the Plan (1995)

by Stephen Cannell

  "Can he understand us?" they would say. "Is he awake?"

  Lemme out, lemme out, he would scream in his tortured mind, unable to move, unable to twitch . . . trapped but alive. He lay there while they talked, first to him, then about him.

  Brenton Spencer was locked in a nightmare that began anew every time he woke up.

  Chapter 40.

  STRATEGY

  MICKEY TRIED TO REACH HIS MOTHER THREE TIMES THAT morning. Finally, he remembered her cell phone and dialed the number off the Rolodex from his office in the Jerse y h ouse. It rang three times and then a man answered.

  "Who is this?" Mickey said to Kazorowski, who was just pulling his car into the motel parking lot with Cole Harris sitting beside him. Kaz recognized the voice from half a dozen wiretaps he'd heard of Mickey Alo over the years.

  "This is the intercept operator." Kaz was flying blind, trying to keep Mickey on the line, not sure what to do. "Hey, shit-for-brains, there's no such thing."

  "Hi, Mickey. How's everything in Goombah City?" "Who the fuck is this?"

  Kaz was out of the car now and moving toward the motel with the phone to his ear. Cole got the door open and, as Kaz moved into the room, Lucinda got to her feet. Ryan was still asleep on the bed.

  "Ms is Solomon Kazorowski."

  "Whatta you doing with my mother's phone?"

  "Confusing how shit like that happens, ain't it?" Kaz wrote "Mickey" on a piece of paper and showed it to Lucinda.

  "Let me talk to him," Lucinda said.

  "I've got somebody, wants to say hi." He handed the phone to Lucinda.

  "Don't you dare send anybody else to hurt him, Mickey. Don't you dare!"

  "I don't know what you're talkin' about, Sis."

  "You know damn well what I'm talking about. You sent a killer to try and get Ryan. Leave him alone, he doesn't mean anything to you."

  "Hey, little sister, you don't have a clue what means anything to me. You wanna play teacher to a bunch a' retards, I could give less of a shit, but you get in my world, you start fucking with my action, and you're dust. Put Kazorowski back on."

  "I never knew you at all, did I?"

  "You knew what I wanted you to know."

  She didn't have to see him to know that his eyes were shining and blank. She handed the phone back to Kazorowski, trembling with frustration.

  "Yeah."

  "A million dollars right now, no questions asked, you deliver them both to me."

  "Y' know, that's funny, Mickey. You and your friends think the world stops for money--but there's other things that count, greaseball. You took away all I ever wanted. You set me up ten years ago, because I was costing you money, but I don't give a shit about money. Ya know what gets my dick stiff . . . ?"

  "What?"

  "Sending guys like you to the asshole academy, and I ain't gonna quit till I put you there." He disconnected the phone before Mickey could answer.

  "He offered me a million bucks to sell you out. I think your big brother means business."

  "We've gotta get Bolt outta here. Mickey'll send out foot soldiers. He'll find you," Cole said.

  "How?" Lucinda asked.

  "He's no dummy. He knows Ryan is hurting. He'll look for street doctors like Dr. Jazz."

  "I knew a mob guy once who sent button men down a highway with photographs, showed 'em to every gas station on the interstate," Kaz finished Cole's thought.

  "Does Ryan still have his boat in Marina del Rey?" Cole asked Lucinda.

  "I don't know."

  "I'm sure he does. He took me out once when I was in L. A."

  "That's perfect," Kaz said to Lucinda. "We get you two out to L. A., you get on that boat and get away. Don't tell anybody where. Drop anchor, stay outta sight. I'll hang onto this cell phone if you need to talk to me."

  "Shouldn't I tell you where I am?" she said.

  Kaz shook his head. "If Mickey catches either Cole or me, I can't guarantee we won't give up your location. A man tends to start talking when he's doused with kerosene and his clothes are on fire."

  "You gotta drive," Cole said. "He'll be watching the airports."

  "I can't drive him all the way to the West Coast in this condition. It'll kill him," Lucinda said.

  "I've got a way to fly him out of here," Kaz volunteered. "Mickey will never find this airplane 'cause officially it doesn't exist."

  Kaz was on the phone for almost two hours, trying to find Deke Metcalf. He finally found him through Deke's sister, who gave Kaz the number of his girlfriend's house in Vermont. Half an hour later, he had Deke on the phone.

