by James Burke
"Yeah. I think you're right. Maybe that'd be why that old fart picked him up in the first place."
"Exactly. Cappacino would have been attracted by these same qualifications. Right. That's why I say this Santa figures he can outsmart us. He thinks he knows the game."
"He's been right so far." Conners looked closely at Matthewson, but the remark seemed to have been just wryly innocent, in no way personal.
"Yes, he has, but he's had the advantage up to now of having information we didn't have. From now on I figure we're even."
"So where do we start, Dennis?"
''I'd start with everybody and everything connected with Cappacino and the woman in Florida, and everything I learned I'd run against what I think has to be; sooner or later both lines would meet right in the middle of this Santa." He saw Matthewson frowning in puzzlement, so he went on quickly. "I mean there must be some clues. Somebody who knew the old man must have seen him sometime with this guy. And when we get a description and other clues, they're gonna lead us to some specific guy, and my bet is that'll be Santa."
"Do you think he'll just sit there on all that dough?"
"No sir. I figure if he's got the guts and confidence to steal that much money from you, he's gotta have a plan for getting away. But I think we got some time if we work carefully and don't scare him off before we're ready to grab him. I mean he's got to make a lot of arrangements if he wants to get away with that much dough - new name, background, and all that - and then he'd probably plan to leave the country. He's gotta be a very busy as well as smart guy."
"Yeah. I guess you're right. That's why I want you on this job."
"Thanks. I'd like to do it."
"What first? Whadda you need?"
"First, I'll go back to Florida - early tomorrow. I got a feeling we'll find some good stuff in the old man's lock box maybe the notebooks and the jackpot on Santa."
"Really?"
Conners hesitated, and then grinned sheepishly. "No, sir. I'm afraid to hope for that. Maybe the books - maybe. But I got a feeling Santa wouldn't have risked the heist if he thought there was any chance we could get his identity very easily."
"How could he figure that?"
"My guess would be the old man told him. It could be one of the reasons Santa took the job. If it was, it was also the main reason he'd think he could rip us off and get away with it. But I'm just guessing."
"Makes sense to me, Dennis. What kinda help you need?"
''I'd like Sal Krupa full time."
''You got 'em.''
"And one other man. A good one."
"How about Ragusi?"
Conners looked at him. He seemed serious, but Conners sensed better. "No way, no sir, not this job."
Matthewson cracked a smile. "Good. If you'd said yes, I'd have known ya weren't serious about the job, and I'da called the whole thing off." Then he actually laughed for the first time. ''I'll leave that asshole with Mario - they deserve each other. How about young Agrico, outside?", He motioned with his thumb.
"I don't know anything about him, but he looks more the type I want. We'll have to pass for some kind of government investigators. Is he good?"
"I recommended him, didn't I?"
Conners looked straight at him, no hint of humor. "Yes sir. You recommended Ragusi too."
Matthewson looked long and hard at the younger man, then decided that it was an honest, not a smart-assed remark. Finally he saw the humor in it and smiled, then chuckled as he saw Conners relax and return his smile. "Yeah, so I did. Agrico is young, but he's good and he's tough. He's got more fucking brains than Ragusi and Mario put together." He chuckled again. "Which I'll admit ain't no fucking big deal. Anyway, him I do recommend and it's serious."
"Good. He'll be fine."
"How many more?"
"None right now."
"The three of you! C'mon, Dennis, ya got half a state to look through. You gotta be kiddin'."
"No sir, I figure there might be lots of people - cops, government, whatever interested in Cappacino about this time. I don't think we want to make much of a splash down there. We gotta be soft and quiet, and I think three of us is the limit."
"Well, okay, if you say so. But won't it take a long time with just the three of yuz?"
"I don't know, sir, but I do know we can't risk any more people - at least at first - in that area."
"How'll you have these guys operate?"
"We'll pretend to be feds."
"Yeah? Ain't that dangerous? What if somebody blows the whistle? Ya know, calls the real feds? How you got that covered, Dennis?"
"Well, sir, we did this type a' thing in California last year. Right in L.A., too, where you know the people are awfully ticklish about feds and questions and privacy. Had no problems. I think we can do it easier in Florida where the people are more sophisticated and much less suspicious."
"Whaddaya use for show?"
"I've got some credential folders for an outfit called the "lnterservice Investigative Unit." They've got official-looking seals and signatures - you know, eagles, admirals - and we'll put in Agrico's and Krupa's pictures, relaminate, and they're in business. Of course there is no such outfit."
"I see. But what if somebody ya already questioned wants to get in touch with you later?"
"No trouble. I'll hire a local answering service, pay in advance, and use a phoney government address in Washington. We'll all have cards with our phoney names - the ones on the credentials - and that answering service number. Of course we won't hand out any cards unless somebody insists."
"Sounds awright, I guess. I still wonder what happens if somebody complains to the real feds; ya know, the FBI or somethin'."
