by David Wind
Staring into Raden’s compassionate eyes, Steven saw the truth. He took a long and shaky breath. “It’s all right,” he said to Joshua before turning to Carla. “Do you want to stay longer?”
“No more,” Carla whispered. Her face was chalky, her lips were stretched into a tight line. But it was the plaintive quality of her voice which told Steven that Carla was even more shaken than he.
He put his arm protectively around her, and drew her close. “Let’s go.”
Without releasing her, he started to the elevator. Raden walked on Carla’s other side. Steven pressed the call button, and turned to Raden.
“Will you hire a private duty nurse. Someone who will be with her twenty-four hours. I don’t want her left alone again, not for one second. Joshua, whoever tried to kill her will try again if she regains consciousness.”
Raden gazed at him for a moment, making Steven wonder if the young doctor thought he’d gone around the bend. “It will have to be two nurses,” Raden said at last.
“I’ll send you the money to pay the nurses. Joshua,” he began, but stopped as a new thought slipped through the chaos of his mind, “before his last mission, did your brother write home? Did he tell you anything about what he was doing?” Raden blinked several times.
“He always wrote. And when he did, the letters were all marked over, large blocks were censored out. He explained it once, saying that if anything was missing, it was because the army didn’t want the enemy to gain information. But yes, there was a letter, it came almost a year after he was captured.”
“A year?”
“It was mailed from the States. Did you know he was going to be a writer?” Steven shook his head. “He was. Before he went into combat, he would write down his feelings. He put it all on paper: The reason he was going out, what his mission was. Then he would give it to his buddy in case he didn’t make it back. They had an agreement. No real mail out of Nam. Only when they got home.”
“Do you still have it?”
Raden nodded. “At home.”
“I’d like to see the letter.”
“Why not,” Raden said as the elevator door opened.
They started in, but stopped when the duty nurse called Raden’s name. All three turned at the same time.
“A security guard just called up. There’s a problem with Mr. Morrisy’s car,” the nurse said, her eyes darting nervously toward Steven.
“What kind of a problem?” Steven asked.
“He said two FBI agents are searching it.”
<><><>
Paul Grange walked down the long hallway to the director’s office. In his right hand were two manila files. The first was the FAA report; the second was Morrisy’s army records, which arrived that afternoon.
He held back a yawn as he entered the director’s empty outer office and went straight to the inner door. He knocked once.
“Come.”
Grange entered the office and went to the desk. Julius Axelrod looked up from his paperwork and motioned for Grange to sit on the chair next to the desk. “Long night, eh?”
Sitting, Grange placed the manila files on his lap and said, “Yes sir, a very long night.”
“Have you come to any conclusions?”
Grange’s face was pensive. He tapped the files with his index finger. “The service jackets you were able to pull for me, back up my initial feeling about Morrisy. The C-3 they found in the plane in West Virginia confirms it—which in itself strange. C-3 is Greek: C-4 is the standard in the states.” Grange paused to shake his head. “Also, there’s no doubt that the military records dealing with that mission in seventy-one were altered. I’d sure as hell like to know what really happened to Morrisy and the others.”
“You couldn’t find anything?”
Grange shook his head sharply. “It’s exactly what Morrisy said. It’s not what’s in the files that counts; it’s what’s been taken out. I have some leads, and there was definite CIA involvement. But it’ll take a while. We’ll have to bring in some of the general staff officers who were part of Command Saigon at the time—if we can.”
Axelrod filled the bowl of his pipe, tamped it, and lighted the tobacco. “We can, and we will. Put it in a report, my eyes only, and I’ll make a determination on how best to proceed. I’ll need it by nine.”
“Sir, when I spoke to Tom in West Virginia, he told me the same two FBI agents were there as well—Blayne and Grodin. They know the plane was rigged.”
Axelrod frowned. “We couldn’t stop them.”
“If they arrest Morrisy, they’ll jeopardize our entire operation.”
“I’m well aware of that. However, the problem is more complex than that. By killing the two men, the mole has now thoroughly locked in Morrisy as the only suspect.”
