The Bannerman Solution (The Bannerman Series)

by Maxim, John R.

  “I'm getting a little tired of you belting me every time I see you, Lesko. On my card, you're still one up on me.”

  “What about Susan?” Lesko glared up at him.

  “She's in no danger. So don't go crazy anymore, all right?”

  “Bannerman. The guy she's with. He's part of this.”

  “Bannerman is part of a mistake. It's all a stupid mistake and people are dying for nothing.”

  Lesko eased to his feet with the help of the clothes dryer. Loftus backed away, his gun aimed at Lesko's right knee. Lesko glared at it for a long moment, then made a dismissive gesture with his hand. Loftus lowered the weapon but did not holster it.

  “Tell me,” Lesko said quietly.

  “Paul Bannerman used to be our top contract agent in Europe. He worked for several of our allies as well. A few years ago he decided to take a walk.”

  “So he's not really a travel agent.”

  Loftus considered how much to tell him. No point in mentioning the rest of that crowd in Westport. It would only make Lesko crazy again.

  “He is,” Loftus answered. “That's a legitimate business. The only thing you really have to understand about Bannerman is that Palmer Reid hates him and is afraid of him. On Bannerman's end, all he wants is to be left alone.”

  Lesko wasn't ready to feel better about this yet. “How does Susan figure in this?” he asked. “How did she get hooked up with Bannerman?”

  “I don't know. They could have just met someplace.”

  “In a pig's ass.”

  “Now, you see that?” Loftus waved his gun in exasperation. “That's how this whole fucking thing got out of hand. People like you making connections that were probably never there in the first place.”

  “Bad conclusions.” Lesko remembered.

  “That's right, goddamn it.”

  “Tell me.”

  “Accept for the moment that Susan and Bannerman just happened to meet like any other two people. Maybe there's more to it, maybe there isn't, but let's start there.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “Reid finds out that Bannerman is down in the Bahamas. He goes there to try to talk to him because Bannerman has warned him to stay far away from Westport. Reid only wants to talk. There's some unfinished business between them that shouldn't matter to you.”

  “So he talks to him. So what?”

  “Reid sees he's there with a girl. He naturally asks for a make on her. The.girl turns out to be not only a newspaper reporter but the daughter of Raymond Lesko. This Raymond Lesko may or may not have something going with Elena Betancourt. Elena can tie Palmer Reid into direct CIA participation in the South American drug trade. If Elena decides to talk, to Susan's newspaper for example, she can set off a scandal that could blow Reid and the whole CIA right out of the water.”

  “How much of this does Susan know?”

  “My guess? Zero. More to the point, I don't think even Bannerman has a clue. He's probably never even heard of Elena.” Loftus, waving his gun, realized it was still in his hand. He holstered it. “I told you,” he continued, “that Reid hates Bannerman. From Reid's point of view, what's going on here is conspiracy by Bannerman to destroy him. Bannerman got to you, whether or not through your daughter, so he could get to Elena so that he could get the goods on Reid. You, Lesko, are central to this conspiracy against Reid. If any part of it is news to you, none of the rest of it can be true, either.”

  Lesko, his expression profoundly sad, lifted the end of the towel to his head and dabbed at the remaining traces of blood. Donovan did die for a mistake. He also died because Lesko asked him to make some phone calls.

  “You got some more in your ear,” Loftus told him.

  “Donovan.” Lesko whispered the name. “Just for digging around he got killed? How much could he have found out on the phone?”

  “He connected Reid and Bannerman. That's all. Reid's big mistake was ordering Donovan picked up and taken to this house in Scarsdale. Reid met him there and tried to feed him a cock-and-bull story about a conspiracy by a renegade agent to discredit our country's intelligence service. He even said it was Bannerman moving all the drugs and you and your daughter were in it with him. Donovan didn't much like Reid either. You can guess how he reacted.”

  Lesko didn't have to guess. Donovan would have come straight to him. Knowing Donovan, he probably made the mistake of saying so.

  “The one who killed Donovan,” Lesko asked softly. “What did you say his name was?”

  “Frank Burdick. He's at this place in Scarsdale.”

  “Why are you giving him to me?”

  “The way I feel about Burdick,” Loftus looked into his eyes, “is the way you'd have felt about another cop who'd kill anyone the commissioner asked him to. Don't assume you're the only one with principles, Lesko. We've both done things we shouldn't have.”