"Well, sir, I guess the truth is we don't know. They never
have, and it's our job to see that we don't bug 'em or spook 'em to that point. My feeling is that we'd be aware while we were talking if somebody was that upset; then too the local FBI is busy as hell and has hundreds of complaints every week. I know it takes them quite a few days to get moving where there is no big crime or no immediate danger to anyone. You see, we never will actually claim to be feds."
"Hmmm. Sounds like you got this thing pretty well thought out, Dennis. Guess that's why I chose you to handle it. Okay, go ahead the way you plan to. If ya need more help just gimme a buzz and tell me what kind and how many. You'll get’em. "
''Good.''
"Anything else?"
"No sir."
Matthewson walked to the door, opened it, and said "C'mere, kid." Agrico came into the room. Matthewson put his arm around the young man's shoulder. "Paolo, I want you to go with Mr. Conners on a special deal. It may take a few days or a couple months. We don' know yet. But however long it is, I want you to give it all ya got. And, Paolo, Conners is the boss, no questions, no shit, an' you do what he says just like it was comin' from me, or you'll sure as shit wish ya had."
"Yes sir, Jammy. No sweat."
"Okay. Sal Krupa will be working with you and he'll be taking all his orders from Conners too." He went to his wall safe, opened it, and took out a package of bills. He riffled them quickly and tossed them nonchalantly to Conners. "Here's ten big ones. I'll put ten more in that Palm Beach bank we use. If you run low let me know. I ain't skimpin' on this one. I want that bastard on toast. Dennis, I want telephone reports at least twice a week, say Tuesdays and Saturdays, and special calls whenever somethin' deserves it. We ain't got no more important business at the moment than this."
He turned to Agrico. "See, Paolo, you're in the big time. This is a numero uno deal. No shit. Do it right an' I do right by you. Okay?" He patted Agrico on the back, shook Conners's hand, and said, "Call me Monday if the key fits."
The younger men left, and Matthewson went back and sat down behind the big desk. He sat there for a while, deep in thought. Then he made a decision. He reached for the phone, dialed a number, and waited. "Mario. Yeah, yeah, I know it wasn't your fault. No, of course not. We'll get the little asshole. Don't
worry. Listen, Mario, I got a top-level job for you in the big city. Yeah, I think you'd better pick up Rags in D.C. and take him with you. Yeah, of course it's important. Bet your ass. Now, don't worry about that Santa business. No. No. Of course we'll get him. No sweat, baby, no sweat. That's an easy one. Now, the one I got for you, that's a tough one. Here's what I want you to do."
7
Monday morning. Morley was in West Palm and then Palm Beach shortly after the banks opened. He visited his new lock boxes, leaving a number of packages in each of them, wearing his black hair and mustache disguise as on Friday. As he was getting into his car around the corner from the second bank, a white LTD pulled up at the bank's front door. Morley would have recognized both the blond man at the wheel and the smooth, dark young man who got out and went into the bank as people he'd seen at the airport Saturday. He would have been surprised at their presence; in fact, he would have been shocked.
Morley drove south on U.S. 1, happy that that task was out of the way. Despite his confidence, he'd been nervous with the contents of that Carradine briefcase in his place. All it would have taken was a bold and lucky burglar. My God, he'd been prepared for something valuable, but it still shook him up. There had been $2,220,000 in that briefcase! Neat stacks of bills cramming the thing full. The sight was unbelievable; one side was thirty-two packages of tightly packed hundred-dollar bills, five hundred to a package - $1,600,000 in cold cash. The other half had thirty-two packages, mostly of fifties but with some twenties, totaling $620,000. This kind of money had been unthinkable to Morley until two nights ago when he opened that case. Suddenly all the money in the world was right there in front of him, and now it would be up to his wits to hang on to it, as well as his health. Since five P.M. Saturday those two items had become inseparably related.
About an hour later Morley pulled into the entrance area of a large hotel in Fort Lauderdale and turned his car over to the parking attendant. He walked confidently through the crowded lobby and down a hallway behind the desk to the hotel phone operators' room. He asked the nearest girl for Molly Carrero. She pointed toward a brunette on the far side of the room who was busy talking and taking notes. When she finished, Morley moved quickly to her side. She turned her pretty, dark, small-featured face toward him with a pleasant but openly curious look.
"Miss Carrero?"
"Yes."
"I’m Lloyd Patterson, a friend of Mr. Rourke. Did he call you about me?"
The magic name earned a big smile. "Oh, yes, Mr. Patterson, of course. Mr. Rourke said you would make some calls to be billed to him. Of course. May I help you?"
"Yes, thank you. I want a person-to-person overseas call to Bern, Switzerland. The man I wish to reach, this is his name." He handed the girl a slip of paper and pointed to the last line. "And this is the number of his office. I believe the office will have a number where he can be reached, if he should happen to be out at the moment."
