“What?”
“Probationary, mind you, but I’d give him a job. This guy is pretty straight in his way.”
Whistler blinked. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
“It was Kaplan’s suggestion. You can’t say he don’t have balls.”
“And you’re saying you would actually consider it?”
Donald rocked a hand. Then he said, “Yeah, I would. Let’s remember that he tried to save some lives down here, Adam. Let’s remember that he would have popped Lockwood and Crow before any more damage was done. All he had to do to get rid of Leslie was whack her one in the mouth. If he did that, he could have been gone.”
“Yeah, but still…”
“And besides, he took a bath on the deal he had with Aubrey. Guy could use the work. Why not try him?”
Harry said, “Adam? You’ll have to call this one.”
Whistler grunted. He asked Donald, “Will you check him out?”
“Yeah, of course. I’m feeling generous, not stupid.”
“Let’s talk again after you’ve done that.”
Whistler made a mental note on the subject of hiring. He wondered how Sergeant Ed Moore might feel about working out of Geneva.
Donald said, “Where was I? Oh, Claudia and Carla. What three words would you never expect Carla to say?”
“I love you?”
“No, I’m serious. Try again. This is good.”
“I forgive you?” asked Whistler.
“Who, Carla? Get real. Try again, but think social. Think women.”
“Let’s do lunch?” asked Harry.
“You got it,” said Donald. “She wants to take Claudia to lunch.”
As the shock from that revelation receded, Whistler noticed that Donald wasn’t smiling anymore. His expression had become pensive.
Whistler asked him, “Something else about Carla?”
“About Claudia.”
“Well?” Whistler asked.
“It’s too dumb. Never mind.”
“Come on, give,” said Harry. “What about her? What is it?”
Donald grimaced. He asked Whistler, “Are you sure you hit that plane?”
“Yes, I’m sure. Two clean hits on the engines, killed them both. It had no place to go from there but down.”
“Hell of a shot. But as long as you’re sure. I just wondered about Claudia being with you is all.”
“Donald…” said Whistler, “tell us what’s on your mind.”
“I hear she talks to birds. Is that true? She talks to birds?”
“What could that have to do with Lockwood’s plane?”
Donald hesitated. He said, “I don’t know. I guess nothing. It’s just that back on your boat, they had the radio on. They were talking about that plane and why it splashed. They were talking about what they think downed it.”
“Well?”
“They were saying they think it was birds.”
FORTY TWO
Three days after the attempt on Philip Ragland’s life, Poole’s death made the six o’clock news.It was not a major story. It appeared in fourth position. It was only three sentences long.
The director of the Center for Policy Analysis had thrown himself through the eighth floor window of his office building in Washington. Poole was alone in his office at the time. No suicide note had been found. Some who knew him reported that in recent days, Stanton Poole had seemed profoundly depressed.
Whistler asked his father, “Was that really a suicide?”
His father said, “It’s over. What’s the difference?”
Poole might, in fact, have taken his own life. He might have received a telephone call telling him that he would soon be indicted and disgraced. The caller might have described in detail the public ordeal that would follow. Whistler knew, however, that the Beasley twins had not been seen on the island that day. He knew that Carla Benedict had also departed on her way back to Westport, Connecticut. He knew that soon he would begin to hear rumors that the three of them had paid Poole a visit. The story would go something like this.
The Beasley twins would have found a way into the building where Poole had his office. They would have brought Carla Benedict with them. While one twin stood guard to insure a private meeting, the other would have introduced her to Poole. The twin who remained would have told Stanton Poole that she was the one who, a year before that, had restructured the face of his man, Briggs. He would have asked her to show him her knife. He would have told him that Carla was also the one who shot off Briggs’ leg at the knee.
Carla would have sat quietly during this recitation. She would have kept her eyes locked on those of Stanton Poole. Her cheek would have shown a disturbing twitch of the kind one associates with madness. She would have caressed her long and thin knife as she sat.
The twin doing the talking – Donald, most likely - would next have described what she’d done to Felix Aubrey. Poole had seen for himself the extent of Aubrey’s injuries and was aware of how badly he’d been crippled. But he hadn’t been told how slowly, and precisely, and painfully, the incisions had been made. Donald might have asked Carla to demonstrate by showing him where she would begin. Or Carla might have laid out a few other tools. A corkscrew. A saw. A pair of pliers.
Donald Beasley might have told him that he had two choices. The slow way or the quick way, the window. He might have told Poole that they would much prefer the knife. Poole would now have ten seconds to decide.
It may or may not have happened that way. They might have had to throw him out the window and been done with it. Whatever the story, it would spread over time. It might vary in a number of details. But Carla would be a constant. And her knife would be a constant. One other constant would have been that Poole had died because he’d broken his word to Harry Whistler.
