by James Burke
"You might say that. Maybe we won't need it, but if we do, it's nice to have it on hand. It would be better all around."
"Then when we come back they'll be gone and we can live peacefully ever after."
"Something like that."
"Patrick, my boy, as the old lady said when she kissed the cow, 'bullshit'! Talk about make-believe world!"
"All right. All right. I give up. My father told me never to marry a smart woman; they drive you crazy taking your excuses apart."
"Come on, lover."
"Okay. Yes, I think it's imperative that Conners people not learn of our plans to leave the country. Yes, I'm sure they'd stop us from leaving if they knew. No, I don't think it will blow over, but I think we will be better off if we disappear from their radar for a while. Although it might just convince them that I do have their goodies, it will also give them a chance to look at some other possibilities. Who knows, maybe they will find the culprit, and then we would be home free. Anyway, I think it's much healthier for us to leave and let things cool off while we bask in the sun somewhere."
"Hmmm. More like it, but it still sounds a little vague. But then you can be quite vague when you want to be, my boy."
"Vague is as vague does."
"Oh crap. So when do we leave?"
"We'll know tomorrow. Got a few items to take care of first."
"Can I help?"
"Just make everything look slow and easy and routine. No different or sudden moves."
"Then you do think they're watching us?"
"Honey, I am positive of it!"
"Oh."
"Sure you want to go? I don't think they'd ever harm you, but I can only guarantee it'd be over my dead body."
"Yes, I'm sure. She looked squarely at Morley, her dark eyes huge and probing. "You're going, aren't you?"
"I have to!"
"Then I have to, too!"
He reached over to kiss her; she raised her face and met him halfway. "I love you more today than yesterday."
Her eyes twinkled. The serious talk was over. It was settled, whatever it was. "I didn't know you felt that way about yesterday."
He grimaced with affected pain. "On second thought, you'd better stay here. Not sure I can stand those terrible puns all the way to Bali Hai or wherever."
"I promise - no more puns. Take me with you."
"No, no promises. You wouldn't be the same, and I want you just as you are. I'll take you, puns and all."
"Then it's settled."
"Yeah, honey, it's settled."
15
March came in like a lion - a modified, South Florida-style lion, but still a lion. It was windy, and an ominous bank of clouds moved in inexorably from the west-northwest. A gloomy day, but Dennis Conners, Chicago businessman, was anything but gloomy. He had just had his perfunctory chat with Savilli and was waiting for his liege lord to come on the line. He did. "Good afternoon, Dennis. I hope you have some good news. It's a lousy day up here. I need to be cheered up."
"I think I do, sir. We have Santa identified for sure and we will pick him up tonight!"
"Wonderful, Dennis, wonderful! I am cheered up already. Which one is it? Or was it a new, dark horse you've kept from me. "
Conners chuckled. "No, sir, I'd never keep anything from you. It's Morley, sir."
"Hmmm. How did you decide? I must admit I would have bet on that other one, the one with the boatyard."
"He was my choice too, sir, at first. When he picked up all our bugs, I was sure, but then Morley picked'em up too. The Bahama angle was another thing. We still haven't resolved that fully. Then we discovered that Morley went to work for that travel outfit right after the heist and left for Europe and Switzerland three days afterward. He made another trip not too many days later, same itinerary, then he just about quit working at the place. This got me thinking he might be number one, but we got the clincher about an hour ago from California. I think you'll enjoy this, sir, it's rather ironic. Morley's mother was a very religious woman and his full baptismal name was Saint Patrick Morley!"
The old man really erupted on that one. "Santa, Santa, Santa. Of course! Poor Dante, what a waste! He did have a wonderful sense of humor. Santa! Well, well. Yes, Dennis, that was certainly the clincher. So when will you pick him up?"
"Tonight, sir. As soon after dark as we can. He never stays in the whole evening, so whenever he comes out we'll take him."
"How about all those things you were worried about earlier: friends, insurance policies, all that?"
