gun.'
'What makes you think it was him?'
'Because that's what our driver just told me. Seems he went after the guy who killed Trimmler.'
'How do you know that?'
'Driver told me. Something to do with a virgin's blood and piss. Sir.'
Ch. 47
Hilton Hotel
New Orleans
Louisiana.
Adam was still asleep when the DDA's trouble-shooter, Carter, hit New Orleans at five thirty in the morning. He'd brought two assistants with him, Windrush and Favor. They were runners, like Carter, but they were assistants to the assistant runner.
Marius, the other CIA driver, had met them off the private jet from Washington and driven them in his cab to the Hilton.
Their first meeting had been with Tucker, sleepy eyed and relieved to hand over responsibility to Carter.
'Snotty bastard,' remarked Carter when told about Adam. 'But he's right. He knows we can't let the cops take him downtown. Any idea why he should go on the rampage?'
'No. I think you need to speak to Frankie Mistletoe.'
'What sort of name's that?' sneered Favor. Windrush nodded agreement as a matter of course.
'What about the girl?' asked Carter.
'She's been fine. Just kept a watch on Trimmler like the rest of us,' replied Tucker.
It took nearly an hour for Tucker to complete his de-brief and Carter took him over the events of the last few days twice, just as the book said he should. The report included Frankie's trip to the cemetery with Adam and the ensuing squabble with the Chief of Detectives.
'Does Nicholson know that the cab driver's opened up to us?' asked Carter.
'No. I got that out of Frankie after Nicholson went to bed.'
'Do the police know?'
'No. Only those of us in this room.'
'Okay. Leave it like that for now.' Then he sent Tucker down to get Frankie.
While he waited he rang the Chief of Detectives at the New Orleans Police Headquarters. Their conversation was brief; Carter knew Washington had already contacted them and warned them off. The biggest battle had been with the FBI who wanted to stick their noses in. But that had now been cleared and the field was left to the Agency. But they had to move fast. The New Orleans P.D. would only sit still for so long before they'd want to resolve their own murders.
The Chief of Detectives, having been told to hand over responsibility to Carter, was understandably edgy, and Carter appeased him by telling him he needed all his assistance and would like them to work together on this one.
By the time Frankie wheeled himself in, Carter had pacified the policeman and agreed to meet him at nine a.m.
Nobody had told Carter that Frankie was disabled, and his surprise showed.
'We got equal opportunities in everything,' quipped Frankie. 'You're looking at your token disabled black member of staff.'
Carter was embarrassed and angry at not being told. 'So you took Nicholson up to the Old Quarter?' he started, after giving Tucker a reproachful glare. 'Take me through it, would you?'
There was a long silence when Frankie finally finished. 'And he took his weapons with him when he went into the cemetery?' Carter finally broke the quiet.
'Yes.'
'Where did he get the grenade from?'
'From me.'
'What the hell you doing with grenades?'
'This is a rough city. When you're committed to a wheelchair, you prepare yourself for all eventualities.'
'You didn't have to give him a fucking hand grenade.'
'He saw it and he wanted it,' Frankie lied. 'Hell, we're meant to be on the same side.'
'Did the girl know what was going on?'
'Nope.'
'But she went to the voodoo ceremony.'
'I think that was more a night out.'
'So why did he think it was this…Fruit Juice?'
'I already said. I don't know. He just got in the car, showed me this bottle and said it was Fruit Juice's calling card. Had to be Trimmler he was talking about. Nothing else was going to get him that mad. I mean, he's a pro. Tri
mmler's death makes him look bad.'
'Bad. And crazy,' chirped in Carter's assistant, Favor.
'He don't come over as crazy to me. He's bad, but he went in there after Trimmler's killer. Got him, too.'
'We don't know that for sure,' cut in Carter. 'And, even if he was right, he should've waited for orders. Damn it, he was under our command, not a fucking freelance.' This whole thing was already getting bigger than Carter. 'Unless he had another motive.'
'Sir?' asked Tucker, not comprehending Carter's gist.
'We're assuming that Nicholson was acting in our interests. It's time to consider if he had a different motive.'