Pausing, his face thoughtful, Axelrod stared down at his pipe. “There’s got to be a way to turn this around. Something we can do to move things our way.”
“There is one thing,” Grange stated. “I could recruit Morrisy. He’s already agreed to nose around the senator’s offices. He went through the special CIA training when he was in Military Intelligence. He’d be a natural to sniff out the mole. His incentive is personal, and once he knows what’s going on, he’ll be more than willing to cooperate.”
Axelrod puffed studiously on the pipe. No trace of approval or disapproval showed on his face. “No good. We’d have to step between the Bureau and Morrisy to do that. If we have this figured right, the mole will know something is wrong as soon as we take action. Paul, even though you think Morrisy is a white hat, you could be wrong.”
Grange exhaled with annoyance. “We could run him cold, use him to draw the mole out.”
“Iffy.”
“It may be our only option,” Grange said, holding the director’s gaze with his own. “As I see it, the frame around Morrisy was set quickly because Ellie Rogers didn’t die. The longer the investigation goes on, the more time the mole has to tighten the frame. But to frame Morrisy effectively, the mole’s active participation is needed. He wants Morrisy to take the blame, which means he has to orchestrate more incriminating situations for Morrisy. By getting Morrisy to run, the mole will have to come out into the open.
“To make Morrisy look guilty, the mole has limited options. The first would be to find Morrisy and report him to the Bureau. The second is to put Morrisy down and if he takes that option, it would have to look like an accident, suicide, or have him somehow put down by the Bureau so they would take the credit and the mole would stay clear.”
Grange paused, his hands working absently on the files. “The third alternative would be to have his Soviet contacts take Morrisy and put out propaganda that Morrisy went back to Russia. That would serve the same purpose as killing him and would be more preferable than having Morrisy in the Bureau’s hands where they run the risk of having the whole thing blow up in their faces.
“However, and what is of prime importance,” Grange continued, “is that we run the operation, and not have to play catch up with the mole. Morrisy is smart. Once he figures out what’s going on, he’ll go into the cold alone. If he does, the mole will have a shot at him before we can protect him.”
Axelrod nodded ponderously. With Grange’s assessment of the situation matching his own, the choice was gone. “How will you put him on the run?”
“I plan on meeting with him tomorrow to see if he’ll tell me what happened in Nam. After that, I’ll tell him I learned the Bureau is going to arrest him. I’ll send him to a safe house and have word leaked to a couple of people on Pritman’s staff.”
“Which house?”
“Hagerstown.”
“Let me think on it, Paul. I’ll let you know in the morning.”
Grange stood. He left the files on Axelrod’s desk. “Sir, I don’t want to lose this one. And I don’t want to see Morrisy take the fall either.”
Chapter Fifteen
Steven, with Carla and Raden standing close behind him, looked out the lobby window.
He saw Blayne and Grodin, the two agents from Pennsylvania. Their search apparently over, for they were hovering next to the car, waiting for Steven.
Their presence followed a logical sequence of events, Steven knew, a sequence that started with Ellie’s disappearance, and ended with the discovery of the sabotage of the airplane in West Virginia. Yet he found it hard to accept that the two men had come to arrest him.
“Do they really expect you to just walk out to them and let them arrest you?” Carla asked.
Steven felt a strange calmness settle over him. He had made a promise to Ellie, minutes before, and he would not break that promise.
“I’m a lawyer,” he said, answering Carla’s question, “not a ‘desperate fugitive.” They most likely believe I think I can outmaneuver them legally, as Savak and I did in Greyton.” Steven turned to Raden. “Joshua, can you have the guard go upstairs and stay with Ellie until the private nurse comes?”
Raden went to the uniformed security guard and said something in a low voice. The guard spoke into his radio, and then went to the elevator.
“All set. He’ll stay in Ellie’s room until he’s relieved.”
Steven gazed at Raden for several seconds. “Thank you, Joshua. Now I want you to get your car, and then wait for me on the next block.”
