Gerald N. Lund 4-In-1 Fiction eBook Bundle

by Gerald N. Lund

  “Just follow him.”

  Bigelow licked his lips. He had heard too many stories across the country. Truckers disappearing, cargos hijacked. “Hey, man. I don’t want no trouble. Just tell me what you want.”

  “You’ve got nothing to do with this,” the voice behind him said easily. There was an unmistakeable foreign accent. “You just happened to draw the truck carrying what we’re after. Just stay cool, and you’ll be on your way in an hour.”

  The sedan turned off the Interstate twenty-three miles out of town, taking a small two-lane highway headed south toward nowhere. Again Bigelow felt a sudden clutch of fear. His jaws worked rapidly, chewing the stale piece of gum like it was the one thing that could pull him through this safely.

  Ten miles down the road, the blue Ford pulled off the road into a wide graveled turnout. Bigelow’s heart fell. They hadn’t passed a single car going either direction.

  “See that tree over there?”

  Bigelow’s head turned, feeling the pistol move with him.

  “Just lean against that tree and keep looking south. Do that, and we’ll be out of here before you know it.” The cold pressure against his neck was gone.

  Bigelow climbed down, wanting to turn around to get a clearer look at the man with the gun, but he didn’t dare. He moved swiftly to the tree and leaned into it. There was a murmur of voices then a sharp snap, followed by the creak of doors opening. He sneaked a quick look beneath one arm. A large carton hurtled out and hit the ground with a crash.

  “Keep your eyes away from the truck!”

  Bigelow’s head snapped around, and he concentrated on the horizon with studied intensity.

  There was a second crash, and then a third. He heard the tearing of cardboard, footsteps, something heavy being tipped, then all fell quiet. He strained to hear, fought the temptation to look again, cursed his impulse to drive on to Tucumcari instead of stopping in Albuquerque last night as he had first intended.

  Suddenly, car doors slammed. The engine of the Ford roared, and Bigelow spun around as the car fishtailed across the gravel, hit the pavement with a screech, and disappeared rapidly toward the north.

  The trucker swore, darted to the cab of his truck, and grabbed the CB. Then, suddenly curious, he set the microphone down and walked around to the back of his trailer.

  They had ripped open three cartons, all bearing the markings of Gerritt Industries. Boxes of small appliances lay scattered on the gravel. He started to turn, then spun back around, pushing one of the smaller boxes with his foot. The top had been torn open and inside, packed around a hand mixer, were three long, cloth bags. Each had been slashed open. White powder had spilled out onto the gravel. Bigelow knelt down, touched the tip of one finger to his tongue, touched it to the powder, then brought it back to his tongue.

  He gave a low whistle, swore again, and darted around to grab the CB microphone.

  It was late that same night that a soft knock sounded on Nathan Shoshani’s apartment door in Los Angeles. Surprised, he walked over and looked through the peep hole. There was a soft exclamation, part surprise, part exasperation. He unlocked the door, opened it, and stepped back. “Hello, Papa.”

  Yaacov nodded, sweeping off his black felt hat. “I’m sorry to be so late, but…” He left it unsaid, and came inside.

  “I just got home a little while ago.” He waved in the direction of the table, covered with dishes. “I still have some fish and some chilled wine. Would you like something?”

  “No. Thank you.” There was a gentle smile as he looked around the apartment, most of which was in the same state as the kitchen. “Sarah should visit you for a week, maybe?”

  Nathan nearly flared, then realized he was tired. His father was only trying to make conversation. “Come in, Papa. Sit down.”

  “I cannot stay.” The hat was twirling round and round in his hands.

  “What is it?”

  “I read the reports this evening.”

  With a sigh, Nathan sat down on the couch. “Please, sit down.”

  His father nodded absently and took a chair across from him.

  “Let’s get it over with.”

  “What if that trailer truck had come off the train in a city or at a busy crossing? People could have been killed.”

