“Thank you.”
Bea walked into Sloan’s office. “The Rich’s travel person said to send a cable.” “Ever send a cable?”
“Nope.”
“Me, neither. How about sorting out how to send one while I write it?”
1-445673S-298
FRB TDRN ATLANTA GA 61 10-25 1041A-EST
INT CELIA MORGAN KENYATTA IMPERIAL KYNSMBSA MOMBASA (KENYA)
AM GA TECH PROFESSOR DOING STUDY EARLY HISTORY BIG USA CORPORATIONS. HAVE UNCOVERED POSSIBLE FRAUD IN ICP DEALING WITH YOUR GREAT GRANDMOTHER MORGAN. POSSIBILITY ICP AGENT MAY CONTACT YOU RE SIGNING RELEASE PRIOR TO OR AT TIME YOUR RETURN ATLANTA. STRONGLY RECOMMEND YOU TALK WITH ME PRIOR SIGNING ANY ICP DOCUMENTS. PLEASE TELEPHONE ME AS SOON AS YOU RETURN ATLANTA. TOM SLOAN.
Isabelle Applegate called Bea with Celia Morgan’s reply. “‘I’ll wait, I’ll arrive Atlanta late Saturday afternoon, June twenty-sixth, on Delta flight seventyone, and I’ll call Mr. Sloan as soon as I can’.”
Sloan called Carol Morgan to tell her when her daughter would return. He then called Harding. “I need your advice, sir. It seems to me our best shot at delaying ICP’s release program is to enlist the Morgan woman now visiting East Africa. She’s responded to my cable saying she wouldn’t sign anything until she knows everything.”
“That’s a sensible position for her to take.”
“But, then there’s some possible family pressure.”
“Hmm.”
“If we can keep that pressure under control, we’ll ask ICP to tell us more, then see what they do.”
“Fine, but you’ve already had a warning.”
“Yes.”
“On the other hand, what can they do to you? If they slap their chief tormentor, everyone will know who did the slapping.”
“But then there’s the woman to consider.”
“Hmm, true, but I don’t see her being harmed—for the same reason attacking you doesn’t seem like a good idea.”
“Hmm, true.”
“Well, Professor, you’ve had the great advantage of my counsel. Keep me abreast.” He paused. “And don’t worry about being criticized over a little delay finishing in Atlanta. If anyone raises the question, I’ll be happy to talk with them.”
Later than morning, Derek Morgan reached Webb. “It’s ab out my cousin, Celia. She isn’t going to sign the ICP paper.”
“She say why not?”
“I don’t know. The word came from her mother.”
“When’s she due back?”
“Saturday.”
“Saturday afternoon, from Europe?”
“She has to stop in Rome.”
“Alitalia?”
“I don’t know.”
Guessing the likely itinerary gave Webb an idea. “I’ll call her next week and see what we can work out.”
“I sure hate waiting.”
“Would you like an advance. After all, we’re going to settle this.”
“Sure would.”
“No problem. You’ve given us some help.”
“Be a big, big help, Mr. Webb.”
“Will a thousand help?”
“Yes, sir, sure would.”
“Drop by the receptionist’s desk on the forty-fourth floor of the ICP Tower. She’ll have an envelope for you.”
Webb called Evonne next. “Tell him I have a development.”
Mangrum’s return call to Webb’s hotel came almost immediately.
“We encrypted?” Webb said.
“Of course. What’s your development?”
“My man inside the Morgan family reports the woman won’t sign.”
“We still don’t know when she’s due back?”
“Saturday afternoon.”
Mangrum paused. “All right, here’s what we do. Let’s finish there, one way or the
other.”
“OK.” “ If you have to close the account, make it natural. If we have to do something serious with the traveling lady, we don’t want another notable event in the immediate past.”
“Understood.”
“Now, tell me your plan for the woman.”
“I think we have an opportunity to get her to sign before she gets back and meets with this professor.”
“Good. How?”
