by James Burke
Tonight was it. Then his worries would be over. Conners was glad he'd got the two extra hands from Mr. Henry. They were good men, and with the way Morley operated, he sure as hell needed them. Again he wondered about the girl. She'd be no factor tonight. She'd play his way, or she'd take the big swim with Morley but he really wasn't worried. She was too smart and too hung up on excitement to throw this chance away. He suspected that Morley's plans to leave - he had to be planning a split - included the girl, although he'd fuzzed this with Mr. Henry. Why Morley'd go to this kind of trouble, he couldn't figure. She was a doll baby, but the kind of money Morley had would buy lots of those. Oh well, he thought, smarter guys than him had had their heads ruled by their cocks. So what else is new?
He mused. It would be nice to be back in Chicago again, with spring coming on.
The phone rang. He pounced on it before he realized how keyed up he was, and then hesitated a moment to compose himself. "Yes?"
It was Krupa. "Dennis. They've been in that apartment all day. Car's still sitting in the parking area and the bug's working fine." He stopped, obviously wanting to say more.
"So?"
"So I got one of those feelings. Somethin's wrong. It feels too quiet, you know? Dennis, I think somethin' spooky's happened."
"Like what?"
"Like maybe they sneaked past us!" There, it was out of the bag now. Krupa obviously felt better.
Conners' voice was icy. "And how could they do that, Sal? How could they sneak past you four professionals? How?"
"I don't know, Dennis. I swear we've got this place locked up. But I'm just afraid."
"You try the phone?"
"Fifteen minutes ago. No answer."
"Any activity there at the building? People in and out? I mean unusual things-too many people, too many cars, that kinda thing?"
"No. It's been strictly routine."
"So you wanta go in and look? That right, Sal?"
"Yeah. I think we should. Figured I could get a pair of overalls and a plumbing outfit-you know, tell 'em I'm working next door but need to get at a pipe fitting from their side. Somethin' like that."
"Okay, Sal, I agree we should go in, but I don't want you to do it. Use one of those new guys from up East. Use Rocco. and tell him not to go into the place. He's to go to the door - no farther - and if they answer, he tells 'em he's working next door and asks 'em to made sure their taps are closed while he cuts a pipe, just five minutes or so. He's not to go inside, no matter what. And, oh yeah, if the guy is there, then Rocco should go back in five or six minutes and tell him it's all okay again. Got it?"
"Gotcha. Will do, Dennis. I'll be back to ya shortly."
Conners sat by the phone nervously. Now he was worried too. It wasn't even dark yet. Could the bastard have slipped by them? And with the girl? Conners hadn't told anybody that he figured Santa might have "made" him at the airport that first day; if he had, he'd probably made Krupa too. So if the guy saw Krupa at his front door in a plumber's outfit or any other kind of outfit, no telling what his reaction would be, only that it'd be bad for them. It was almost twenty minutes later that Krupa called. "Sorry it took so long. We had to get into the maintenance room to get some overalls and stuff. No luck, Dennis; either they're gone or they aren't answering the door. Quiet as a church in there. Nobody moving. Rocco waited and listened for three or four minutes and not a sound. I'd like to go in. How 'bout it?"
"Damn it, Sal, I'm worried that may be just what the sonofabitch wants - to get his hands on one of us."
"And I'm worried he's skipped out."
"Okay. Okay. I guess you're right. Let's go in and see. Okay, it's now six twenty-one. At exactly six-thirty - that give you enough time?''
"Yeah, I'm next door, but make it six thirty-five to be safe.''
"Okay. At six thirty-five you and Rocco be at the door to that place. I'll phone the number and let it ring seven times, no more, no less. I'll hang up after seven rings, then you guys move in. No problem with the locks?"
"Dennis! Rocco is an expert. The best."
"Yeah, I forgot. All right, now, don't go in if the phone doesn't ring at six thirty-five or if it rings more or less than seven times, 'cause then it won't be me and something will be out of whack. Got it?"
"Right. I understand."