"I’m convinced he's a loner, sir. We've watched him loosely but steadily for almost three weeks now, and I'm sure of it. I believe he's alone, he's greedy, and he's vulnerable. I think he'll cave in."
"But I thought he was one of those supermen from, what did you call it, 'Squadron C'?"
"Yes sir, Squad C. But I'm sure he's severed all ties, and I don't think we have to worry about him scuttling himself with a cyanide pill or any of that. No, sir, I don't think he's a superman any more."
"So where will you sweat him?"
"We've got a boat. The captain is a Miami employee, and we'll go out far enough from land and go to work."
"And afterward?"
"Nothing 'til we have the money and the books in hand."
"Good. And then?"
"I recommend one last trip to sea for Saint Patrick."
"We think alike, my boy. Excellent! And the girl, Dennis, is she still with him?"
"Yes, sir, but he watches her like a hawk. She hasn't been able to risk communications with us since she moved in with him."
"You still trust her?"
"Yes, sir, completely."
"And so you'll just let her go?"
"Yes, sir. She'll go back to Chicago."
"And no trouble, Dennis? It seems to me she knows a great deal about our business."
"Well, sir, she's in as deep as any of us. But, no, I don't think she'll give us any trouble anyway. She really doesn’t know too much, and we've got a good hold on her, sir - she'd like to work for us again."
"All right, Dennis, I rely on your judgment. Now let me go back a little. There's one item that bothers me. This Santa man, Morley, he was with the federal government how many years?"
"Almost ten - three in the army and about six and a half with Squad C."
"So, Dennis, why are you so sure he's a loner, an opportunist? Is it not possible that he could be a plant? How do you call it, a sleeper? Why do you feel so certain he has cut his ties with this Squad C? After all, you told me that his Pentagon file is still held secretly."
Conners hesitated; nodding at the old man's logic, then came on slowly and distinctly. "Anything is possible, sir, you are right. But I am convinced that it is not so in this case. First, Morley's background is now pretty open to us - I mean there are no real black spots. And this we know: he was overseas with Squad C; his wife was killed in a plane crash; he did take it hard, leave his job with Squad C and come down here; he did inherit enough money to be a beach bum for more than a few years. These are facts, sir. Then too, he's been living here doing nothing for more than two years - no mysterious deviations, contacts, trips - until recently of course - and nothing that looks out of line."
"I know, Dennis, and I agree, but still, would he not be careful to be just so clean and normal if he were a sleeper?"
"Yes, sir, of course he would, but two things convince me it is not so. One is the fact that Squad C's jurisdiction is narrow and limited to overseas activity; the FBI handles all these antiterrorist activities in the U.S. The other is the time element. It's going on three years since his wife died and he quit the government.''
"I see. I see. You feel that Squad C would not be either able or willing to set him up as a sleeper?"
"Exactly, sir. It's completely out of their bailiwick. And if any other outfit, say the FBI, for example, wanted to use him well, sir, they just don't operate that way. Three years! On the beach in Florida! No, sir! What were his targets, his objectives,
which merited such an expensive cover setup. It just doesn't make sense."
"Hmmm. You make a convincing case, Dennis. One last question - his Pentagon file?"
"According to the insider - the Pentagon sergeant our contact man squeezed in Washington - this is just routine. Squad C puts 'secret holds' on the files of all its people for five years after their separation."
"So you are satisfied he is not a plant, this Santa man?" "Yes, sir, I am satisfied."
"All right, Dennis, again I accept your judgment. But he is a very tricky fellow, and it is this that worries me. You know, tricky fellows are so often not what logic says they should be, and they don't behave as logic says they should."
"Yes, sir, you are of course right, anything could be possible but I do feel that we must proceed on our best judgment. To me that means assuming Morley is in general what he purports to be - an opportunist whose past experience makes him a tricky enemy. To me, sir, this whole thing only makes sense as a heist by Morley. You see, if he were a Pentagon sleeper, what is it that he and his bosses are after? Why wait? No sir, they'd have started the roll-up by now and we'd have alarms going off all over."