“She’s coming home from Kenya and will probably be on the ground for a while in Rome. We can task someone from one of the Italian offices to find her and see if he can exercise a little Italian charm. I can FAX the release and our man can be ready to meet her Friday evening.”
“OK, who do we have in Rome?”
“No one who’s ready for this, but we have Pietro Gambrelli in Milan.”
“Suppose we give her a little incentive?” Mangrum continued.
“Such as?”
“Say fifty thousand, to sign right then. Right on the spot.”
“No, I don’t think so. We don’t want to scare her off. She’d reason that if what she’s signing is worth an extra fifty, there may be something she ought to know before she signs.”
“Right. Bad idea.”
“On the other hand, if more money could close the deal, what’s the upper limit?”
“If more money can close the deal, it doesn’t make any difference.”
“No difference? No upper limit?”
“None.”
Chapter 17
June 22, Atlanta.
Sloan called the final staff meeting in Atlanta to order. “We’re on schedule and doing
well.”
There were nods of agreement from all the members of the team—except for Tyler. “Let’s take the rest of the week off and reassemble in Wilmington on Monday at noon.”
Evonne Peterson knocked on Man grum’s door, then entered, the usual smile on her face.
There was a small, clear plastic box in her hands.
“What do you have there?”
“Microcassette of telephone recordings. Josh said you’d know about it.”
Mangrum shook his head. “Hmm. Leave them on the credenza.”
She was about to leave, when he said, “Wait. I know. Seamus’ idea. Find a player for me.”
“Yes, sir.”
Webb had heard nothing from his agent inside the nursing home and he had to call Pete Gambrelli in the next few minutes or miss him until the next day. He had until midnight or so to decide how he was going to deal with the old man.
He called the Atlanta operator and said for a patch to Gambrelli’s desk in Milan. “ICP, Milano. Gambrelli.”
“Pete, this is Stan.”
“Stan, my man!”
“We require your personal services. Mangrum’s order.”
“I’m listening.”
“The over-night traffic will explain your assignment, including a document you are to
get signed.” He paused, thinking. “One other thing. The instructions don’t mention this, but be advised there is no limit on the amount of funds you can utilize in this effort.” “Did I hear the words ‘no limit’?”
“You did.”
“Porcocane! I’ve never heard ‘unlimited’ and ‘money’ in the same sentence.”
“You have now. After you’ve read your assignment tomorrow, call me. Via Atlanta. They’ll patch you through. Let’s make the call at, say, 3:00, my time.”
Harding w as attending a hearing when Sloan called. “If you’ll just tell Joe Earl most of the team is moving to Delaware, arriving on Monday. Woody, Bea, and I are remaining in Atlanta.”
Webb decided a last minute visit was indicated. At 9:50 the doors of the elevator opened to the waiting room and the nurses’ station on the third floor. There was no one in view.
Webb stood listening at the open door of room 318. He spoke Morgan’s name. There was no response. He returned to the hotel parking lot, pondering his schedule. Tonight, he finally decided.
He stopped in the bar for a brandy, took the glass to his room, and set his wristwatch alarm for 3:30.
Chapter 18
June 23, Coral Gables.
Webb was awake when his alarm went off at 3:30.
He opened the bottom drawer of the nightstand and extracted the three wastebasket
liners he had taken from an unguarded maid’s cart. He gathered the open end of the first plastic bag in his hand and blew. It held pressure, as did the second and third. He splashed water on his face and combed his hair with his fingers.
Webb parked on the far side of the automobiles at the rear entrance. There was no guard.
He climbed the stairs to the third floor. There was no one in sight along the corridor. He crept the short distance to room 318. The room was as he had left it, the night-light glowing. Morgan was lying on his back, his eyes closed. Webb whispered the patient’s name. There was no response. Webb licked his fingers, then placed them in front of the nose and mouth. There was a very slight respiration.
Webb blew into the open end of a bag, then forced his left hand under the old man’s head and raised it. The old man coughed. Webb placed the bag over the unresisting head, gathered the plastic around the thin neck, and tightened it. There was no struggle and there would be no marks. He looked at his watch.
