Charlie Muffin U.S.A.

by Brian Freemantle

  ‘I don’t fully agree …’ started Pendlebury, but Warburger talked over him. ‘He creates an uncertainty. And I don’t like uncertainties. I went along with you this far, but I want you now to take a positive directive. At the slightest indication of any difficulty, you’re to have him removed.’

  ‘It would be a shame to frighten away Terrilli or his people,’ said Pendlebury.

  ‘And an even greater shame to lose them,’ argued the Director. ‘That damned man can do nothing but get in the way.’

  As Warburger spoke, Charlie Muffin was emerging from the Senate Records Office not two miles from where the three F.B.I. men were in conference.

  It had been easier than he had expected, but then Charlie was unused to the Freedom of Information Act or the efficiency of American library systems and computer records. Giuseppe Terrilli’s name had not been linked with organised crime since the Democratic administration’s investigations under Bobby Kennedy. And even then it had involved situations that existed much earlier. In 1958, a Giuseppe Terrilli was named as a link between crime in America and the gambling syndicates in Havana, before their expulsion by Fidel Castro. There was then a gap of four years, after which the name of Terrilli appeared again, this time in connection with the refusal of a gambling licence for one of the Las Vegas hotels later discovered to be wholly Mafia controlled. After that, nothing.

  Not on Terrilli, at least. But by going back as far as he had, Charlie had come across another name and it had intrigued him as much as what he had learned about the Mafia associate.

  It would never have shown up but for the excellent cross referencing available in the records office and only then because he had probed so deeply into the Bobby Kennedy investigation. Kelvin Cosgrove had never been involved in any Terrilli probe, but he had been associated with others and appeared to have established himself so highly that there had been speculation of his being appointed Attorney-General after Bobby Kennedy’s Californian assassination.

  It could still be a coincidence, Charlie thought, waving down a passing taxi to take him to Dulles Airport. But increasingly he was disregarding the anomalies upon which he kept stumbling as coincidence.

  12

  The initial planning meetings of Terrilli’s men who wanted to steal the stamps and the F.B.I. group who wanted them to do it, took place within two days and one hundred and fifty miles of each other.

  Chambine’s meeting occurred first. So determined was the New Yorker to impress Terrilli and be invited to join the Florida operation that he had taken even greater care over the selection of those who would help him than he had indicated to Terrilli during their Miami meeting. Finding men with minimal criminal records had been the first essential; and it naturally followed that they were also people of above average ability, to have evaded detection for so long. All were past thirty, men who no longer considered machismo was kept in the crotch of their jockey shorts. Four were married and outwardly lived in a respectable, responsible fashion in affluent city suburbs. One, David Bertrano, was honorary secretary of his local P.T.A.

  It was Bertrano whom Chambine deputed to take the hotel suite, choosing him for no other reason than that it was from Chicago that he took his first recruit and that was where Bertrano operated. The purpose was to provide a comfortable meeting place for the group, which everyone else understood, so there was no jealousy over this apparent favouritism.

  Bertrano had had coffee and sandwiches provided before anyone arrived at the Contemporary Resort in Disneyworld. There was a bar in the corner, but no one had asked for a drink when they assembled, and Chambine noticed this, content that he had obtained professionals. Leonard Saxby and Peter Boella came from Las Vegas, Umberto Petrilli from Philadelphia and Walter Bulz and Harry Beldini from Los Angeles.

  Even though it wasn’t his suite, Chambine took the role of host, formally introducing the group to each other. The responses were polite but equally formal.

  ‘No doubt you’d recognised each other before today?’ said Chambine.

  ‘Nearly everyone,’ said Bertrano. Realising the reason for the question, he added, ‘There’s been no contact.’

  ‘I’m glad.’

  ‘It’s obviously something big,’ said Saxby. ‘Nobody’s laying out fifty grand for nothing. We didn’t want to do anything to foul it up.’

  ‘It is big,’ admitted Chambine. ‘There’s a particular market for what we’re going to take.’

  ‘What is it?’ asked Bertrano.