'Why should he...?'
'You tell me. You've been with him.'
'I can't think of anything...not one thing that would make me be suspicious. He...He took his duties seriously. Never allowed a situation where Trimmler was in danger. Hell, he even took him off for the evening. If he was after him, that was the opportunity.'
'Not everything is as obvious as it seems. That's the first law of investigation. Is he still in his room?'
'Yes, sir.'
'Windrush. I want you up there. He doesn't go anywhere until I say so.' Carter turned to Tucker as Windrush left the room. 'I want to see him at nine. And I don't want him to know about our conversation.'
They didn't see Adam at nine because events changed everyone's plans.
Marius, Frankie's colleague, heard that another cab driver had taken a fare to the airport. The passenger had been a Russian or German and he wanted to catch the first plane direct to Germany or to New York where he would make a connecting flight. The cabbie had discussed it with his co-drivers as they waited for the morning rush to begin.
'Shit scared,' said the cabbie. 'Just wanted to get outta New Orleans. Hell, he musta had a bad night.'
The other men, including Marius, laughed and reminded each other of the wild nights and frightened tourists who went away and never forgot New Orleans.
Fifteen minutes later Marius had reported the conversation to Tucker who went to find Carter at the breakfast bar. When they checked with reception they found that Albert Goodenache had checked out over two hours earlier. By the time they contacted the airport and pulled strings to find out what Goodenache's destination was, the scientist was on his way to New York where he was to switch to a Jumbo direct to Frankfurt.
Adam had shaved, showered, put on a fresh shirt and was heading for the breakfast bar at nine thirty before Carter caught up with him.
'I want to see you,' he snapped at Adam, recent events now shortening his temper.
'Fine. Over breakfast,' Adam replied, coolly.
'No, damn it. We can't discuss these matters in a public place.'
'Well, I'm starving. So, either join me or arrange to see me later.'
'I think we should talk now.'
'Suits me,' said Adam with a smile, as he walked towards the breakfast bar.
'Hey, I meant before...' yelled Carter, but it was too late and he had little choice but to follow Adam into the open-plan restaurant where they were seated at a corner table. Carter nodded when Adam asked if he wanted a coffee, then sat back and waited while Adam painstakingly worked his way through the menu before ordering two fried eggs, double bacon, three sausages, grits, blueberry muffins and Darjeeling tea with milk.
'You like your food,' commented Carter, his irritation coming through.
Adam ignored him. When he was ready he said, 'Well, Mr Carter. What can I do for you?'
'You're heading for trouble. Did you know that?'
'My cholesterol level's fine. I've always liked greasy fo...'
'Don't get smart with me.'
'Would I?' Adam grinned. The CIA man was easy to needle.
'Why didn't you tell us that you'd been out shooting up half of New Orleans?' Carter watched Adam closely, but was disappointed that he drew no reaction from the Englishman. 'We know what went on up there.'
'Where?'
'At the fucking cemetery. We know what happened.'
'Then tell me.' Adam decided to play ignorant. He didn't believe that Billie had said anything. It had to come from outside, possibly from the police. Or Frankie. I half expected that.
'You're meant to be working for us.'
'No. I'm working for my own government. On loan to you. I was sent here to help protect Trimmler.'
'Not exactly a success, was it?' Carter smirked.
'Your man, your agency, were on duty when they killed Trimmler. You shouldn't forget that.'
'Fuck you.'
‘Your people slipped up. I cleaned up the mess.'
Carter changed tack. He smiled magnanimously and held up his arms, palms forward, in a symbol of truce. 'We know you were involved in the shootings. Shit, I'd be happy to let the cops run you in. Except for one thing. You believe those guys up in the cemetery were involved in Trimmler's death. That means they could be under the control of a foreign agency. We've got to follow that through.'
'What makes you think they were involved with Trimmler?'
'We don't. You do. That's what we want to find out.'
'Then I'll make a full report when I get back to London.'
'I'd like to move a little faster than that.' He leant across the table. 'I know about the bottle.'
'Bottle?' Adam knew it was Frankie who had told the CIA.