"And Sal-"
"Yeah?"
"Splash a little booze on your shirt so you can give it the 'drunk-wrong apartment' bit in case the bastard's in there playing possum. And Sal, whatever you do, don't hurt 'em and don't bust up the place. No rough stuff. Got it?"
"Gotcha. What if they are in there?"
"Persuade them to come with you and we'll just move our timetable up a few hours. But watch that bastard closely. He's slippery as hell."
"Okay. Got it."
"Good luck. Remember, seven rings."
"Right."
At thirty-four minutes and fifty seconds after six o'clock Conners dialed Morley's number. It clicked in and then rang. Once. Twice. Seven times. He hung up and sat back in the dark to wait. At six forty-four his phone rang. He had a sinking premonition as he reached for the instrument, but there was no alternative to answering. "Yes."
"There's nobody there. I think they've split."
"They couldn't have gone out the back, to the beach?"
"No. Arnold's been on that exit all afternoon."
"And the front? You're sure?"
''I'm sure, Dennis. They got past us some way."
"Lotsa people in and out of there, you said?"
"Yeah, last hour or so especially. But that's normal for this time a' day."
"Couples?"
"Yeah.''
"Walking?"
"None at all. Everybody that came out the front got into a car. None of them looked like Morley and the girl."
"But you think one of them was?"
" 'Fraid so, Dennis. It has to be that way."
"Clothes in the apartment?"
"Yeah, lots of them. Both kinds. But who knows how much or little they mighta taken with 'em."
"You're right."
"Oh, and Dennis, there was an envelope on the dining table. It's addressed to you."
"What!" He fumed. "To me! Why didn't you say so?"
"I just did."
"Yeah. Sorry, Sal. Took me by surprise. What's in it?"
"I dunno, it's sealed, so I didn't open it. Want me to?"
"No, thanks. Just bring it to me. How's the apartment look?"
"Normal, like they'd gone out to dinner or something. No sign of panic or rush, if that's what you mean."
"That's what I meant. Okay, Sal, you and Arnold c'mon back here. Leave Paul and Rocco, one on each exit, just in case. We gotta start a lotta things in motion."
Krupa was back to the motel in twenty minutes. Conners opened the envelope with steady fingers and a half smile on his face. Inside he was churning like mad. There was a one-page typed letter in it, and he read it, his heart sinking deeper with each line. He sent Krupa to call off the surveillance and bring the boys back, then he got on the phone to Miami and got some help covering the airport and steamer sailings. When the boys got back he gave them pictures of Morley and the girl and sent them to Ft. Lauderdale Airport, Port Everglades, and the West Palm Airport. He knew damn well these were all futile exercises, but he had to go through the motions. That smart bastard Morley! But how did he know? The girl didn't know. Could Morley have been that lucky? Sonofabitch! Well, no use delaying any longer. It wouldn't get any easier. He dialed the New Jersey area code and that number, went through that polite charade with Savilli (didn't that spook ever sleep?), and then the old man was on the line. Conners began to sweat. "Sorry to disturb you, sir, but there's been an important development."
"Good news, I hope." The temperature of the old man's voice belied his optimistic words.
"No sir, not really. Santa has disappeared."
Mr. Henry's voice was like an icy wind. ''I'd say that was definitely bad news, Dennis. Tell me why you
don't think so."
"Because it's triggered the action we wanted, sir, even if it's not in the way we expected. He left a note, and now we know many things we didn't before. We know he's Santa, that the deal was a heist, that he has all our materials, and what he wants for them. But best of all, sir, we know he'll meet with us for an exchange.''
"Because he says so, Dennis?" The icy wind cut again.
"No sir, because he has to. I think you'll agree when you read the note."
"Where'd you find the note?"
"In his place, sir. We decided to go in. It was too quiet, and they didn't answer the phone, and we were worried."
"And the note was there. Addressed to whom?"
"Me, sir."
"How'd he know your name, Dennis? The girl?"