  "Kaz, I can't steal government equipment," Deke said after he heard what Kaz wanted. "That shit is all over with. They busted all the ranch hands outta Covert Ops.

  "Look, Deke, I never asked you for anything, but you've gotta get this guy to the West Coast."

  "Who is he?"

  "You're better off not knowing. I'm gonna take him to the rabbit farm. You can pick him up there."

  "How the hell did I ever end up with you for a friend?" "We were both fucking the colonel's wife at Fort Bragg, remember?"

  "Oh yeah, right. Okay, I'll work something out. Meet me there in two hours."

  Kaz doped Ryan up good for the flight, got him stretched out in the back of Cole's van, then called Dr. Jazz and told him Ryan needed more antibiotics. Kenetta met them in a Pay-Less parking lot with the drugs. She checked and redressed the wound while Ryan lay unconscious. Lucinda opened her purse and pushed several hundred dollars into Kenetta's hand. "Thank you; you and your father saved his life," she said.

  Kenetta smiled and gave her instructions on how to guard against infection.

  The rabbit farm was just that, a breeding farm for medical supply rabbits in the southwestern part of New Jersey. There was a long, paved runway east of the rabbit coops that could handle most MATS propeller aircraft, including the large C-54 that was currently sitting at the end.

  Cole pulled the van out on the tarmac under the wing of the four-engine plane with no VIN or tail markings.

  Deke Metcalf turned out to be a handsome, forty-yearold black aviator, tall with coffee-colored skin and a roguish air. He flew planes for Air America, the CIA covert ops airline. He and Kaz had worked more than one federal case together.

  Ryan never woke up as they opened the back of the van. "You didn't tell me he was gonna be junk on a bunk," Deke said.

  "Drank too much Old Grand-Dad," Kaz said, looking at the plane. "Where'd you get this antique?"

  "That's another thing. I can't guarantee we ain't gonna prang it in a cornfield. Bird's a ruptured duck. I volunteered to transport it to Lockheed in Van Nuys for an engine overhaul. Officially, this flight ain't on anybody's board. It's a black ops flight, and to make it interestin', the number-two fan is cooked. This was the only ride I could get my hands on."

  "Can you get off the ground with three engines?" "I already did it once but it's a groaner."

  Kaz reached out in a strangely formal gesture and shook Lucinda's hand. "You're okay, Miss Alo. Sorry if I came on strong a while back. You take care of both a' ya."

  "I accept the apology." And she leaned forward and kissed Kaz on the cheek.

  The three men managed to get Ryan into the cabin. He never woke up. Then Deke helped Lucinda in, pulled up the rear door, and secured Ryan in one of the seats, belting him in. He got behind the controls and, one by one, started up the three good engines. The inboard engine, on the port side, didn't turn on. It stayed feathered as Deke made the run-up, looked at his gauges, tapped a few, and shook his head in disbelief. "I get better odds in Vegas," he said to himself as he pushed the throttle forward and eased off the rudder brakes.

  He taxied to the end of the runway, crossed himself, and started the roll. He had filed no flight plan and no radio contact. His transponder was squawking on the CIA frequency, so he would be cleared through military channels, but as far as the F. A. A . was concerned, this flight never happened.

  Kaz and Cole watched with c
oncern as the C-54 thundered down the runway and finally lifted off. The cumbersome transport barely cleared the trees on the far end of the field, straining up, over a set of power lines, missing disaster by feet.

  He knew it was impossible, but as the plane banked to the east, Kaz thought he heard Deke let out a rebel yell.

  Chapter 41.

  AT SEA

  MICKEY SAT IN HIS FATHER'S OFFICE UPSTAIRS FOR TWO hours running the problem over in his mind, working the angles, exploring options. He was troubled by the fact that Kazorowski had answered the phone. The ex-fed had been with Lucinda and that meant there was a good chance he was also with Ryan. Mickey sat sideways in his father's office club chair with his legs over the arm and looked for solutions. Lucinda might cause some trouble. She undoubtedly knew things she didn't know she knew. She'd lived in the house while her father ran the family. She had to know that Joseph dreamed of controlling a presidential candidate. What if Kaz turned up the campaign funding? Or got to A.]. and scared the wonk into talking? Another unanswered question was, where were the tapes of Haze screaming and pleading in the airliner? If they surfaced, the whole plan could go under. On the other hand, Mickey was beginning to suspect that those tapes were out of the mix. If Ryan still had them, he would have already sent them to a TV station or Kaz would have threatened him with them. The fact that nobody had mentioned the tapes made him wonder if New York Tony hadn't destroyed them before he disappeared. Mickey had to believe Tony was dead.

