Instinct took over. He ducked and threw his body to the left. It was enough to save his skull, but not his shoulder, which flashed with sudden pain as he staggered against the wall of a building.
The man lunged toward him. He was tall and blond and fit, and the lead sap in his hand was raised again for another blow. Fallon ducked again and the sap chipped a brick above his head.
The collapsed umbrella was in Fallon’s right hand, and with all his strength he jabbed it toward the man’s face. The blow caught the man on the bridge of the nose, and he staggered back, uttering a rage-filled curse in what sounded like German to Fallon.
Pushing himself away from the wall, Fallon took a quick step forward and kicked out at the man’s testicles. The blow missed, catching him in the stomach. Still, it was enough. The man crumpled halfway to his knees; Fallon grabbed his hair and, pulling his head forward, drove a knee into his face.
The man fell back, the sap clattering to the pavement, and Fallon reached out and grabbed it. But by the time he turned, the man was up and running toward Lexington Avenue.
Fallon drew a deep breath and watched him race away. Twenty years ago you would have chased the sonofabitch, he thought. But that was twenty years ago. Now you just want to get the hell out of here. He glanced at the folded umbrella still in his right hand. He thought he just might have that sucker cast in bronze.
Fallon was still shaken when he met Stanley Kijewski, but struggled to hide it, not wanting to muddy the waters with his own near disaster.
“Sam tells me you may have found something,” he said.
“Could be.” Kijewski gave him a wide grin; it was self-satisfied, almost smug. He views himself as a man who knows the secrets, Fallon thought—everything that everyone else should know. Yet there was no sign of personal arrogance. In that one small way the man reminded Fallon of his father. He recalled the slight, knowing nod his Dad would give when issuing his pronouncements about world events. It had been defensive, a way to obscure his all too visible inadequacies, and invariably it had produced a sneer from Fallon’s mother. He wondered what his dad would think now if he saw the “Blessed Virgin” in action. He would probably just nod, Fallon thought. Let everyone know he had known she was mad all along.
“First, there’s nothing in the computer system to indicate any hanky-panky on your government contracts.” Kijewski said. “In fact, as far as Charlie Waters is concerned, the only thing that’s been deleted from the hard drive is some correspondence with some people at Strube Industries, which, I gather, is a competitor of yours based in Germany.” Kijewski tapped a file that lay on the cocktail table before him. “Anyway, I printed all of it, and have it here. It’s also back in the system’s hard drive, although no one will know that unless they go looking for it.” He gave another yellow grin. A man who appreciated his own cleverness—and the fatal arrogance of others.
Kijewski turned to Samantha and wiggled his eyebrows. “As far as your friend Bennett goes, there’s some very solid stuff that he also thought he’d deleted.” He spoke the words with mild contempt and offered up yet another grin. “Seems the man has been setting up some shell corporations in the Caymans and in Curaçao. Over the past few weeks those outfits have been issuing buy orders for Waters Cable stock.” He let loose with another exaggerated eyebrow vibration. “Has the sniff of a little insider trading to me—a definite no-no as far as the SEC is concerned. Especially if anything’s about to happen that could send Waters stock up a few notches.”
Samantha smiled. “What a naughty boy,” she said. “By the way, Stanley, there is something I need you to delete—permanently.” She told him about Malloy’s message to Fallon. Kijewski assured her he could erase the apparent suicide note, both at the office and on Malloy’s home computer.
Fallon reached for the folder that lay between them. “Let me see what you have on Charlie,” he said.
“I’ve heard of Strube Industries,” Samantha said. “They’re a major competitor, aren’t they?”
Fallon continued to read. “Just about the biggest, worldwide,” he said. He appeared fascinated by what he was reading, and his answers seemed distracted, distant. “We’re bigger in sales here in the States, but in the world market they clobber us in every area. But lately they’ve been gaining here, too.”
Fallon finished reading, then sat back. There was a look of mild amazement on his face. Mixed with disbelief, Samantha thought.
“What is it, Jack?” she asked.