  ‘Stamps,’ said Chambine. He waited for the surprise to register, but there was no reaction from anyone, and once again Chambine congratulated himself upon the selection.

  ‘What sort of stamps?’ asked Boella.

  ‘A very special collection,’ said Chambine. ‘Used to belong to the Russian Tsar.’

  ‘We’re not to know who wants them?’ asked Beldini.

  ‘No,’ said Chambine, intent on the response to the refusal. Once again the group remained impassive.

  ‘Is the collection on show?’ asked Bulz.

  ‘Palm Beach,’ said Chambine. ‘The exhibition opened three days ago.’

  ‘So you know the security,’ said Petrilli, investing the organiser with the same expertise as the rest of them.

  ‘Rotating staff of twenty uniformed people. Ten plainclothes, as far as I can establish. Display cases possibly wired and ten swivel cameras and two fixed mountings,’ said Chambine.

  ‘What about the person in charge?’

  ‘A stumble-bum named Pendlebury. No problem. And there’s some kind of Englishman attached to the insurance company. No problem there either.’

  ‘Staff at night?’ asked Saxby.

  ‘Three-man night shift. No one actually on duty in the hall; they make half-hourly checks.’

  ‘But the cameras will be kept on?’ asked Petrilli.

  ‘Of course,’ said Chambine.

  ‘How do we overcome that?’ said Saxby. ‘Block the supply?’

  ‘No,’ said Chambine immediately. ‘It’s wired so that if there’s any interruption to the power, a battery-operated alarm sounds …’

  From a briefcase he took plans and drawings he had made during the time he had been at the Breakers. While he laid them out, Boella poured coffee. They huddled around and behind Chambine as he laid the papers out.

  ‘Here,’ he began, indicating a camera at the top of the drawing, ‘is the biggest risk. It’s one of the fixed cameras and it’s equipped with a fish-eye lens, giving it cover of almost all the chamber. That’s the one we hit first …’

  ‘How?’ demanded Saxby.

  ‘Simply by going in with twelve cloth covers, which we shall tape over each lens.’

  Saxby laughed at the simplicity, but Bertrano said, ‘It would still be impossible to avoid some of us being photographed, if only for a few minutes.’

  Chambine nodded. ‘That’s why this first camera is important. It’s the most dangerous.’

  He indicated Bulz and Beldini.

  ‘You two will go in first. You’ll wear black track suits and black hoods.’ He pointed to eight red crosses on the plan. ‘Those are the permanent lights. I want them shrouded as soon as you enter. That cuts down the photographic quality enormously … you …’ he pointed to Bulz ‘… will do that. While you …’ he nodded to Beldini ‘… will go first for this fixed camera, then criss-cross the floor, covering first the camera to the left, then the camera to the right …’

  He turned back to Bulz. ‘… as soon as you’ve shrouded all the lights, you hit this other fixed camera at the other end of the room. That’s not a fish-eye, so we can afford to wait.’

  He sat back from the plan, looking at the two men from Los Angeles.

  ‘I’ve got exact measurements of the room,’ he said. ‘And measurements, although obviously they’re only estimates, of the camera and lighting equipment placed around the room. I’ve hired a warehouse in Orlando and had duplicate equipment delivered there yesterday. After this meeting, I want you t
o take these plans and build a facsimile of the camera protection. And then practise. I want to come here three days from now and see you two extinguish those lights and cameras in under five minutes.’

  He stopped, waiting for their comments and hoping no one would attempt a joke at the proposal. The six other men stayed serious.

  ‘Anyone see any problems?’ he demanded. It was a test he felt necessary.

  ‘It won’t work,’ said Bertrano. ‘The room is bound to have smoke sensors as part of the normal fire precautions. And if we have cloth over the lights for longer than a few moments, they’ll smoulder and set off the alarms.’

  ‘Right!’ said Chambine, smiling. ‘The timing is three minutes to get the cameras covered, then another two to remove all the cloths. We’ll need the light anyway to see what we’re doing.’

  ‘Is the exhibition at the Breakers?’ asked Petrilli.

  Chambine nodded.