"Yes, I see. That is a good point. I like that. Why should they wait. But Morley, he would wait for the right time and place, no?"
"I'm convinced of it, sir, and to me that would have been the proof - when Morley came to peddle the notebooks back to us."
"I agree, Dennis. Let's proceed as you suggest. Handle it as you have planned. Keep me informed as you move ahead."
"Yes, sir, I will."
At about the same time Conners and Mr. Henry were calmly planning his watery demise; Saint Patrick Morley was answering the insistent summons of his telephone.
"Hello."
"Patrick - sorry to be calling you at home, but this shouldn't wait.''
"No problem, Terry. Not to worry. What gives?"
"You know that little piece of cheese you left out in Santa Barbara?"
"Yeah."
"A rat came for it yesterday."
"He got it?"
"Sure. You said no stops."
"Right. I did. Any idea who he was or from where?"
''Al said - my man Al Parsons - that the guy used the name James Smith on the sign-in book and gave an address in L.A. that's nonexistent. Al said he came during the lunch hour when the place was understaffed and seemed a little put out when he was told he couldn't examine the old books by himself."
"I don't suppose anybody recognized him; you know, he could be a local."
"No way. Big guy, fairly well dressed, not too friendly, and nobody in the place had ever seen him before. Al's principal contact happened to be the one who waited on him - there's only three there - so she was particularly careful. The guy asked for three names; the other two were not locatable. He paid his two bucks for a copy of your birth certificate and left."
"Aha. Very interesting."
"Yeah, I suppose it is. I wouldn't know. Can I call off Parsons now?"
"Oh, sure. And thank him for me; he played the whole thing exactly as I wanted him to."
"All right, lad. I won't push any farther, but some day fill me in on all this, will ya?"
"For sure, pal, for sure. Right now suffice it to know you've helped an old friend one hell of a lot."
"I’m glad, old friend. Anything else today?"
"Not a thing. In fact, I think you can close the file for a while. I'll be away for a month or so. When I come back we'll get together and I'll answer any questions over a huge steak on me."
"You're on. I'll look forward to it. Meanwhile, be careful. I mean I've got a feeling you should be careful."
"Your feelings are valid. Take care yourself. My love to the family. See you soon."
"Yeah, Patrick, good-bye."
He'd hardly hung up the phone when it rang again. This time it was the telephone-keyed front door. He buzzed the lock open and then waited until the visitor arrived. It was Alvera's assistant with a small package. Morley thanked him and told him that if he met anyone who asked him where he'd been he should give them Morley's neighbor's name and apartment number. The man understood, saying that he also had covered the callboard with his body when he punched Morley's door key code number. Morley relaxed. He should have known that Alvera's man would be cautious. He opened the package and was looking at the documents when Dana came out of the bedroom. She was enough to take any man's mind off his work. Fresh from the shower, attired only with a towel around her waist, she was using another to dry and fluff her hair. He turned back to the papers and she came and stood behind his chair, looking over his shoulder. She leaned down to get a closer look and he felt the weight and warmth of a bare breast on his shoulder. This ruined his concentration completely, so he turned his head to brush its softness with his lips. He liked the taste, and started to turn further to improve his angle of osculation, but a gentle hand guided his head and eyes back to the pile of documents. "What're those? Mine?"
"All yours."
"Mr. Alvera's contribution to our trip?"
"Exactly."
"How'd they get here?"
"His boy brought 'em."
"Just now? While I was in the shower?"
"Uh-huh."
"Why the rush?"
"We're leaving. I mean we, if you still want to."
"Try leaving without me."
"I won't. Can you be ready in half an hour?"
The mischievous twinkle started in her eyes and spread. "Darling, do I not look 'ready'?"
"Yes. Yes. That's why I hated to ask. How soon can you be dressed and ready to go?"
She stopped and looked at him full on. "You're not kidding? Today? Now?"