“I know these people Charlie’s been in touch with,” he said. “I know what they do for Strube.”
She reached out and took the file. “What are we talking about? Price fixing? Collusion?” She began reading rapidly.
“Yeah. But not the kind you think,” Fallon said.
Samantha read through the E-mail correspondence, then went back and reread some of it again. “Is it what I think it is?”
Fallon shot a wary glance at Kijewski. “You bet it is,” he said.
Kijewski grinned again. “So they are screwing old Uncle Sam, after all, huh?” he said.
Fallon returned the smile; decided this was one secret the man didn’t need to know. He nodded. “You bet they are. Listen, you did a great job. I really appreciate it.”
“Hey, man, nothing to it,” Kijewski said. “Computers are the most dangerous things in an office. But the guys who buy them never understand that.” He nodded toward the folder Samantha now held. “By the way, Waters’s and Bennett’s passwords are listed in that folder. They should change them periodically, but I’ll bet my tush they never do.” He offered up another grin. “And if they do …” He grinned. “Just give me a call.”
When Kijewski left, Samantha and Fallon settled in on the sofa, the papers spread out before them. They were ready to review the real subject—the one they had not wanted Kijewski to hear.
“So how do we prove it?” Samantha asked. “We know what’s going on, but we’re still faced with a big deniability factor.” She tapped a finger against the papers. “If we go to the media—say The Wall Street Journal or Business Week—the whole scheme could go up in smoke. If it ever finds its way into print.” She shook her head, thinking it through. “But those people aren’t going to accept our word, not if it’s just based on some purloined correspondence. They’ll want corroboration, and Waters and Strube will just deny it.”
“When you combine it with what’s going on in Plattsburgh, maybe they will believe it,” Fallon said.
Samantha shook her head again. “No, it’s still too speculative. Their lawyers will tell them they need confirmation, and if they can’t get it they’ll back away. Then Charlie Waters will just wait it out—wait for everything to quiet down. Six months. A year.”
“What about Bennett?” Fallon asked.
“Carter’s a different story,” Samantha said. “We’ve got Carter by the proverbial short hairs.”
Fallon looked up at her. “Then Carter’s the key to the rest of it.”
“You think he knows.” She spoke the question as fact.
“He has to know,” Fallon said. “Look at the number of shares he’s bought through his phony companies. He’s risking a lot of money. Too much.”
“But the company stock will go up when the downsizing is announced.”
“Yes, it will. But not that much. Not enough to risk millions. But this other thing, that’s Carter’s chance of a lifetime. It’s as close as you get to a sure thing. And he wouldn’t be risking that much money if he didn’t know about it.”
Samantha sat back. Her feet were curled beneath her, and her hair was pulled back. Fallon thought she looked a bit like a schoolgirl. “So what do we do?” she asked. “How do we go about proving it?”
“We have to make Carter tell us,” he said.
She gave him an uncertain, slightly quizzical look. “Why would he do that, Jack? Why wouldn’t he just realize he’d been caught, then sell off his stock and try to cover up the insider-trading violation?” She offered a look of regret.
“If Carter bails out before anything happens, the SEC may not even go after him.”
“Why?” Fallon asked.
“If they claim the downsizing proposal was just a study, not something really being considered—and if Carter pleads ignorance of what Waters had planned, the SEC might consider it too hard to prove. You’d almost have to have him on tape, admitting he knew something was going to happen and had made his stock purchases to take advantage of it. Either that, or a confession, and I don’t think Carter is foolish enough to let either of those things happen.”
Fallon sat back, a stunned look suddenly coming over his face.
“What is it?” Samantha asked.
“Something you just said. About getting Carter on tape.” He stood abruptly. “I have to make a phone call.”
When he returned Samantha stared at him. “Well?”
“We have to wait. I just talked to Stuart Robaire. He’s driving over to his office to check something.” Samantha started to speak, but Fallon raised a hand, stopping her. “Somebody tried to mug me tonight,” he said. “At least, that’s what I thought it was.” He took the sap from his pocket and placed it on the table between them. He let out a bitter laugh. “I was able to fight him off, and while it was happening he cursed at me—in German.”