  There was a deep intake of air, then a long exhale, as Nathan fought for patience. “Papa, we chose that train because we knew it would be crossing the desert early in the morning. And we knew exactly where that track curved and how fast the train would be going. We did not leave it to chance.”

  “And the truck driver in New Mexico? What if he had tried to resist?”

  Nathan threw up his hands. “What if? What if? You can spend your life asking what if? The point is we ran two very tightly planned operations today and had perfect success with both. Because of our little ‘accidents,’ the police called in the federal narcotics people. They found drugs in six other shipments coming from Gerritt’s plant in Hawthorne. I just came from Gerritt’s house. He had four visitors tonight. All of them are federal agents.”

  “And so you violate the law to gain success?”

  Nathan slammed his fist against the couch. “Do you want the Saudis to have the planes?”

  “Expediency, always expediency. You violated the law!”

  “Abraham told the Egyptians that Sarah was his sister in order to save his life. Wasn’t that expediency?”

  Now it was Yaacov who flared. “So my son quotes me from the Bible now? My son, who hasn’t read Torah in ten years? My son who can’t be bothered with morning prayer, or synagogue?” He looked up at the ceiling. “Oi! And he uses Torah to justify crime.”

  Nathan shook his head wearily. “Papa. The point is, we have brought Gerritt into a dangerous position. Not only is he under investigation, but he will also have to account to the men who put up the money for him.”

  “You think you will stop Gerritt in that way?” Yaacov cried angrily. “He did not know what those men in his plant were doing. He did not want to know. They can prove nothing to convict him. And Mr. Andrew Hadlow will not be hurt either. You are like a horsefly buzzing around the horse. You may sting him slightly, but he will flick the tail and shoo you away. For that you break the law and risk innocent people’s lives.”

  Nathan stood, too tired to fight. “It’s time for us both to go to bed, Papa.” He started for the door, then turned back slowly. “Gondor called the Deputy Director today. You will be asked to turn over the running of the informant in Gerritt Industries to us. And the radar engineer. You will have to leave him to us as well.”

  Yaacov stood also, the fire gone out in him as well. “Yes, your Moshe Gondor called me to gloat. You think I refuse to turn them over to you just to be difficult, don’t you?”

  “I—”

  “Don’t you? And yet you and Moshe both know that one of the primary rules of intelligence is to protect your sources. If you switch controls too early, the rabbit will flee.”

  “You could help us make the transfer. You are not part of the operating team.”

  Yaacov moved past his son and opened the door. “I am now.”

  Nathan’s head came up. “What do you mean?”

  “I’m afraid I pulled rank on your Moshe Gondor. I called the Prime Minister and explained why I have not turned these two men over to you. He agrees that things are still too sensitive to risk losing them. Along about now, Gondor should be receiving a telephone call. You will be ordered to leave Wuthrich strictly to me. Also, Mr. Taggart, the engineer.”

  He put on his hat and opened the door, ignoring the look on his son’s face. “Erev tov, Nahtan,” he murmured in Hebrew, and left.

  Chapter Sixteen

  It was one of those cases where people were watching people who were watching people who were watching people. The first watcher was Jacqueline Ashby. She stood next to Marc in a small circle standing in the family room of the Barclay home. Her eyes never left his face as he told the story of his first experienc
e riding a camel when he was in the Peace Corps. He had the whole group rocking with laughter.

  Valerie Robertson sat in a chair across the room, sipping a glass of ginger ale. The cocktail party swirled around her. People would smile down at her politely, and she would return the smiles. But she was watcher number two, and she was watching Jacqueline Ashby. The story was hilarious, and she found herself smiling at Marc as he told it. But primarily her focus was on Jackie. Elegant, beautiful, charming Jackie. Jackie, whose eyes were sparkling with delight as she watched Marc talk. Jackie, who would lay her hand on Marc’s arm when she laughed, letting it linger there for a moment or two.