"Could be, sir. I don't know. Maybe he was at the airport that day when I covered the aborted delivery. I don't know. Maybe the girl had to give him the cover story I gave her in case he ever pinned her down. She wasn't supposed to give the true names, but sometimes these things happen."
"And how'd he get past your coverage and get away?"
"I think he used disguises and borrowed or stole another car."
"And the timing, Dennis. How'd he manage that? Just under the wire? You think he knew your plans? Did the girl know?" The icy voice was still like a whip.
"I don't see how he could know, sir. Only six people knew the timing: you and I and the four men here with me. The boat captain's on standby, and I haven't talked to the girl in over a week. I don't know if anything spooked Santa. Maybe he was just lucky. What I do know, sir, is that he is playing for time and position. He wants our money, and he wants to talk about it, but he wants better control of the situation than he had here. I know we'll get another crack at him."
The icy voice warmed about ten degrees. It was still damn cold. "Well, Dennis, maybe you're right. These things do happen. I suppose you're taking all reasonable action to try to track them - the girl is with him, I assume - down at airports, et cetera?"
"Yes sir. I've set all that in motion. And yes, sir, the girl has to be with him."
"You're still sure of her?"
"Yes sir. I am. I think the problem is that Santa has suspected her from the start and has watched her like a hawk, especially the last week or so. She's following my orders, as I told her never to risk her cover by trying to communicate with me when conditions were not favorable."
"So you feel we've got somebody in the other team's huddle, after all?"
"Yes sir. I sure do. I guess all this was why I did not consider his escape a disaster."
"I see, Dennis. I see." The voice warmed another ten degrees or so. "Well, I want to see that note from this Santa man. You'd better come up first thing tomorrow and bring it with you. And, Dennis . . ."
"Yes sir."
"Maybe you're right. Maybe this isn't a disaster. We'll see. Sleep well.''
"Yes sir. Good-bye."
Everything was the same: the airport, Savilli, the ride, the castle, the old man's eyes, everything. Even the wine and the table on the patio. Mr. Henry dismissed the butler as soon as the wine was served and reached out for the note. He read it slowly and carefully, maddeningly slowly. Conners sat there silent and outwardly composed; inside he was a scared and worried little boy. He remembered almost every letter of that typed page. He could almost see the words coming off Mr. Henry's slightly moving lips as his hooded eyes moved slowly across the page. It read:
Mr. Conners:
We have not met, yet I feel we know each other quite well. My congratulations on the speed and efficiency with which you zeroed in on me.
I will be brief. I have the materials you seek, and I am willing to surrender them to you - if you are willing to meet my conditions.
I have four items: 1) the original and only series of six notebooks, "Amalfi one through six," which detail D.C.'s entire system and its personnel; 2) D.C.'s proposal to the Corse (carbon copy of the original he delivered in person to M. Marcella in Sept. '84; 3) the original and only copy of D.C.'s personal plan for the piecemeal implementation of the Corse takeover of "Amalfi " (I do not know if M. Marcella was given an outline of this plan - it is possible); 4) D.C.'s personal and additional "insurance policy" against a Corse double cross.
That is the merchandise; these are the prices: For items one, two, and three - two million two hundred twenty thousand dollars. ($2,220,000). For item four - one million dollars {$1,000,000).
If you wish to purchase items one through three you simply renounce all claim to the funds I am now holding. If there is any question about the value of items two and/or three, please note that their sole possession by the Corse would be most undesirable.
Item four. This document is of personal interest only to M. Latellier of the Corse. It is deadly and damning for him, but I have assumed that you may wish to let him purchase it, because he would be most grateful to you if you did. The operative words are "Quetta, Samir, Paris, and December 83." M. Latellier will recognize these, and I am sure will agree that $1,000,000 is indeed a bargain. However, I do not care who the purchaser is; I am only interested in receiving my price.
I will contact you via your Chicago office regarding time and place for an exchange. This contact will be made between March 26 and April 6. You may attempt to follow me if you wish, but it is not necessary. As you see, I do not intend to be "lost" for long.