“Maybe I should stay,” Raden offered, glancing at the two men who waited for Steven.
“Bad idea. I don’t want you involved. I need you to help Ellie. Carla, go with him,” Steven said. Then, without giving Carla a chance to speak, Steven strode to the door and went outside.
Blayne and Grodin stiffened as soon as they saw him. Steven kept a straight face, nodded to the agents, and started forward.
Halfway to the car, he heard the sound of high heels coming up behind him. She hadn’t listened to him. She was involving herself anyway.
Stopping several feet away from the agents, Steven drew himself tall. When he spoke, he put just the right degree of outrage and anger into his voice. “I hope you have a warrant this time, Blayne. A real one!”
Blayne smiled broadly. “Your makeshift alibi is dead, Morrisy, just like the two men you killed. You work quickly, don’t you? Who did you hire to rig the plane?”
“Without a warrant, you had no right to search my car.”
“Probable cause, Morrisy.”
“Bullshit. Get the hell out of our way, we’re leaving.”
“Only with us,” Blayne stated before looking at Carla. “Miss, I’d suggest that you find another way home.”
“Who are you?” Carla asked, feigning ignorance.
Blayne withdrew his wallet and showed her his identification. “FBI.”
Carla looked from the agents’ identification to their faces. “I...I don’t understand,” she stammered.
“It’s simple, Miss,” Grodin said. “Your friend here is a murderer. I’d think you’d want to put as much space between him and you as possible, and quickly.”
Carla looked at him, her face blank. “You’re mistaken. Steven isn’t a...a murderer.”
“Tell that to his girlfriend,” Grodin said.
Steven took Carla’s elbow and squeezed it hard. He turned to her and said. “Call Arnie Savak. Tell him what’s happening.”
Carla stared up at him. He stood still as her eyes searched his face. He sensed she was afraid for him, and wanted to help him somehow.
“I don’t want to leave you alone,” she said, finally. She held her evening bag in her right hand and nervously tapped it against her left palm.
“I’ll be fine.”
Carla sighed loudly, and then nodded. “I’ll be right back.”
As she turned, Blayne started forward. “Don’t try what you did the other day,” he warned Steven.
Shadowing Blayne, Grodin drew his gun. “He won’t.”
Carla, a half dozen feet away, was walking backward, and watching the scene unfurl.
Blayne took his cuffs from his belt clip. “Put your hands behind your back. Turn slowly.”
The two agents edged forward; Steven read the anxiety on Blayne’s face, a reminder of their scene in Banacek’s office. He dropped his shoulders and turned as Blayne had instructed. Exhaling loudly in capitulation.
His pulse raced. He knew he had only one chance to break free. Sweat popped across his brow. The instant the handcuff touch his skin, time ceased to exist.
Curling his fingers around the cuff, he spun, and pulled Blayne forward and off balance. The agent’s face registered shock, and then anger. Behind Steven, Grodin shouted a warning.
Steven ignored Grodin, counting on the fact that Grodin wouldn’t shoot as long as Blayne was close to him. With his free hand, Steven gripped Blayne’s wrist, twisted hard, and spun him around. He yanked up on the wrist, hammer locking the arm.
Blayne bit off a sharp yelp of pain.
As he started to turn Blayne to face Grodin, Steven heard a woman’s loud cry. Then he saw Carla racing forward, screaming wildly at Grodin. When the agent’s attention wavered between Steven and Carla, she lunged at him and slammed her purse into Grodin’s face.
The agent gave a strangled groan, and sank to his knees. His service piece fell from his hand as he tried to staunch the blood spurting from his nose. Carla was there instantly, kicking his pistol from his side.
A second later Carla had Grodin’s pistol in her hand. She stepped back, just out of his reach, and aimed the weapon at his head.
“Don’t be stupid,” Blayne pleaded.
Steven tightened his grip further, cutting off Blayne’s air. The agent fought, kicking his legs back, trying to knock Steven down. Steven countered by putting more pressure on the hammerlock.
