Marc’s mouth tightened subconsciously, and he began to tap the table top with his index finger. “Is Derek there?”
“Not yet, but he called and is on his way.”
“Okay. Listen, Jackie, some of this I’m in on could have important implications for us. Can you and Derek meet with me about five-thirty?” He considered that. “No, make that six.”
“Well, yes, I’m sure that would be all right.” He could hear the question in her voice and hated himself for putting her off.
“Great! Thanks for the wakeup call. I might have slept right through ‘Days of Our Lives.’”
“Good-bye, Marc,” she laughed merrily. “See if you can’t get your wheels off the ground so I won’t have to lie to Gerritt.”
“That’s a big roger, Control Tower, ten-four, over and out.”
But as he hung up, the humor in him died, and the smile on his face slowly faded away. He found his pants, dug out his wallet, and got the slip of paper he had put in there on Saturday, then picked up the phone again.
“Hotel LaRoche.” It was a pleasant female voice, and he pictured her as being the attractive blond who had checked him and Valerie out Saturday.
“Yes. Could I speak with the La Jolla Suite.”
“I’m sorry, sir, calls to that room are restricted.”
“Yes, I know that. This is Marc Jeppson. I’d like to speak with General Sayeed Amani. I’ll hold.”
The line went dead for several seconds, then Amani’s voice came on. “Good morning, Marc.”
“Good morning, General. How is everything with you this morning?”
“Very good. And how is Alex this morning?”
“Doing much better thank you.”
The small courtesies continued for almost a minute. Halfway through them it suddenly hit Marc that the Israelis had a tap on the line. If they had bugged Gerritt’s suite, they had certainly tapped into the Huntington Suite as well, and that would include the phones.
When an appropriate opening occurred, Marc broke in smoothly. “I was hoping to get a chance to say good-bye to you and the crown prince before you leave.”
“He would be pleased.”
“I’ll be in Los Angeles this afternoon.”
“Good. Hold a minute.” The phone was covered, and Marc could hear muffled Arabic rapidly spoken. Then, “The prince would be honored if you could join us for lunch in our suite.”
The thoughts of talking into Israeli microphones did nothing for him, especially with what he planned to say to the Saudis. He cursed his stupidity for not thinking of it sooner. “I would be much more honored if you would allow me to take you and the prince and Sheik Hazzan to lunch at a favorite restaurant of mine.” He would have to do some quick thinking to decide what favorite restaurant he was talking about.
Again there was the muffled consultation. “Marc, the prince insists. We shall have lunch up here. Shall we say one-thirty?”
Marc’s face fell. “General, that is most kind and generous of the prince, but he has done so much already. Tell him it would be the greatest of honors if he would but allow me to host the lunch this last time we are together.”
He clenched his fist. Come on, General. Think! You know I wouldn’t offend the prince by refusing his hospitality unless there was a very important reason. “The restaurant is not far from the hotel. It would be a delightful opportunity for all of you to see another part of Los Angeles before you leave.”
This time the pause was long. Marc strained to hear, but if they were talking now, it was inaudible. A moment later, Amani spoke again. “The crown prince is most grateful for your generosity. If you insist, he will accept your invitation.”
Marc’s shoulders sagged in relief. “I insist. I’ll come by your room at one-thirty. Shall we make the reservation for your whole party?”
Again the brief pause. “No. The prince suggests there will just be the three of us.”
“Very good,” Marc said, and hung up.
A little later Marc stopped at a phone booth a few blocks from the Barclay warehouses in El Segundo. He punched in the phone number he had memorized early that morning, then hit the numbers for his credit card. It rang twice, then Marc recognized the deep voice of Eli Weissman, Deputy Director of Operations for the Mossad.
“This is Marc. How did it go with Taggart?”
“Very nicely.”
“So they are gone?”
“Yes. The plane left New York forty minutes ago. They’re in the air.”
“Thanks. We’ll put the backfield in motion.”
“I beg your pardon.”