There might be those who would challenge the story, citing the fact that the building was secure. Coded cards were needed at every entrance. Coded cards were needed in the elevators as well. Without the proper card, the elevator would not have stopped on the floor where the Center had its offices. Those cards were said to be impossible to duplicate. No uninvited visitor could possibly have gained access without having been issued a card. But Whistler remembered what was in Carla’s hand as she emerged from that house in North Forest Beach. She was carrying two wallets in her hand.
So, no matter what the truth might have been, no matter whether Poole was with them or alone when he threw himself from that window, the story would be some version of the former. If the story were doubted, either Donald or Carla would probably produce one of those coded cars and lay it on a table. Enough said.
Whistler’s father had always known the value of such stories. He knew how to use reputations.
Felix Aubrey, with treatment, had largely recovered from a state that had been near-catatonic. Still hospitalized and under close guard; he was in FBI custody.
Whistler’s father had decided to go easier on Aubrey. This turned out to be at Kate Geller’s urging. He’d been persuaded that Aubrey was more or less innocent of much that had happened on the island. More than that, Felix Aubrey had been genuinely horrified when he thought that Whistler had already been killed and that Claudia had been kidnapped by Lockwood. True enough, he might have seen to it that Adam Whistler‘s photo would appear in the media, worldwide if he’d had time, but otherwise he’d kept the agreement.
The agreement, in any case, was now null and void. Aubrey knew that his ledger would soon be made public. He’d already agreed to cooperate fully with the various legal authorities. Aubrey, as far as Harry Whistler was concerned, was welcome to make whatever bargain he could in order to avoid a term in prison. He was welcome to avail himself of Witness Protection whether he served time or not. Harry’s friend, Roger Clew, the State Department official, had flown down and visited Felix Aubrey to make sure that Aubrey understood his options.
Once he was relocated – and Harry Whistler would know where – Felix Aubrey was told that he must never a
gain step beyond the city limits of that place. While there, he would spend nearly all his free time performing community service. Specifically, for three nights a week, he would serve as a cook in a shelter for the homeless. He would join a church, never failing to attend. He would volunteer as a Sunday School instructor and he’d work with the Scout troop if it had one. If no troop, he’d volunteer to be a crossing guard at the nearest elementary school.
Kate Geller, on hearing this, said to his father, “You have a weird sense of humor, Harry Whistler.”
It had also caused Adam to shake his head. He had said to his father, “You don’t really expect him to do all that, do you?”
“At the start? Sure, he will. He’s pretty snake-bit by what happened to Poole.”
Whistler asked, “Is it true that you’ll know where he is?”
“Oh, yes.”
“And that you’ll have someone watching him?”
“No, but he’ll think so.”
“And you know that this Sunday School, crossing guard business isn’t likely to become his life’s work.”
“Hell, no. But, as I’ve said, he’s such a devious little bastard that it ought to be fun to see how he schemes out of it.”
“You almost sound as if you like him.”
“Not like him. Enjoy him. He has an interesting mind.”
”I’m…never going to hear that you’ve hired him, am I?”
His father said, “Hey, you know? That’s a thought.”
“It’s a terrible thought. Tell me you’re not serious.”
He said, “Adam, as you know, we use all kinds of people. As you’ve seen, they’re not all seminarians.”
Kate Geller had agreed to move to Geneva, especially since Claudia would be based there for a while. And Kate, by the way, knew perfectly well that his father had bought her garden center. She had told him, “You got ripped on the price.”
“Yeah, but look at the company it bought me.”
She said, “It bought you two years. Or ‘til you’re back on your feet.”
“But you will move in, won’t you? I mean, no separate rooms?”
“I think we’re beyond the separate rooms stage.”
“Want to marry me, Kate?”
“Ask again in two years. That’s if I haven’t murdered you first.”
“Fair enough.”
“Will you let me redecorate? Add some touches of my own?”
“Ask me again in two years.”
He had taken Claudia for a pre-dawn sail. The sail would be their last, or one of their last. They’d be leaving for Geneva in a couple of days. They’d be flying back with his father. Her mother would follow in a week to ten days. First she needed to go back to Cherry Creek, Colorado to pack and to settle her affairs.
He’d asked Claudia, “Do you think your mother will stay?”
“Yes, I do. She’s very fond of your father.”
“Will she try to change him?”
“Not the way you mean. She knows who he is. I guess we’re all who we are.”
That last remark seemed to invite a discussion, but Whistler chose to leave it alone. They drifted for a while, enjoying the quiet, and watched the glow building in the eastern sky, as they’d done so many times in the Caribbean.