“Morrisy,” he gasped, “you’re making it worse.”
“What’s worse than being charged with three murders and espionage?”
“Morri—”
Steven’s anger peaked. Using a technique from Nam, Steven pulled back hard and cut off Blayne’s air supply. Twenty seconds later the inspector’s body went limp. Steven released Blayne, bent quickly, and pressed two fingers to the base of Blayne’s neck.
When Steven stood, he turned to Carla. “He’s out.”
Steven picked up Blayne’s handcuffs from the sidewalk and put one end on Blayne’s wrist. He removed Blayne’s revolver, straightened, and looked at Grodin. The younger agent was still on his knees, holding his nose.
“Get over here.”
Grodin stood. “You can’t get away with this.”
“I already have.”
When Grodin reached Steven, Steven backed away slightly. “Put the cuff on your right wrist.”
Grodin shook his head. “Morrisy—”
“Do it!” Steven shouted, aware they were standing in front of a hospital. “Now!”
Grodin knelt next to Blayne. He put on the cuff and locked it, never once taking his eyes from Steven.
“Give me your cuffs and keys. Then give me Blayne’s keys.” Again, Grodin followed Steven’s orders.
“Pick him up,” Steven ordered. When Grodin held Blayne, Steven motioned him to his car. “Back seat.”
Carla opened the door, and Grodin maneuvered himself and Blayne in.
“Cover them,” Steven told Carla as he went to the driver’s side and got in. He started the engine, turned, and pointed the pistol at Grodin. “Carla, get in.”
When Carla was in the passenger seat, and again covering the agents, Steven drove to the rearmost area of the parking lot and parked in the darkest spot.
He shut off the ignition, motioned Carla out, and stared hard at Grodin. “You tell Blayne he’s wrong about me. Tell him you’ve both been sniffing at scents that were put under your noses.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Grodin asked.
“Just make sure you tell him to check out whoever is giving him the information about me. Then both of you should try using your heads for a change. You might even learn something. Give me your left arm.”
When Grodin
hesitated, Steven reached back and grabbed his wrist. Bending it over the seat back so the agent couldn’t fight, he snapped the second set of cuffs on Grodin. Then he hooked Grodin to the steering wheel.
“What the hell are you doing? You can’t—” Steven smiled, reached back with his right hand, and found the nerve endings at the base of Grodin’s neck. He pressed hard, once. Grodin slumped forward.
Standing, Steven said, “They’ll be out for at least an hour, maybe more.” He went around to the passenger side and leaned in. With two hard chops of the pistol, he smashed the radio. Next, he went to the trunk, opened it, and tossed Blayne’s pistol in. After wiping Carla’s fingerprints from Grodin’s pistol, he placed it next to Blayne’s, and threw the car and cuff keys into the trunk before slamming it closed.
“Let’s move.” He took Carla’s hand and they ran back to the staff car. Steven sped out of the hospital’s curved drive, and turned the corner.
Raden was waiting, sitting on the fender of his car. When Raden saw Steven, there was obvious relief on the doctor’s features.
Steven went over to the young doctor after telling Carla to wait for him. “I need a favor,” Steven said. “But you’re free to say no.”
Raden glanced from Steven to where Carla sat in the car. “Ask.”
“I want to see Jeremy’s last letter, but I can’t involve you anymore. Not after what just happened.”
Raden hopped down from the fender. “I’ve been involved since I got the paperwork on Ellie. Follow me to my house.”
“No. I’ll call you later, when I’m some place safe.”
“All right. I’ll bring the letter when I hear from you. Steven,” Raden said in a strained voice. “I don’t know what’s going on, but if there’s some way I can help...”
“There is. You never saw me after I left Ellie’s room.”
Raden nodded. “I’ll be waiting for your call.”
In the car once again, with his heart slowing and the reality of what he’d done sinking in, he turned to Carla. “Thank you. That was fast thinking.”
He sat still under her silent scrutiny, until she said, “I couldn’t let them take you. What are we going to do now?”