  Lesko had to give him that much. But he had more than Burdick on his mind. “You said Susan's is no danger. Help me to believe that.”

  “No one cares about her. If you're worried about her getting into the line of fire, I promise you that Reid won't go after Bannerman. He's too afraid of him.”

  “That's not a good reason to kill him?”

  “All I can tell you is that Bannerman has that covered. If a tree happened to fall on him, another one would fall on Reid within a week.”

  Lesko wasn't sure he liked the answer. It could have meant that Bannerman has a standing contract out on Reid as insurance, but what's to keep the hitter from keeping the money arid lighting a candle for him instead. More likely, Bannerman either has a godfather or an organization of his own.

  “Just how dangerous is this guy?”

  “Bannerman? Very. But not to you and not to your daughter. Believe that, Lesko. But if you want to be sure, the cleanest way to end all this is to take out Reid.”

  “And Reid's right now in Scarsdale?”

  “So's Burdick.”

  “Come on upstairs.” Lesko opened the laundry room door. “You're going to take that wire off my phone so I can make some calls.”

  Loftus held back. “You tell anyone else about this, Lesko, and you do it without me.”

  “Relax.” Lesko reached for his arm. “I had in mind my old pal, Elena.”

  CHAPTER 17

  At Ambassador Pollard's house in Scarsdale, Frank Burdick sat in the darkened library restlessly switching from one cable-TV offering to another. He'd chosen a seat from which he could see the headlights of any car turning into the driveway.

  He didn't like this. Reid going back home to Maryland. Leaving him alone with Loftus and Poole, wherever the hell they were. Poole would be no problem but Loftus was sure to give him a lot of shit about the Donovan thing. Burdick could already hear it. You work for me, Burdick. You don't do anything except through me.

  Yeah, well, bullshit. You have a complaint, take it to Mr. Reid. He says do something, I do it and I don't shoot off my mouth to him. Anyway, Loftus, you're almost history. Yesterday you shot off your mouth to him once too often.

  “It's clear upstairs.”

  The words, the voice, shocked him. He froze. Someone was behind him, off to his left, somewhere near the staircase. Very slowly, he eased his right hand toward the gun under his armpit. Drop and roll, he told himself. Use the chair as cover. His fingers closed over the butt of the weapon.

  ”Uh-huh.”

  It was a second voice. Directly behind him. A gloved hand settled upon his shoulder. Slowly, carefully, Burdick spread his own hands in front of him.

  “Your name Frank Burdick?”

  The voice made him shiver. “Yeah. Look I. . . .”

  “Stand up now, Frank. Walk over to those stairs.”

  Burdick obeyed. He saw the man by the staircase now. Short. Dressed all in black. A fringe of gray hair showing from beneath a wool knit cap. It's clear upstairs, he'd said. He'd been there. Burdick could not believe it. Both these men had been walking through the house all this time.

  “Who a
re you guys?” he asked.

  “Walk.” The man behind, his hand still on his shoulder, guided him forward. This man was bigger. Much bigger. Burdick knew that from the size of the hand and the direction of his voice. It was downward.

  One in front, the unseen man behind, they led him to the master bedroom, and then through it into the ambassador's dressing room and bath. The man behind reached around and took Burdick's gun. The one in front turned on the shower.

  “Get in,” he said.

  The words struck his stomach like a blow. This was about Donovan.

  “Look,” he tried to take a step backward, “this whole house is wired like a bank. You guys are already on videotape.”

  “Thank you. Get in.” The man behind pushed him.

  Burdick reached a hand into the spray from force of habit. It was cold. Another push. He stepped into the shower, arching up onto his toes as the spray went through his shirt and flattened it against his skin. He turned his head now to see the second man, and this time his stomach throbbed like a drum.

  “You . . . you're Billy McHugh,” he sputtered. “Oh, God. Hey, listen. I'm not the one you want. I just do what they tell me.”

  “Get wet. All over.” Billy lowered Burdick's gun to his side. He held it loosely, carelessly, as if the need for it had passed. Burdick saw that and his terrified mind found hope in it. Maybe this wasn't what he thought. Maybe they weren't going to leave him in the shower the way he left that old man.

  “Now get your face wet,” John Waldo told him.

  “Oh, Jesus . . . Jesus . . . please.”

  “Will you stop?” John Waldo's voice was pained. “And don't splash out here. That's how you get mildew.”

  ,That was funny, Burdick's brain screamed. They're messing around. They're only trying to shake me up so I’ll tell them. . . .