“It’s an American expression. It means we start the ball rolling.”
“That one I understand. Good luck.”
Jackie suggested that they meet in Alex’s office, but Marc decided that looked a little too presumptuous, so they gathered in his. It was small but well decorated and comfortable. He waited until Jackie and Derek were both seated, then took a deep breath.
“I appreciate you staying late, both of you. I was hoping that things would work out so we didn’t have to have this meeting, but…” His face became very grave, and he finally just shook his head in disbelief.
“What, Marc?” Jackie asked with concern.
“I’m dumping Quinn Gerritt.”
Jackie rocked back. Derek’s jaw dropped, and he gaped at Marc. Jackie recovered first, her eyes incredulous. “What!”
“Gerritt’s out of the deal as of this afternoon.”
“Are you crazy?” Derek blurted hoarsely.
Marc sat back, letting the worry and fear he had felt for the last two days show clearly on his face. “I have no choice.”
“Gerritt is central to everything!” Jackie said in alarm. She couldn’t believe he had said what he did.
“I have no choice!” Marc repeated firmly.
“But why?” Derek demanded, his voice thin and reedy with the shock.
Marc let out a long sigh of pain and weariness. “I had visitors Saturday night.”
“Who?”
“Israeli intelligence.”
If the news of Gerritt had dumbfounded them, that declaration left them completely speechless.
“They know about the sale of the planes to the Saudis. They’re trying to stop it.”
“Alex expected as much,” Jackie finally said, “but why did they come to you?”
“They’ve been investigating all of the principals in this—Alex, you, me, and Quinn Gerritt.” He picked up the folder with the photographs. “Jackie, remember when we went to Bogotá for Gerritt?”
“Yes.”
“And we were surprised how easily we were able to solve what was supposed to have been a major crisis?” She nodded again, and he handed her the photographs and watched as she thumbed through them with growing bafflement. Derek moved his chair closer and leaned over to see.
“What are these?”
“Recognize the plane?”
“Sure, it’s the company plane, but who are those men?” She held up another photo. “And what are these sacks?”
“Cocaine.”
The photos lowered slowly into her lap as she stared at Marc.
“That’s right. The copper crisis was merely a guise to get us down there. You and I became the couriers for somewhere around ten million dollars worth of cocaine.”
“The Israelis gave you these?” Derek said contemptuously.
“Yes.”
“How do you know this isn’t just a set-up and you’re playing right into their hands?” Derek’s mouth was an open sneer. “They want you to break off the deal!”
“There’s more.” Marc told them about the other drug shipments, then sketched out the story of the intimidation and extortion of Jonathan Taggart.
Jackie was reeling, but Derek was furious. “And you just sat there and let them tell you all that garbage and never even questioned their motive?”
“Of course, I questioned their motive!” Marc snapped. “I know what their mot
ive is! But their motive has nothing to do with this. The point is, Quinn Gerritt is a man with no scruples, a man who has flagrantly violated the law, and used us as dupes in doing so.”
“According to the Israelis!” Derek shouted. “Talk about being duped!”
When Marc spoke, his voice was quiet, but the edge in it was unmistakable. “I talked with Taggart personally,” he said. “And I will not deal with Quinn Gerritt for one more minute.”
Derek threw up his hands. “So you blow a sixty million dollar deal because your conscience is tweaked? Come on, Marc. This isn’t your decision.”
Jackie took a breath. “Derek’s right, Marc. We can’t just drop everything.”
“And it doesn’t matter to you that you—Jacqueline Ashby—were used to bring in ten million dollars worth of cocaine?”
“Of course, it bothers me!” she flared. “It makes me physically sick, but—”
“There are no buts!” Marc cut in sharply. “We will not deal with him!”
Derek’s lips had pulled back into an angry snarl. “You’re a generous man with Alex’s money.”
“Marc,” Jackie pleaded, “this will kill him. If the deal falls apart, it will kill Alex.”
Marc lifted his hands in a gesture of helplessness. “I’m not going to let the deal fall apart. I’m going to see what we can do to save it.”