"No, I'm not kidding. Now. Right now."
"Give me half an hour."
He looked at his watch. "Your time has begun." Then he looked serious. "No bags! The little one you packed yesterday will have to do. And, honey, slacks, no skirt. Okay?"
She nodded assent as she moved toward the bedroom. Twenty minutes later she was back-hair dry, face perfect, carrying her largest shoulder bag and dressed in a casual, light pants suit. Morley shook his head. "Amazing. I wouldn't have believed it possible."
"All is possible, master, if the spirit, she is willing."
"Okay, okay." He laid the three passports out on the coffee table and had her sign them with the appropriate names. Then he matched the three stacks of credit cards and pocket litter with the passports, gave one stack to her for her purse, and put the others, in separate and numbered envelopes, into his small briefcase. He placed an envelope on the dining table, picked up a grocery sack that was sitting by the door, and they left without even a backward glance.
Conners was pleased. Things had gone well. First, the old man putting him in charge, then Matthewson's exit - funny, he hadn't had any problem with the men, even Paul, over that and now the operation was falling in place. He'd really been sure when Morley had picked off the second bug, except that Roamer had found his too. Something all along had told him it had to be Morley. That's why he'd risked the girl on him. She was damn good, for an amateur. She'd picked up a hell of a lot of corroborating items, and of course she'd given them the Santa Barbara lead that broke the whole thing open. She'd get a good bonus when she got back to Chicago. He smiled to himself. Of course, she'd go back, and then he'd be the boss and could give her a real job. That was another thing. That bastard Morley kept the girl so tightly leashed. Hell, she hadn't been able to call him for a long time, and he had to admit to himself that it made him squirm to think of the two of them up there alone in Morley's apartment.
Well, Morley was smart all right. The more he learned about him, the more respectful he got. The decision to move tonight was born of this same respect. He didn't want the slippery bastard to get out from under. Might never see him again! Trouble was, he was a real pro. They'd taught him well in that "Squad C." It was a lucky break having their Pentagon man run into that enlisted man in a Washington bar. Of
course he'd spotted the guy earlier as possible entree into "Squad C"; nevertheless, he got a lot of interesting poop out of the man. It made Morley's skills much more understandable when you realized he'd spent almost six years with this super secret outfit. Supposedly they were the worldwide frontline defense against terrorists and nihilist activity aimed at the U.S. and its friends. The Squad C operators were legendary already, and from what the man said, this Morley was one of the best. Good thing Morley wasn't aware of who they were (Conners hoped) even if he did know what they were and why they were there. Still, the other guy Roamer was a Squad C graduate too. He'd quit for money, Morley for despondency, but they both had the skills and the training. It was the name thing in California that did it. Without that, he'd've had to toss a coin. Think of it! The damn answer was there all the time in a simple public record.
And yesterday. Shit! They'd had two cars on him and he got loose. They knew he'd been lost somewhere in a mile square section of South Miami for almost an hour before they picked him up again heading back north on 1-95.
Whatever it was he went there for, it was probably too late now to do anything about it. The Miami boys had taken a look at the area, but nothing there was immediately suspicious. Damn! He wished he'd hear from the girl, but that sure as hell was no cinch either. The only lesson learned in that Miami fiasco was that they had to be better from now on. And so today he'd used everybody sewing up that damn apartment building like a drum. There had been no use trying a third bug inside; he probably had the place booby-trapped. And anyway, the bastard would find it in no time at all. They did get a bug on his car, one of those new ones that are not good for much distance and are hard as hell to spot without the exact calibrated receiver. It was working fine as of Krupa's last call. Still, it was amazing what Morley had done in a few weeks, right under their noses. As Mr. Henry had said - jokingly, Conners hoped maybe they should let the guy keep the money and hire him just to get him on their side. Conners had laughed, but he didn't think it was too funny. Okay, so the guy had shit all over them, getting the dough and then getting it out of the country. The big trick was to get to use it.