'Yes. Bottle. With blood and piss in it.'
'A virgin's blood and piss.'
'A virgin's blood and piss.'
'Don't know what you're talking about.' He grinned as he watched the anger in Carter's face explode 'Hey, take it easy. Bad for the blood pressure, you know.'
Before Carter could reply the waiter returned and laid out Adam's breakfast on the table. The two men sat in uncomfortable silence until they were on their own again.
'Looks good,' said Adam tucking into his meal.
'You're asking for trouble. I should just hand you over to the cops. Let them do it their way.'
'You can't do that. You wouldn't be allowed to.'
'Then tell me what happened. What the hell made you go up there. What do you know that we don't.'
'It'll be in my report. Soon as I get back.'
'We'll talk to London.'
'Fine. If they clear me, then I'll give you a full report.'
Carter stood up abruptly, the chair nearly falling over as he pushed it back. He grabbed it and rammed it under the table. 'Don't leave until I come back to you.'
'Do you know what I don't understand?' said Adam.
'What?'
'Why, with all your technology and expertise, you Americans can't cook bacon like it's meant to be.' He held up a rasher on the end of the fork. 'Too crisp. Too damn crisp.' Carter stomped off. Adam grinned. 'Don't get cranky just because I don't like your bacon.'
Ch. 48
The Oval Room
The White House
Washington. D.C.
The DDA kept quiet on this one.
He was sitting with the Director and Exec Director of the CIA as they made their report to the President. He knew he was only there for background information. He was the flunkey, the nowhere man, in this room of history and decision.
When the Exec Director had finished his report, the President leant back in the big leather executive chair and swiveled round to look out of the window.
'Thing's moving at one helluva pace,' said the President's Chief of Staff, Charles Magey. 'You sure nothing's happened since we started this meeting.'
'My office was told to inform me immediately of any significant developments,' replied the Director stiffly.
'This thing could run a million different ways. It could be anybody out there trying to damage us. Even the Russians.'
'We appreciate that.'
'And you're still getting nowhere with the computer?'
'No. But we're narrowing things down.'
Magey flared up. 'Hell, you won't have anything left on those data bases to narrow down.'
'Getting heated...is not going to solve this problem,' said the President as he swung the chair round so that he could face them. 'Could it be the Russians?' he asked the Director.
'I don't think so, Mr President.'
'Why not?'
'Because I can't see what they'd gain from it. They've got too many problems to get up to their old tricks. And if they wanted to, why bother knocking off agents who're too old to really threaten them.'
'The Chinese?' asked Magey.
'Once again, nothing to gain,' replied the Director.
'When do we find out about the Lucy Ghosts?' said the President.
'There's a meeting this afternoon. In my office. Our Russian contact is going to brief me on what they know.'
'Okay. Keep me informed. Trimmler. Did I ever meet him?' the President asked Magey.
'Yes, Mr President. I think he was introduced to you. He attended some of our functions. Three in all. Scientific exchanges.' Magey always did his homework and the President depended on him.
'And is he an ex Nazi?'
'Yes, sir. We don't know all the details. They're on the computer and it's difficult getting eye witness information on something that long ago. We hid a lot. The then Secretary of State for War Robert Patterson and General John Hildring just wanted to hide the true identities of the Nazis. Hildring said it was time to bury the dead Nazi horse.'
'Didn't bury it deep enough, did they?' commented the President dryly. He addressed himself to the Director. 'That computer's important. It could give us the answers we need.'
'We're doing our best, Mr President,' the Director replied.
'I appreciate that. But we need faster results. Let's not forget the British are also involved. We don't want to look bad against the Russians. There's still plenty of tension there. We've seen the failure of some of their policies, and of their political change of direction. More than once. If we mess up on this, the British, and the rest of the Europeans, will know. We can do without that. Don't forget, I've got a trip to Europe about to happen. I have no intention of arriving with an empty suitcase in my hand.'
'Talking of the British, how much does their guy know?' asked Magey.
'Not too much. He knows he was here to protect Trimmler. I think he just wants to go home now,' said the Exec Director.