“Wonderful!” Derek seethed. “He’s going to see what he can do to save it. And what about the contracts we have already signed with Gerritt?”
“We won’t say anything yet. This is strictly hush-hush. Everything is to continue as though its status quo until we have something else set up.”
“And when do you tell Alex all of this?” Jackie asked quietly, deeply shaken.
“Not until he’s much stronger,” Marc said, not looking at her. “I hope by next week I’ll know more. If I can show him the deal is still in place without Gerritt, then I won’t worry as much about what it will do to him.” He gave her a stern look. “Jackie, you’re not to tell Alex anything yet. Not until he’s considerably better than he is right now.”
She met his stare sullenly, not giving in.
“I mean it, Jackie. You tell him too soon and it could kill him.”
“If you lose this deal, you’ll kill him anyway. You can’t do this on your own, Marc. Wait until Thursday, then let Alex decide.”
“He won’t be strong enough yet. And I can’t wait that long. I’ve got to act now if we hope to salvage anything.”
“Salvage!” Derek cried. “The only thing that needs to be salvaged is what you’re destroying right now!”
“You have no right!” Jackie said bitterly. “I know you have the authority, but you have no right.”
Marc put his hands to his head and rubbed his temples with his fingertips, starting to question all over again the path he had chosen for himself. Finally he looked up at Jackie, stricken. “I have no choice.”
When Andrew Hadlow opened the door of his palatial home in Pacific Palisades, his eyes were smouldering with anger. He nodded to the guard who had escorted Quinn Gerritt and Derek Parkin up from the main gate, and the man turned on his heel and left them.
“What are you doing here?” Hadlow demanded of Gerritt even before the man had gone. “I told you never to come to my home.”
“This is urgent!” Gerritt snapped back, in no mood for cloakand-dagger mentality.
Ten minutes later, when Derek had finished his account of the meeting at Barclay Enterprises, Hadlow was in a cold fury. “We’ve got fourteen million dollars invested in you,” he said to Gerritt. “You lose that radar system, and my people will not look kindly on that.”
“‘My people!’ ‘My people!’” Gerritt shouted. “What about me? It’s my corporation. It’s my life that’s being ruined. You’re the ones who terrified Taggart. If he talks—”
“Taggart won’t talk!” Hadlow said flatly. “The question is Marc Jeppson. What happens if we take him out as well?”
Derek swallowed hard, his fingers fluttering nervously at his tie.
Gerritt hesitated too, but obviously it wasn’t because Hadlow’s words had shocked him. “No,” he said finally. “With Alex down, everything is hanging in the balance anyway. It could break off everything. No, all we need to do is bring him into line.”
“Money?” Hadlow said. “What if we offer him a hundred thousand cash now, another when the deal is completed?”
“No.” Gerritt was firm. “The money wouldn’t phase him.”
“Blackmail? Is he into anything kinky? Or what about Barclay’s secretary? Didn’t you tell me she was kind of sweet on him? What would she be willing to do for ten or fifteen thousand?”
Both Derek and Gerritt were shaking their heads.
“Come on!” Hadlow hissed. “Everybody’s got a handle. What’s Jeppson’s?”
Both men looked to Derek. He could feel the sweat trickling down his back. He licked his lips nervously, looking cornered.
“What, Parkin? What is there?”
“He’s got two little boys. And a fiancée.”
Hadlow spun around and walked to the phone. He punched the buttons with sharp, deliberate jabs, then turned his back.
“Mr. Perotti,” Derek heard him murmur. “We’ve got some complications here. I need a couple of men.”
Gerritt grabbed Derek’s arm. “Let’s go.” They exited as Hadlow continued to speak softly into the phone.
Derek Parkin fished for the key to his apartment, feeling a sudden surge of fear. Two men had gotten out of the car that had pulled up behind his. Now they were coming up the walk toward him. He finally got the key out and jammed it in the lock.
“Derek Parkin?” one of the men called.