  Valerie looked down into her glass, chiding herself for her pettiness. Marc was not encouraging Jackie in any way. In fact, he was so caught up in the telling of the story, he seemed unaware of either her touch or the rapt attention she was giving him. Valerie looked away as Marc finished and Jackie slipped her arm through his. The chiding of herself had not helped in the least.

  The third watcher was Ardith Barclay. She had brought out another tray of canapes and had started to transfer them to the dishes on the table when her eyes lifted and caught the expression on Valerie’s face. Ardith turned slightly to see what Valerie was staring at. Her expression softened as she looked back in time to see the quick frown and the averted head.

  She finished quickly, set the tray aside, then moved over to Valerie. “Did you know that I hate these parties?” she asked with a smile.

  Valerie looked up, then smiled. “They must be a tremendous amount of work for you. How often do you have to do this?”

  The older woman shrugged. “Much of what Alex does takes place in informal settings like this. So I do it. But I’m much happier with a book and some classical music.”

  “Well, you’d never notice it,” Valerie said warmly. “You’re always such a gracious hostess.”

  Ardith was pleased, knowing it was said sincerely. “Thank you.”

  “Can I help you do something?”

  For a moment, Ardith started to shake her head, then remembered the expression she had seen. “Well, I was going to get some more drink stirred up for the punch bowl.”

  Valerie was up. “Then let me do it. I’d love to be doing something.”

  Suddenly Marc was at her side. “You’d love to be doing what?”

  Valerie turned in surprise. “I was going to help Ardith fix some more drink.”

  Marc took her elbow. “Good idea. I’ll help too.”

  Over Marc’s shoulder both Valerie and Ardith saw the sudden narrowing of Jackie’s eyes as she saw Marc take Valerie’s arm. She turned away quickly and walked over to join another group. Ardith felt a certain sadness, for she thought a great deal of her husband’s secretary, but then she smiled up at Marc. “I shouldn’t really let the guests do this, but Janet’s in the kitchen. She can show you what needs to be done.”

  As they moved off, Ardith watched them go, her face thoughtful. At that point, Alex, who had been the fourth watcher through it all, disengaged himself from the couple he was with and joined his wife.

  “Sweet couple,” he commented.

  She cocked her head with a serious expression. “Them or us?”

  He slipped his arm around her waist. “Well, you know we are. I was thinking of them.” He watched Marc and Valerie through the door of the kitchen getting instructions from the maid. “I’m not as hopeful as I was for Jackie anymore. Those two seem to be getting pretty serious. But Valerie is a sweet girl.”

  “I’m sure she would be flattered to hear you say that.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You know that I think a lot of Jackie. But Valerie is more than a sweet girl, Alex. She’s a lovely woman in her own right.”

  “Of course. I didn’t mean otherwise.”

  “She’s better for Marc than Jackie.”

  He gave her a sharp look. “And when did you come to that conclusion?”

  She ignored that. “How is Marc working out for you?”

  “Terrific! He keeps surprising me.” He paused, frowning slightly. “He tends to be a little naive about some things, and he certainly speaks his mind now.”

  “But?”

  “But he is also quick to learn and shrewd at sensing what needs to happen. I don’t know, Ardy. He’s an unusual young man with some real promise. I’m finding myself more and more impressed with him.”

  “Maybe that’s not so good.”

  That really took him back, and he turned so he could look at her fully. “What do you mean by that?”

  “Marc’s been with you almost a month now. You’re working him pretty hard.”

  “No more than me!” he retorted. “Or Derek and Jackie, for that matter.”

  “Derek and Jackie don’t have two little boys at home who need a father.”

  “Ardith, what has gotten into you? You’ve never given a hoot who I hired or what I did with them.”

  She didn’t look at him, just finally shook her head. “Don’t burn him out, Alex. Not this one. Okay?”

  She left him staring after her as she crossed back over to the table, picked up the tray, and headed for the kitchen.

  Marc kissed Valerie, then sat back, fingering the wheel of the Volkswagen. They had driven home from the party in Palos Verdes with long lapses of silence. Now Marc was again quiet, his thoughts far away from her.