Six minutes later, Webb touched the thin wrist. There was no pulse. He removed the bag from the old man’s head, smoothed the thin, fine hair, and pulled the cotton blanket to the chin.
There was no one in the corridor or the stairwell or the rear lobby. He drove carefully back to his hotel.
Webb was considering what the hotel’s room service might have to offer at that time of night, when the telephone rang.
“Stan?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I have no encryption.”
“Nor I.” Webb paused. “OK, I’m all finished in Miami.”
“The customer?”
“Didn’t sign.”
“No loose ends?”
“None.”
“Tell me the plan for the traveler.”
“Pete Gambrelli’s is going to try to make a sale for us. Friday evening in Rome. And I’ll be ready in Atlanta if he fails.”
“What probability do you assign to Gambrelli’s success?”
“High. Pete’s a smart, good-looking guy with a sensible deal to sell.”
“OK. Keep me informed.”
At 3:00, Webb’s time, Gambrelli said the ICP operator in Atlanta to connect him with Webb.
“Pietro?”
“Good afternoon.”
“Good evening. Did the directive arrive?”
“It did. The release has been retyped and the blank check is ready.”
“Good. Now, how will you find the woman?”
“Already found her. Or found where she’ll be. Hotel Mascagni, on the Via Veneto.” “OK, what’s your plan?”
“I’ll arrive Friday afternoon. I’ll call her early that evening. I’ll ask if she can see me
for dinner. She’ll refuse. I’ll say I want to see her on a business matter. She’ll be curious. I’ll suggest an aperitif. She’ll agree. I’ll charm her. Drinks will spill over into dinner. I’ll suggest Cantalli. I’ll wine and dine her with the best Rudolfo has to offer. I’ll explain the release. She’ll sign. We’ll retire to her hotel room and I’ll discover just how well she appreciated the evening. Next morning I’ll drive her to Leonardo da Vinci.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Webb laughed, “but what if she’s ugly?” “Not a problem. I’ve already had her checked out. She’s supposed to be some sort of modern Venus.”
“All right, call me as soon as it’s over.”
Sloan took Carol Morgan’s call himself.
“Good morning, Mrs. Morgan. How are you?”
“Not so well, Professor.” She paused. “I have had some bad news I thought you
shoul d have.”
Sloan sat erect in his chair. “I’m sorry. What is it?”
“My father-inlaw passed away during the night.”
“I’m very sorry to hear that.”
“I talked with the doctor—his heart just quit beating. We’re delaying the funeral until
Celia gets here. The service will be Sunday afternoon.”
“I‘m sure she’ll appreciate that.”
“She and her grandpa were such pals when she was little.” Her voice broke. “That’s
all. I just wanted you to know.”
“You have my heartfelt sympathy. Thank you for calling.” Sloan considered what Will Morgan’s death might mean, then called Harding. “I don’t have a thing to base my suspicion on. It just seems too happy a coincidence for the Company, that’s all.”
“I agree,” Harding said.
“Is there any way you can look into it?”
“Look into what?”
“Determine for sure if it was a natural death? Perhaps have a Miami Congressman
call the Coral Gables police.”
“I can get through to the Coral Gables police without any help from anybody,
Professor, but what am I going to say? ‘We think the attending physician doesn’t know
his business? We think an elderly man who has been in failing health and in and out of a
coma didn’t die naturally? We think he may have been murdered. If so, we want to
know who these killers are’.”
“Uh, hmm.”
“I can make that call, Professor. But I submit to you if he were killed, it was by
someone who would know how to get away with it. So what we’d have would be an
angry doctor, angry police, and the Morgan family rattled right down to its collective
shoetops.”
“I understand. I didn’t think it through.”
“Mind you, ten will get you twenty Mangrum had him put down, but it’s the wrong
time and place to fight.”
“I understand.”
“Anything else?”