  Mickey finally decided that he needed a front-line mechanic. No more street characters swinging Louisville Sluggers. He needed somebody who wouldn't miss. He'd heard his father talk about an ex-CIA political assassin known only as the Ghost. Silvio Candrate was the Ghost's contractor and booked all his jobs. Mickey leaned over and looked for Silvio's number in his father's Rolodex. When he found it, he closed the office door and picked up the scrambled line his father had installed.

  He left a message with Silvio's wife to have the retired gunsel call him once he got home. Then Mickey sat back at the desk and picked up the newspaper with Haze's smiling face on the front page. He remembered how the slick politician had been sweating in the motor home while Mickey bought his soul. He looked down at the picture, finally bringing it up to eye level in front of his face.

  "I'm gonna own the President of the United States," he said softly. Power was Mickey Alo's drug of choice.

  Elizabeth's phone rang at 2:38 A. M.. She was only in her first REM sleep because the couple downstairs had been doing a headboard rumba on the wall till almost one o'clock. She had rolled over, looked at the alarm clock and thought this had better be good. She fumbled the phone off the cradle.

  "Is this Elizabeth Applegate?"' a woman's voice asked. "Who's asking?"

  "Did you use to be Ryan Bolt's secretary?"

  "Hey, honey, you know what time it is?"

  "Ryan is with me. He's not in very good shape. You used to be his secretary . . . ?"

  "What's wrong with him?" Elizabeth said, trying to get her thoughts together.

  "We need your help. He said you can borrow your brother's station wagon. We need you to come pick us up."

  Elizabeth hadn't heard from Ryan in almost a month. She had a new boss who was a raging pain in the ass, making her punch out, then keeping her after hours at the studio and refusing her the overtime. Now her old boss was calling at two in the morning, asking for favors. Trouble was, she couldn't refuse Ryan anything. He was one of those guys she would always help.

  "Put him on."

  "Just a minute." There was the sound of the phone being passed, then the whispered memory of her old friend.

  "Hi," the voice croaked softly.

  "Ryan?"

  "Sorry , Liz. . . . Wouldn't ask if . . . Can ya help?" She was suddenly terribly concerned. "Ryan, what's wrong?"

  "Zigged when I should a' ducked."

  "Don't mix your metaphors," she lectured, trying to sound bright, but feeling dread at the way he sounded. "Okay, I'll get the wagon. Where are you?"

  "I don't know. Just a min--" There was a fumbling sound and then the girl was back on the line.

  "Sixteen hundred Mountain Road, Valencia."

  "That's way out by Magic Mountain." It was at least forty-five minutes away.

  "If you have any money, we could use it. I could write you a check, but I'm afraid if you cash it, it could be dangerous for you."

  "Why is that?"

  " 'Cause when it clears, my brother will see it and . . ." Lucinda stopped, not wanting to involve Elizabeth more deeply. "Forget the money, just hurry."

  "The Elizabeth Applegate Rescue Wagon is on the way." She hung up, grabbed her sweats, and slipped them on. She was heading toward the door when she spun around and went into the bathroom, where she combed her hair and put on her makeup. "Damn it," she said out loud as she fixed her face, "I've still got a case on him."

  She made the trip in thirty-five minutes because there was no traffic. Mountain Street was the turnoff just before Magic Mountain. She rolled down the off ramp and, as her headlights raked the intersection, she saw that 1600 was a sporting goods store. She pulled into the parking lot. She saw a tall, light-skinned black man standing next to a panel truck with government plates on it. She pulled around the man and parked. By then, he had started removing pins, unhooking the tailgate, and through the windshield, she could see Ryan lying on a blanket in the truck bed. She got out of the car, leaving the engine on. Then she saw Lucinda coming around the side of the truck and her heart sank. She was beautiful with long, glossy hair and delicate features.