Samantha stared at the sap as though it were something from another planet. She blinked several times; then her eyes widened as the connection was made. “German,” she said. “Strube Industries.”
“I think Charlie knows about the M.I.T. tests. I’ll know for sure when Stuart calls back.”
Twenty minutes later Fallon replaced the phone for a second time. “Charlie knows,” he said. “There was a tape recorder hidden in Stuart’s office.”
“Oh, God. Then Charlie Waters tried to have you killed.”
“Or put in intensive care for a good long time.”
Samantha shook her head. “What should we do?”
“I don’t think we have a choice,” Fallon said. “We play the cards Charlie dealt, and we make Carter tell us what we need to know.”
“But he won’t do that. He’d be crazy to tell us anything.”
“I think he will. I think he’ll give us just what we want,” Fallon said.
“Why? What makes you think he will?”
A small smile flickered at the corners of his mouth. He felt like Stanley Kijewski. “Something else you said—about Carter’s paintball tournaments.”
“And what was that?”
He told her.
Samantha stared at him; incredulous. “Have you lost your mind? That’s a federal crime, Jack.”
“Only if someone can prove it,” he said. “And if it works, I don’t think Carter will want anyone to prove anything.” He hesitated a moment, drawing her in. “Of course it won’t work,” he added. “Not unless you help.”
25
FALLON MARVELED AT BETTY MALLOY. SHE BUSIED HER self about the house, putting aside condolences to tend to her guests. She gently brushed away offers of help, kept her children busy instead, and in doing so drove off the burial of husband and father—if only for a short time.
The innate strength of women always amazed Fallon. He thought about the lions of the African grasslands, the males who would certainly starve if the females of their breed did not gather the food they were incapable of capturing themselves. Among humans it was only slightly different. Women were the cohesive force—much more capable of enduring pain and suffering—so eager and capable of tending to the physical and emotional needs of all who surrounded them. Left to their own devices, men, with their endless competition and conflict, would have rendered the species extinct. And as that end approached, Fallon suspected they would have drowned in their own tears.
The dinosaurs gathered in Betty Malloy’s rear yard. It was small and neat, and at present deserted. Fallon explained what he and Samantha had discovered. Then he told them about the tape recorder in Robaire’s office, and the subsequent attack on him. Incredulity, then anger approaching rage, came from the others. He explained how he proposed to prove it and stop it.
Disbelief, then wary uncertainty, descended. Hartman and Constantini shook their heads.
“But, Jack,” Constantini said, “you told us …”
George Valasquez cut him off. His eyes blazed; his voice was a low, angry hiss.
“What is the matter with you people? Don’t you see what they’re trying to do to us? They’re killing us. They’re grinding us into the goddamned dirt.” He jerked his head toward the house. “They already killed Jim. They tried to get Jack. And we’re next. Maybe not all the way to the grave. But goddamned dead, all the same. And God knows how many others there’ll be after us.” George glared at each of the others in turn. His small, slender figure and pinched face seemed to rivet each of them in place. It was almost as if he were saying, Look at me. I’m so small, but I’m the only one of you who isn’t afraid. His eyes continued to blaze until the others looked away. “What are you worried about?” he demanded aloud. “Do they worry about what they’re doing? Do they give one shit if it’s legal?”
Fallon stepped up next to George, creating a bond he hoped the others would join. “Only the first part will be dangerous.” He waited, let the idea, the threat, settle in. “If we screw up there and get caught, it’s over. But we’ll do it right, and I only need two people to help me. The rest of you won’t be anywhere near it. You’ll be off setting everything else up. If the three of us are caught at the start, no one will ever know the rest of you were involved. And once Carter knows what we know, I don’t think he’ll ever let it get that far. Even if we do get caught.”
“You got one person,” George snapped. His eyes roamed the others, challenging them.