Santa
Conners began to lose his outward composure as the old man started his third reading of the letter. Christ!! What's to read over and over? And that damn signature. The final insult. Now Conners was personally involved; before he'd just considered the whole deal as a steppingstone for himself, and if one of those steps was Santa's dead body, then so be it. But now he wanted the bastard. "Santa" my ass! Old Cappacino was probably still rattling his coffin over that one. Conners was jolted out of his musings. The old man had finally looked up from the paper and was starting to speak. Conners was happy to note that the tone was almost lukewarm. "Well, Dennis, it seems we made the mistake of underestimating our opposition I mean both you and I. Dante was much smarter than I had imagined, and this Santa man, he's much better than you expected. Right?"
"Yes sir. I mean, yes, I underestimated Santa's ability."
"I do not like this man, Dennis. He is a smart-ass and I've never liked smart-asses. But I must admit, this is a very clever man. Very clever. And very well prepared. And organized. Yes, organized. Hmmm." The old man nodded thoughtfully, apparently mulling over his own words, then went on. "I realize you do not have all the facts concerning the items in here -" he tapped the papers in his hand -" but I'd be interested in your thoughts about it."
Although Conners had expected such a question and had given it a lot of thought, his ideas on the subject were still a jumble; nevertheless, when Mr. Henry says speak, you jump up, wag your tail, and bark. "Yes sir, I agree Santa is smart, but I think the problem is that we underestimated other things more than that."
"Like what, Dennis?"
"Like his professional knowledge and his contacts."
"Hmmm. Interesting. Explain."
"Well, we felt from the beginning that he wouldn't have tried to get away with our materials unless he were confident - very confident - that he could swing it, but we thought he was relying on his own intelligence. Now I don't think that's true. I believe he not only planned this operation for a long time but he had some help in pulling it off."
"But you've said all along, he's a 'greedy loner."' A touch of that ice came back in the old man's voice.
"Oh yes, sir, and I still believe it. In fact, I think that note in your hand proves it. He's willing to risk all in a face-to-face meeting just to get more money."
"What do you mean by 'help'?"
"I mean that Santa not only learned a lot while he was with that superspy outfit in Washington, but he made a lot of contacts in and out of the U.S. I'll tell you why."
"Please do." This was sincer
e. Most of the ice had gone.
"Well, sir, starting with planning, everything he did was smart, smooth, professional. This was his training and experience. He found our bugs, he beat our surveillance, he anticipated our moves. But the big thing - the important thing - was that he wouldn't have planned the whole operation unless he was sure he could get away with the dough and his life whenever he wanted to. I think logic proves this was no spur-of-the moment caper that Santa thought up when Cappacino died, but a cold, calculated operation; therefore, he had help lined up in advance."
"What kind of help did this 'loner' have?"
"Blind help, sir. People who helped him because they were old friends, not because they had a piece of the action. I'm thinking of things like false documentation, overseas contacts for help with hiding the money and with secret travel arrangements, and of course his travel agency friends. And also - I figure this had to be, sir - he had somebody out in California tip him off when we checked those records on his name out there."
"Could be. Yes, I like that. I like it a lot better than thinking there must be a leak in our organization. So then you think he did get our materials out of the country?"
"Yes sir. I think he did - probably to a Swiss bank. With contacts he could have handled it easily, and I think the guy's got lots of contacts in Europe. The girl told us that's where he lived most of the last ten years, and we have an idea about what he was doing during that time. Or, sir, he could have simply used Dante's systems and people."
"By God, that's so! He could. Now, Dennis, I assume you are no longer worried that he might have an 'insurance policy'?"
"No sir, not really. I don't think it's consistent. If he's a loner and greedy, he doesn't want any knowledgeable help, and he has to deal with us, and deal by himself. Any kind of an 'insurance policy' would require him to change this basic plan. At first I thought he might well have arranged something, but I think his skipping out - a play for time and position - proves otherwise."
"Yes, I see. Now, where do you think he will set up the exchange?''