“Yes. The granddaughter, Celia, is due in Saturday afternoon.”
“Keep me posted.”
June 24, Atlanta.
Evonne put the second box of microcassettes from DAD on Mangrum’s credenza.
The first box and the player had not been moved.
Sloan and Tyler spent Thursday and Friday consulting with team members at du Pont. Late Friday afternoon they gathered the completed ICP reports and the initial du Pont reports and caught Delta’s 7:15 flight to Atlanta.
June 25, Rome. Early that evening, Celia Morgan was luxuriating in her bath at the Hotel Mascagni. The three members of the buying team had returned to Rome together, but Pamela had gone on to London. Celia and Mandy had a loose plan for early dinner and early bedtime.
She was about to rise from her tub, when the bathroom telephone rang. “Mandy, why are you calling now? I thought...”
“I apologize for the intrusion, Signorina.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Excuse me. This is Signorina Celia Morgan, is it not?”
“Yes, it is. Who’s calling?”
“My name is Pietro Gambrelli. I am an employee of ICP. And I’d like to meet you.” “What does ICP want with me?”
“I wish to discuss a small point of business. Are you free this evening?” “No, I’m not.”
“Might we meet for a moment prior to whatever you’re planning for this evening?
An aperitif, perhaps?”
“One minute, please, Mr. Gambrelli.” She had promised she wouldn’t sign any
documents until she knew the full story, but might it not make sense to hear what ICP had
to say? “Yes, I could meet you for a few minutes. In the lobby of the hotel. At eight?” “Perfect, Ms. Morgan. I shall be standing at the concierge’s desk. A gray suit and
blue tie. Until then, ciao.”
Celia toweled her hair, then arranged with Mandy to meet at 8:15.
She extended her hand as the man at the concierge’s desk approached. “Mr. Gambrelli?”
Gambrelli nodded. He was much too handsome—almost pretty.
“Si, piacera.” He made no attempt to mask his thorough head-to-foot inspection.
She was somewhat less than one and three quarters meters tall, broad shouldered and narrow-waisted. Nicely flaring hips. Adequate breasts. The hair was as dark as brown can be without being black. The eyes dominated every other aspect of her appearance— the pupils were as near being white as light blue can be. “As lovely as I had been told.”
“By whom, may I ask, Mr. Gambrelli?” “ I may not divulge my source, Ms. Morgan, but I can tell you he or she is a good judge of women.”
She looked around. “Shall we get that drink?”
“Of course—but you will force me to dine alone later?”
“I must. A friend is joining me in a few minutes.”
A lobby waiter led them to a secluded table, then took Gambrelli’s orders for Americanos.
“In your honor,” he said with a smile.
Celia smiled. “Now tell me what you have on your mind.”
He raised both hands to protect his head from an imaginary attack and smiled. “Wait, per favore. You’re too quick for me.”
Gambrelli’s explanation of his mission and the reasons to sign Webb had pr ovided exhausted most of the time it took finish their aperitifs.
“May I see the document?”
He handed her the release.
She scanned the paper. “That seems straightforward enough.”
“Si, I thought so.”
“So, I sign and you give me a check for three thousand dollars?”
“Yes.”
She cocked her head, peered into his face, and handed the document back to him. “No, I’m not signing until I know more.”
Gambrelli stared at the ceiling for a moment. “A final question on the subject?”
Her eyes narrowed. “Ask.”
“Suppose I make the check instead for fifty thousand dollars?”
She frowned. “If I sign, right now, you’ll give me a check for fifty thousand dollars?”
“Yes—unless you hold out on me, at which time I change the offer to, say, one hundred thousand dollars.”
“You were into the aperitifs before you got here!” she laughed.
He raised his right hand. “Word of honor, no.”
Celia smiled. “I was warned you might contact me. Suppose you give me an explanation of all of this.”
“You knew?”
“It was mentioned as a possibility.”
“So I was behind the game from the very beginning?”
The Dryden Note Page 10