Wally let out a heavy sigh. “You’ve got two,” he said. “If we get caught, what the hell, at least Janice will get screwed out of her maintenance check.”
Annie Schwartz started to laugh. “God, I never thought I’d feel like a jock. My hairdresser will be horrified. But count me in. I just hope you have a blow-dryer. If we get caught I’ll blame it on seeing that Bonnie and Clyde movie when I was a kid.”
Silence followed. Then Samantha stepped up next to Fallon. “I think it would be better if you had three people helping you at the start,” she said. “I’d like to be the third.”
Fallon looked at her. She was one tough lady, he decided. It seemed to have the same effect on the others. Everyone agreed.
“It’s crazy, Jack,” Constantini said. “But what have we got to lose?”
“I’m in too,” Hartman said. “Just tell me what you want me to do.”
Fallon turned to Samantha. They had worked it out earlier. It was time for her to provide the glue that would either bind them together or push them apart.
“Let’s understand one thing,” she began. “What Jack is proposing is a crime.”
“Jesus Christ,” Annie Schwartz said. “It is Bonnie and Clyde.”
Samantha smiled at her. “Almost. But if we get caught at the beginning, I intend to tell Carter that we’re making a citizen’s arrest for his SEC violations.”
Joe Hartman cackled. “He’ll wet his Brooks Brothers pants.”
Samantha nodded. “Yes, I think he will.”
“But it’s still crazy, right?” It was Constantini again.
“Oh, yes, it’s crazy,” Samantha said. “And as a lawyer I’d have to advise you against it.” She gave an exaggerated shrug. “But do I think it will work?” She glanced at Fallon. “Yes, I think it might. And, if we get caught, I don’t think anything will happen to us.” She let out a small laugh. “Except, of course, we’ll probably be fired.”
“So how do we start this life of crime?” Annie Schwartz asked. “And what do we wear? I hope it’s not going to be something embarrassing.”
“We’ll be wearing fatigues. Give Ben your sizes.”
“Oh, God,” Annie said.
Fallon fought down a grin and hurried on. “It’s Fri
day. We’ll all go there tomorrow, get the lay of the land, and get everything set up,” Fallon said. “Those of you who aren’t part of the initial operation here will stay there and finish up, and the rest of us will come back and do it on Monday.” He pulled a list from his pocket and handed it to Constantini. “I want you to use that lovely background in military procurement to get us this stuff. Joe can help you. All of it will be available up there, so it shouldn’t be a problem.”
“I’m going too,” Annie said. “There’s got to be someone there with some fashion sense.”
26
FALLON SAT IN WATERS’S OFFICE. IT WAS ELEVEN O’CLOCK Monday morning, and he knew he should be tired from all the preparations he had put in over the weekend. But his adrenaline was flowing. Even more so as he took in the look on Carter Bennett’s face. He was seated at Charlie Waters’s right hand, smug and self-assured.
“I can’t have it, Jack.” Waters sat on his office sofa, arms spread in a gesture of benevolence—a man who has tried to be fair and who finds himself on the brink of failure. “One executive becoming physical with another is something I view as intolerable.”
Fallon had a sudden urge to spit in Waters’s eye. He wondered about professional goons wielding saps. Did they count?
Fallon noted the expression of moral indignation on Bennett’s face. It seemed genuine, and Fallon decided he didn’t know about the German Charlie had sent after him. Either that, or he was not only a good actor but also a sociopath.
“You’re absolutely right, Charlie. No matter the provocation, there’s no excuse. But in fairness to Carter, I can’t be certain he actually intended to hit Wally Green. It just appeared that way at the time. I only grabbed him as a precaution.”
Confusion flooded Waters’s face. “What the hell are you talking about, Jack? You attacked Carter. That’s my understanding.”
Fallon raised his eyebrows. “Really?” He turned his gaze on Bennett. “Is that what you told him, Carter?”
“You know damned well what happened, Fallon.” Bennett’s face had turned scarlet; his teeth were clenched, and his eyes spit unconcealed hatred.
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