She asked him, “What will we do with the boat?”
“I’ll arrange to have it brought over.”
“You’ve told me that it’s mine. Is that true?”
“You’ve seen the papers.”
She said, “It doesn’t really feel like mine anymore. It was taken from Felix Aubrey, correct?”
“I wouldn’t exactly say it was taken. It was part of a settlement that those people agreed to for putting that hole in your neck.”
“Where did he get it?”
“He had it seized. He stole it.”
She asked, “From whom?”
“It was taken from a crooked Florida lawyer. Or maybe a crooked banker, I forget. Don’t tell me you’re thinking of giving it back.”
“Oh, no. Not to them. But Leslie might like it.”
“A half million dollar yacht? I guess she would.”
“It would be a nice thing to do, don’t you think? After all, we’ll be living on land over there. And we’ll have all that travel. How much could we use it?”
The travel that she was referring to was a sort of a training program. His father had asked him to spend a few weeks in Westport being tutored in the business by Paul Bannerman. From there, they’d go to Washington, spend some time with Roger Clew whom he hadn’t seen since his mother’s funeral. It was Clew, incidentally, who’d used his State Department juice to see that none of them were detained.
After that, he and Claudia would go on to Moscow where they’d be under Leo Belkin’s wing for a month learning about Leo’s operation. Actually, “training” and “tutoring” were not the right words. He’d spend much of that time meeting powerful people, or rather, seeing to it that they knew who he was. Harry Whistler’s heir apparent, Paul Bannerman’s friend, and Leo Belkin’s respected associate. And those people would hear stories, some true, some legend. They would surely hear about Lockwood’s plane.
Whistler had told Claudia that she needn’t go with him. And, of course, she had answered, “Don’t be silly.” His father had said pretty much the same thing. He said, “They’ll all be dying to meet her.”
“Dad, what have you told them?”
“I only know what I hear. She already has quite a reputation.”
“Claudia, listen…on the subject of the boat…”
“I really think Leslie should have it.”
“Tell you what. Let’s ask her if she’d like to sail it over. An Atlantic crossing. A cruise up the Rhone. A week or two sailing on Lake Geneva. And we’ll show her the lodge in Chamonix.”
“You expect her to bring this boat over by herself?”
“No, of course not. I can hire a crew. But I bet she’d have no trouble finding her own. I bet Phil would come over. And maybe Jump. Maybe even Sergeant Moore. Would you like that?”
She smiled. “Yes, I would. That would be very nice.”
“Then, if you like, you can tell her it’s hers. On the other hand, we’ll have it on Lake Geneva. If you keep the boat there, they’ll come over again. That’s…one big advantage of not giving it away.”
She nodded. “That’s something to think about.”
It was possible, thought Whistler, that there, right then, he might have won an argument with Claudia. It was possible they they just might keep the boat.
The sun was rising. More birds were aloft.
He said, “Listen, Claudia…that time with Lockwood’s plane…”
“Let’s not talk about that sort of thing now. Hold my hand.”
“Well, we’ll need to talk sometime. It’s about reputations. There’s going to be an awful lot of talk about you. Even I am not sure I know what’s true and what isn’t.”
“Do you want to know something?” she asked. “I don’t either.”
“You don’t?”
“Well, I know what I am. And I know what’s been done. I’m just not sure who’s actually been doing it.”
“It’s you.”
“Am I crazy, Adam? Be honest. Do you think so?”
“If you are, I hope you never get well. The whole world should be your kind of crazy.”
“Thank you, Adam.”
“I’m going to quit trying to understand how you do it. I mean, whether it’s you or your friend, the white light. It’s time that I learned to…”
“Count your blessings? Me, too.”
“I love having you as my guardian angel. I’d love you just as much if you weren’t.”
“That’s good.”
“But I do have to ask…about those birds…about that plane…”
She raised his hand to her lips. She said, “Hush.”
“Claudia…I’m sorry…but I’d really like to know.”
“Hush, Adam.
Watch the sunrise. Let it warm you.”
END
Contents
Cover
Title Page
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
SIXTEEN
SEVENTEEN
EIGHTEEN
NINETEEN
TWENTY
TWENTY ONE
TWENTY TWO
TWENTY THREE
TWENTY FOUR
TWENTY FIVE
TWENTY SIX
TWENTY SEVEN
TWENTY EIGHT
TWENTY NINE
THIRTY
THIRTY ONE
THIRTY TWO
THIRTY THREE
THIRTY FOUR
THIRTY FIVE
THIRTY SIX
THIRTY SEVEN
THIRTY EIGHT
THIRTY NINE
FOURTY
FORTY ONE
FORTY TWO
Whistler's Angel Page 40