  “Frank,” Billy took a step closer, “wet your face. I have to ask you again?”

  “Okay…okay.'' He closed his eyes and turned his face into a spray that felt like sleet. “But you gotta give me a chance. It wasn't me. I'm the one who said don't do it.”

  “Frank, wash your mouth out.”

  ”Wha . . . ?”

  “Gargle, Frank.”

  He did, face up.

  And then his head exploded.

  In Zurichsberg, an elegant suburb overlooking the city and the lake beyond it, a telephone rang. Near it, a woman in a painter's smock stepped back from a palette-knife oil of a mountain scene and wiped her hands. She reached for the receiver.

  “Yes?” she answered.

  “Good evening, Elena.” It was the voice of a cousin on her late father's side. He spoke in the Swiss-German dialect of the Züricher.

  “Good evening, Josef.”

  “Elena, are you aware that an American has been . . . ?”

  ”A Mr. Lesko,” she interrupted. “Yes, Josef. I have been told.”

  “He seems to be calling every Brugg in the Zurich directory, asking each of us to get a message to you.”

  “I know, Josef. Thank you.”

  “This Lesko. He is a friend? He has the voice of a gangster.”

  “He is neither. Do not concern yourself, Josef.”

  “You don't want his message?”

  “It is only his phone number, no?”

  “To me he said more. I wrote it down.”

  “What is it?”

  “He said, Tell Elena this is about my daughter. Tell her she once said there will be no lies. Ask her if that still goes.’ ”

  “Did you tell him you know me? That I am here?”

  “It is obvious that he thinks you are. It is possible that my manner on the telephone confirmed his belief.”

  “It's all right, Josef. Thank you.”

  “This is trouble, Elena? Do you want your bodyguards again?”

  “There are two sitting in my kitchen right now. Uncle Urs has already sent them over, whether I want them here or not.”

  “Mr. Lesko?”

  “Yeah.” His mouth suddenly went dry. “Yes.”

  “This is Elena speaking.”

  Her voice. The sound of it caused a stirring inside him that he had not expected. “How?” ''He paused to swallow, glancing toward Loftus with a look that was part acknowledgment and part self-consciousness. “How are you, Elena?”

  “I am well. What is it about your daughter? Has she been harmed?”

  “My daughter's okay but she might be in danger. Another man, a friend of mine, has just been killed. The killing is connected to what happened between you and me and your involvement with a man named Palmer Reid. I know there's no reason why you should help me. But I have been told things and I have to know that they are true before I act upon them.”

  “Tell me then.”

  Lesko sat back. With one eye on Loftus he gave her a five-minute summary of all that Loftus had told him. He mentioned Paul Bannerman, characterizing him only as an enemy of Reid's and a friend of his daughter's.

  “I know nothing of this Bannerman,” she told him.

  “How about the rest of it?”

  “It is true. We functioned under Reid's protection. In return we paid him millions. How does this endanger your daughter?”

  “I'm not sure. Maybe I'm just nervous. You're in Switzerland. She's on her way to Switzerland.”

  “And you fear that I might harm her.” Her voice sounded weary. Maybe hurt. Lesko wasn't sure.

  “No, Elena. That came out wrong. I heard that you protected Susan when some of your people wanted to get even with me through her. It's just that Switzerland keeps coming up.”

  The line was silent.

  “That was decent of you. Protecting her, I mean. If I knew a way, I'd make it up to you.”

  “It is not necessary.” Another long silence. “And what of you, Mr. Lesko? You are well?”

  “Not too bad. I'm not a cop anymore.”

  “I know. I have inquired. You are a. man not easily forgotten, Mr. Lesko.”

  “I don't meet too many like you, either.”

  “Well . . . good bye.”

  “Wait a second. If I need to call you again, how do I get you?”

  “As you did this time, I think.”

  “Direct-dialing would be quicker.” To say nothing of cheaper.

  “Perhaps it is best we keep some distance between us, Mr. Lesko.”

  “I guess.” He tried to envision her. Back straight. Chin high. Eyes direct and a little sad. “Listen . . . Elena. . . .”

  “Yes?” Her voice was small, expectant. But he had no idea what he wanted to say to her. Or why he wanted to keep her on the phone.

  “You take care of yourself, okay?”

  He heard the soft sound of her breathing.

  “Mr. Lesko,” she said finally. “If you wish it, I can arrange to have your daughter watched while she is here.”