  ‘Big hotel with a full night staff,’ continued the man from Philadelphia. ‘Getting out isn’t going to be easy.’

  Chambine went back to his plans, drumming his pencil against the drawing of the exhibition hall, which was uncluttered by any markings of lights or surveillance equipment. Only the positions of the display cases and the windows were shown.

  ‘Here,’ he said, encircling two windows at the top corner, ‘are the two windows overlooking the car park. There’s just a veranda and a section of lawn in the way. The windows are wired, obviously, but we can bypass that. The ground lights are a problem …’ He gestured to Saxby and Boella. ‘… you two will never actually enter the hall. I want you both outside, behaving like ordinary visitors. You’ll be there to warn us of any sudden attention that might come from outside. But before that, you douse these.’

  He produced another drawing, showing the outside lighting.

  ‘But you won’t put out the section near the exhibition hall first. I want it to look like isolated fusing. And I want to create a diversion. I want some by the pool and near the drive to go first. And then those which might worry us.’

  He paused, to impress them with the importance of what he was going to say.

  ‘Getting the timing right for the lights is as important as the practice that you’re all going to do in the warehouse. If one light goes out at the wrong time – or doesn’t go out at all – then there’s no way we’ll get away with it.’

  ‘Do we do it from the actual fuse box?’ asked Saxby.

  Chambine shook his head. ‘We’d never be able to guarantee getting to the boxes on time. And it’s impossible to find out without actually testing which fuses operate which set of lights. We’ll have to cut the ground cables. It won’t matter when they discover what’s happened: by that time the collection will have gone anyway.’

  ‘We won’t be able to practise that,’ said Boella.

  ‘I know,’ said Chambine. ‘It means you and Saxby coming to the hotel before the robbery. I would like to have avoided that, but there’s no alternative.’

  He looked at the others in the room.

  ‘They’ll be the only ones,’ he warned. ‘I don’t want any chance of recognition … any indication of us being a group.’

  ‘What’ll we do?’ asked Saxby.

  ‘Make no contact whatsoever with me,’ said Chambine. ‘Just appear to be ordinary visitors. Use the bars, the pool if you want. Even the golf course. But give yourselves the opportunity to isolate the cables leading to the lights I’ve marked and work out how they’re best cut. I want a complete plan prepared before I return to the warehouse to see the rehearsal with the cameras.’

  The two men nodded.

  ‘Palm Beach is an island,’ pointed out Bertrano. ‘What’s to stop the bridges being sealed once the light cables are discovered cut?’

  ‘Time,’ said Chambine, confidently. ‘Before the true cause of the ground failure is discovered, we will have delivered the collection and you will have been paid off. Even if you were stopped – and it’s a million to one chance – any search of your car would show nothing.’

  ‘The stuff’s not leaving Palm Beach?’ asked Bertrano.

  ‘No,’ confirmed Chambine. ‘It’ll be in our possession for less than thirty minutes.’

  Bertrano smiled. ‘Doesn’t look like being too difficult a job,’ he said.

  ‘Don’t think like that!’ snapped Chambine. ‘Start thinking it’s easy and you’ll relax, and when you relax, something will go wrong.’

  ‘I didn’t mean …’ Bertrano tried to protest, but the New Yorker interrupted him.

  ‘I’m not interested in what you meant. You’re all being paid a lot of money for something that has got to go without a hitch. I don’t want anyone celebrating or relaxing or thinking it’s easy until you’re all back home and the fifty grand is in your safe deposit boxes.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Bertrano.

  ‘It’s all right,’ Chambine replied. He was not unhappy at the episode. It had provided a way of stressing the importance of what they were attempting.

  ‘What if we are interrupted?’ demanded Saxby quietly.

  Chambine sipped coffee, glad to have arrived at another point.

  ‘You’ve got guns?’ he asked.

  Saxby, Boella and Petrilli nodded.

  ‘Ours are in the left luggage at the airport,’ said Saxby.

  ‘And mine’s at the Greyhound station,’ added Petrilli.