  "I'm Lucinda Alo," the beautiful girl said.

  "Elizabeth Applegate," she responded, turning her attention to Ryan, who was lying on the blanket. He looked thin and unhealthy.

  "What happened to him?"

  "He was shot in the leg . . . and then he reinjured it. He's lost a lot of blood and he's kinda drugged up." Deke jumped up into the truck bed.

  "Who's truck is this?" Elizabeth asked the handsome coffee-complected man.

  "It belongs to the government. Your tax dollars at work for you, but it's not supposed to be off the field. I gotta get it back, pronto," Deke said.

  "And who are you?"

  "Cat in a Hat." He grinned, doffing his fifty-mission cap. "Open up the back. The three of us oughta be able to get him in your wagon."

  Elizabeth and Lucinda got on Ryan's right side and Deke carefully lifted his left, managing not to jostle the wounded leg. They got him into the back of the station wagon, and then Deke looked at Ryan. "Gotta go. Good luck, buddy."

  "Thanks for the dust-off," Ryan said weakly.

  "Thank Kaz. I wouldn't've done it for anybody else." And he got back into the truck. Without looking back, he pulled out of the parking lot and out of their lives forever.

  Elizabeth got behind the wheel; Lucinda got in the rear of the wagon and sat next to Ryan. When Elizabeth turned to check on him, Ryan was looking up at her. The smile was in his eyes, if not on his lips.

  "Thanks, Liz. . . ."

  "Ryan, what happened?"

  "Just take me to the Linda."

  She put the car in gear and pulled up toward the on ramp. She could hear Lucinda in the back, whispering to Ryan.

  When they hit the transition bumps crossing over to the 405 freeway, Ryan moaned and Lucinda whispered encouragement to him.

  Elizabeth felt very alone. As she listened to Ryan and Lucinda, she knew she was letting her life slip by.

  They arrived at the marina and Elizabeth parked in the darkness, under a broken light at the foot of B dock. She and Lucinda got out of the wagon, leaving Ryan sleeping in the back; then Elizabeth led the way down the ramp to where she thought she remembered Ryan's boat being slipped.

  "Shouldn't he see a doctor?"

  "I'm going to work on that. First, I have to make sure he's safe."

  "Safe from what? From who?"

  "Please, just help me find his boat."

  They walked farther
down until Elizabeth could see the familiar profile of the beautiful fifty-foot ketch. Built in the fifties, she had classic lines. The wood hull had been varnished to a shiny dark brown; the cockpit was covered with white canvas. The boat was named Linda, for Ryan's ex-wife, but she had hated the boat and they rarely used it.

  When Lucinda looked at the ketch, it was love at first sight. Sailing had been one of her childhood joys. She'd had a Sabot at Cape May when she was seven and had graduated to larger boats, winning some yacht club contests when she was in her mid-teens. She was at home o n t he sea. Now she jumped down and started to unsnap the canvas, exposing the teak decks and chrome fittings. "Look at this," she whispered as she unwrapped the boat with Christmas morning excitement. She moved below and checked the provisions. There was plenty of canned food and bottled water. She found the chart drawer and the battery selector switch and rotated it to ON BOTH BATTERIES. She turned on the cabin lights and checked the battery condition indicator. She stuck her head up and looked at Ryan's secretary.

  "You seem to know something about boats," Elizabeth said.

  "I'll manage. Let's get Ryan."

  They brought over a rolling dock dolly and loaded the boat seat cushions into it, then got Ryan out of the wagon. He was gritting his teeth in pain as they moved him onto the dolly and rolled him to the boat. It was difficult getting him aboard, but they managed, finally settling him in the forward stateroom bunk. Once the transfer was complete, Elizabeth leaned down and kissed him on the cheek. "Damn, Ryan, take better care of yourself, will ya?"

  He put an arm around her neck and whispered in her ear. "Missed you, Liz."

  She stood up and held his hand for as long as she could, then moved out to the cockpit where Lucinda was pulling back the small engine hatch and checking the forty-horse Graymarine engine. She checked the oil stick, then replaced the hatch cover, leaving it cracked slightly for ventilation. She turned on the bilge fan and let it run, until it blew the engine compartment clean of fumes.