Derek turned around slowly, feeling his knees turn into cotton. “Yes?”
The lead man flashed a badge. “FBI. You’ll have to come with us, please.”
Lynn Braithwaite turned off the tape recorder and sat back. Marc, sitting across the desk from him, didn’t look at him. His mouth was set in a hard line, and his eyes had narrowed to dangerous slits. They had just listened to the recording made of the conversation that had taken place at the Hadlow home and Hadlow’s phone call to Perotti.
“Well,” Braithwaite finally said. “We knew they would play rough.”
“Weissman had better keep a tight watch on Valerie and my boys.”
“I called Weissman and played this for him as well. He knows the stakes are getting higher and higher.”
“So what happens when Hadlow’s men can’t find Taggart or Valerie?”
Braithwaite shook his head slowly. He was a plain man with thinning hair, horn-rimmed glasses, and a heavy beard. He hadn’t shaved since morning, and it gave him a slightly sinister look.
“They come after me, right?”
Braithwaite pursed his lips, considering the options. “You heard Hadlow. He wants a handle, and if there’s no handle, he’ll break the jug.”
Marc nodded glumly, trying to ignore the ball of brass that had suddenly settled in his stomach.
“Marc, are you sure you want to go through with this? You can bet Perotti will have nothing but professionals.”
“Thanks,” Marc said dryly. “Have you ever thought of going into counseling? You have a way of comforting the troubled soul.”
Braithwaite gave a short, mirthless laugh, then sobered instantly. He leaned forward and tapped the cassette tape in the recorder. “The only consolation is this—for the first time we’ve linked Perotti in directly.”
“And you’re sure these will be admissable in court?”
“Absolutely. Your testimony and Taggart’s gave us sufficient probable cause. Getting the court order was a snap. Everything now is strictly legal.”
“It’s too bad the tape of Derek and Gerritt planning Alex’s heart attack is not.”
“True,” Braithwaite mused. “But it’s still been of great value. Derek tried to stonewall it until we played that to him. Then he broke
, and he’s been talking nonstop ever since.”
Marc’s mouth pulled down. “And he gets immunity from prosecution?”
The FBI agent shrugged philosophically. “I know it galls you, but Parkin is a little fish—one that stinks, that’s true—but if we can use him to reel in the big ones, I can live with throwing him back in the pond.”
Marc stood abruptly. “Well, I’m going to try to get a good night’s sleep.”
“In a motel?” Braithwaite asked innocently.
Marc jerked around.
“Look,” he went on. “I think you’re fine until they discover Taggart and your family are not available. But these guys play rough. We’ve got men covering you, but a motel lessens the risk.”
Marc nodded soberly. “All right.” He turned and started for the door.
“So,” Braithwaite persisted, “I’m asking you again. Are you sure you want to go through with this?”
Marc frowned deeply. “If we stop now, how much will Gerritt and Hadlow get?”
“So far, all we’ve got them for is conspiracy and extortion. We might be able to make the drug thing in Colombia stick, but I’m not sure. I’d guess five to ten years, with eligibility for parole in three or four.”
“And for attempted murder?”
“I think we could double that.” He paused. “But if they can’t find Taggart or Valerie, there’ll be no actual attempted murder. Just conspiracy to commit murder.”
“I wasn’t thinking of Taggart or Valerie,” Marc said grimly.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
It was a private room on the third floor, and the buildings of Los Angeles were visible through the hospital curtains. The heart monitor was mounted to the wall above the bed, and two chairs were pulled up alongside where Alex lay. Marc let the door shut softly behind him, and the sound caught the attention of all three in the room.
The look on any one of their faces would have been sufficient to tell Marc what he had already suspected. Jackie had told Alex everything. Jackie’s head lifted in defiance as Marc looked at her. Ardith’s face held a mixture of anger and imploring beseechment. Alex, drawn and pale from the operation, looked like one of the Furies from hell itself.
Gerald N. Lund 4-In-1 Fiction eBook Bundle Page 83