  ‘I’d prefer no violence,’ said Chambine. ‘Only if it can’t be avoided … it’ll foul up the escape and bring any police in far quicker …’ He hesitated, caught by a sudden thought. ‘And if we do get away with it,’ he continued, ‘I want those guns dumped immediately we clear the hotel. I don’t want anyone seized for something as stupid as having a weapon on him, when there’s no other reason for suspicion …’

  ‘What about a diversion bigger than a few blacked-out lights?’ suggested Bertrano, trying to recover from their dispute.

  Chambine shook his head vigorously. ‘A few fused lights is a hotel maintenance problem until it’s discovered otherwise. I don’t want anything dramatic that’s going to attract the attention of the police.’

  There were various movements among those sitting before him, as they accepted the logic. Chambine studied them, deciding to emphasise the warning.

  ‘There’s no way that later you will be associated with this job,’ he began, ‘but I don’t want it coming back from your ends. No big spending … anything ridiculous that might attract the attention of people in cities where you live …’

  The men started making gestures of assent, but Chambine continued: ‘If this comes off, as I intend it to, there’s no reason why there shouldn’t be other jobs, for the same fee. Maybe even higher.’

  It was unlikely, he knew. But as outwardly respectable as they might appear, the men around him all possessed the essential ingredient of criminality: greed. The promise of more money would do more than any direct threat to instil in them the caution he wanted.

  ‘I think we’re all adult enough to avoid that,’ said Bertrano, speaking for the others.

  ‘I’m sure you are,’ said Chambine. ‘It was just something that needed saying.’

  From his pocket Chambine took a key with an address label attached. He handed it across to Bulz and said, ‘That’s to the warehouse. I want the plan perfected in three days, okay?’

  ‘Guaranteed,’ said Bulz.

  Chambine turned to Saxby and Boella.

  ‘I don’t want to know when you’re coming to the Breakers. All I want is something that won’t fail outlined to me when I come to see the other preparations.’

  The men from Las Vegas nodded their heads in agreement, but said nothing.

  ‘That’s it, then,’ announced Chambine, standing. ‘I’ll see you all in Orlando.’

  ‘Going straight back?’ asked Bertrano.

  ‘Why?’

  Bertrano looked at his watch. ‘The fireworks displav starts in half an hour,’ he said. ‘First over the M
agic Kingdom and then out there on the lake.’

  ‘It’s spectacular,’ confirmed Boella. ‘You should stay and watch it.’

  ‘No time,’ said Chambine. ‘You enjoy it.’

  Chambine moved quickly away from the identifying suite, descending one floor by the stairway before taking the lift. Within minutes he was in the lobby, through which ran the monorail train that completely encircles Disneyworld. He was alert to people boarding with him for the journey to the main gate but saw no one paying any particular attention to him. As the pneumatic doors hissed closed, one of Pendlebury’s men rose from behind his copy of Time magazine to telephone the call box near the main exit, to warn the man waiting there that Chambine was on his way.

  It was because of the complete success of the surveillance operation that Pendlebury called his meeting within forty-eight hours. This meant more work than it had for Chambine. The F.B.I. man could not assemble all the agents over whom he had control because of the risk of attracting attention with so many, and so he had to journey from as far south as Miami, right up through the coastline to Lantana, Lake Worth, Boynton Beach and Fort Pierce. From each place he selected a man to be in charge of the groups gathered there, recognising the need to delegate responsibility, to ensure quickness of movement. With this smaller group of supervisors he held a final conference, after the others, moving to the mainland and taking rooms at the Howard Johnson hotel on Okeechobee Boulevard at West Palm Beach.

  ‘I’ll make no apologies for repeating what you’ve heard before,’ Pendlebury began. ‘More than anyone else in this operation, you people have got to know what you’re doing and do it right. If any one of you foul up, then the whole thing will fail.’

  Behind him was a blackboard on which were thumb-tacked photographs of the six men with whom Chambine had had his meeting. The F.B.I. supervisor took up a pointer, announcing the identity of each man as he isolated each picture.

  He turned back into the room. ‘Every one has a positive connection with organised crime,’ he declared. ‘Yet they are all brought from separate parts of the country. I think that shows a very careful selection of operators.’