  She watched him for a minute. “What?” she asked softly, noting the sudden creasing of his eyebrows.

  “Alex is going to have us work tomorrow again.”

  “I know.” She turned to look out the window. “I heard him telling Jackie.”

  “Look, I’m sorry, Valerie. This is the fourth Saturday in a row, but Derek is back from Jakarta and needs to report. And this delegation of Saudis coming to Washington on the fourteenth is critical. I’ve never seen Alex so nervous.”

  “I know.” She turned back. “Mom’s got an all-day meeting downtown tomorrow, but I can take Brett to soccer. And then I’ll go with them to the party at the church.”

  “I should be home by four. Couldn’t we go after that?”

  She shook her head. “My Aunt Edna is coming over in the evening. And the party only goes until dark.”

  Marc’s face fell. “That’s right.” He took a quick breath. “Valerie, once we get this Saudi deal put together, things should lighten up.”

  She reached out and took his hand. “You don’t have to justify anything to me. It’s the boys that will be disappointed.”

  “I see,” he said soberly. “Just the boys?”

  She sighed. “You know I will too. I was looking forward to being with you.”

  “Look, let’s plan on something for Monday night. We have to be to Edwards Air Force Base by nine o’clock for the demonstration of the prototype, but it shouldn’t take more than an hour or two. I think I can be home by three or four. Let’s take the boys out to McDonald’s, then go to a movie.”

  “That sounds fun. And that will help ease tomorrow.”

  He moved back over to her, and she laid her head on his shoulder. For several moments they were both quiet, then she looked up at him. He was looking out the window, seeing nothing.

  “Tell me what you’re thinking,” she said softly.

  He glanced at her quickly, then turned back. “I was thinking about Alex Barclay.”

  “What about him?”

  “Remember what you said about him, that he always seems to want people to know how much money he spends on things?”

  “Yes.”

  “I used to think that was what made him tick. The money.”

  “And now?”

  “It’s not the money. That’s just a nice side benefit. It’s the deal.”

  “What do you mean, it’s the deal?”

  “To Alex, the deal is everything. There’s something about putting it together, through all the challenges, with all the risks. It’s what drives him.”

  “I think I know what you mea
n.”

  He kissed her, then pulled her close, burying his face in her hair. “And do you know what is scary?”

  “What?”

  “I’m starting to know exactly how he feels.”

  When the doorbell rang, Quinn Gerritt looked up in surprise. After the party at Barclay’s, Jessica had gone straight to bed, but he had stayed up to pore over the papers on the prototype. Jessica stirred, then turned over as he put down the book. “Who’s that?” she mumbled.

  He shook his head, glancing at the clock on the lamp table. It was nearly midnight. “I don’t know.”

  As he stood, Jessica came fully awake. “Quinn, be careful.”

  He laughed that off. “Maybe it’s a burglar. I’ll take a gun down and see what he’s got. We could use the cash.”

  But in spite of his outward amusement, Gerritt padded through the massive living room without turning on the lights. At the intercom system, he stopped and pushed a button, just as the bell rang again, more insistently. “Yes? Who is it?”

  “Gerritt, this is Arthur Hadlow.”

  As Gerritt ushered the small, dark man into the living room, there were no apologies for the hour, no inquiries as to whether he had been asleep. He sat down on the couch, watching as Gerritt turned on two lamps.

  “Can I get you something to drink?”

  “No.”

  Gerritt shrugged and took a chair facing Hadlow.

  “You know why I’m here.”

  There was the briefest of nods. “I thought you might come.”

  “You caused us a significant loss yesterday, Mr. Gerritt.”

  “I caused you a loss!” Gerritt blurted. “What about my loss? I had four federal narcotics agents here last night.”

  “Can they tie the hiring of those two men directly to you?”

  Gerritt shook his head. Only he and Theodore Wuthrich knew about that, and Ted wouldn’t implicate himself. “You should have told me why you wanted those men hired.” There was an accusing note in his voice.