"Very good, sir. Let me check with the New York overseas operator and see if there's a delay on Switzerland. Monday can be a very busy day."
"Please." Morley stood silently as she queried New York, then listened. She turned, smiling. "Only a very short delay, sir. I hope to have a circuit in just a few minutes, then it will just be a matter of locating your party. If you'd care to wait in a booth - take number three - to the left outside, I'll ring as soon as I have him.''
"Thank you. I'll be there."
It was almost ten minutes before the phone in booth three jogged Morley into action.
"Hello."
"Mr. Patterson, sorry for the delay, your party was not in his office. The Bern operator has located him and he will be coming on any minute."
"Thanks, I'll hang on."
"Good - oh, here he is, sir. Go ahead."
A deep voice came on. No discernible accent, but a hint of good humor and even more of curiosity. "Mr. Patterson? This is Wilhelm Stehrli in Bern. How may I be of assistance?"
Morley waited for the successive clicks that told him the New York operator and Miss Carrero had closed their circuits; he couldn't tell about Bern. Oh well, not to worry; if they listened, they listened. "Willi, this is Pat."
"Pat! My God! It is you. You devil, where are you? Why didn't you let me know you'd be calling? How are you? What are you doing? Why -"
"Whoa, Willi, hold up. One at a time. I'm in Florida. I'm still living here. I work for a travel agency now, and I'll be visiting Europe next week."
"That is great news, Pat. I am truly delighted. You will come to Suisse and you will be my honored guest. It is true? Ilse will be delighted."
"Yes and no, Willi. I will come to Switzerland and we can surely get together if you're free, but I can't be your guest, not this trip."
"Oh. I am sorry, Pat."
"So am I, Willi. Truly I am, but I'm on a terribly tight schedule; I will only be in Zurich for a few hours. I'll miss seeing Ilse. I know you'll understand."
"Of course. Of course. When will you be coming?"
"Swissair from Paris, Saturday morning, ten-fifteen your time, Zurich airport. Could you meet me, Willi? I know you're busy as hell, but it's important."
"My good friend, I will be there. Now what is it you wish me to do?"
"Willi, you're as perceptive as I remembered. I'm embarrassed to be calling you after these many months just to ask a favor, but I do need your help."
"My friend, you must never be embarrassed to ask me for help. It is what friends are for to each other. Besides, to you I will always be indebted as well as grateful. You know that, Pat."
"Yes, I know Willi, but it is not so. Your friendship has repaid me many times over for anything I did for you."
Willi started to protest, then stopped and began to chuckle. Then he broke into a deep and hearty laugh. "So! We are acting like your famous English comedians - 'after you, my dear Gaston' - is it not so? Yes, how foolish. What do you need, Pat?"
"I will be carrying a briefcase which I do not wish to have opened in customs."
There was silence, so Morley continued. "The contents will be legitimate, Willi, no contraband of any sort but I don't want to be noticed, and I don't want the contents noted, or rather, I don't want any record or remembrance that I brought them in on that date."
"Hmm. One question only - it is money?"
"Yes, Willi, it is; that is, most of it, along with some few papers and records."
"And you simply wish me to see you through customs."
"That's it. Yes."
"It will be done, my friend. Consider it done. I will meet you in the customs waiting area soon after landing. It is okay?"
"It is perfect, Willi and I assure you no Swiss law will be broken with what I bring in."
"Do not say more, my friend. It is done."
"Many thanks. Now too more pleasant things. Can you join me for a large wet lunch? I will have an appointment in Zurich at eleven-thirty and should be free no later than noon. I must catch a three-forty-five flight back to Paris, but it will allow us to hoist a few for old time's sake. Can you possibly make it?"
"Delighted. It will be a treat I shall look forward to. De lighted! Now, I shall not waste your money talking; we can catch up on Saturday. Not so?"
"Yes, Willi, it is so. I will see you then - after ten-ten - in the customs area. And, Willi -"
"Yes?"
"Thanks again."
"Not to be mentioned, my dear friend. See you on Saturday. Good-bye."
"Good-bye."
Morley then used the same procedures, via Miss Carrero, to contact and arrange an appointment with the senior vice president of a prominent bank in Zurich for Saturday morning. After he'd hung up, he beckoned the young operator out into the hall and transferred a crisp twenty-dollar bill from his hand to hers. She nodded knowingly when he suggested she forget these calls ever took place and assured him that in the billings they would appear as two routine overseas calls from the offices of Rourke Associates in Miami. They parted with mutual pleasure over
the exchange of courtesies.
Driving back north Morley smiled widely as he imagined Willi's stern, handsome, almost Nordic face when he'd been asked to look the other way on a customs regulation. Or maybe customs "practice" would be better terminology; they were not obliged to search every bag, they just had the right to do so if they wished. Good God, it'd been almost ten years since that night in Geneva when he and Willi had become close friends. Willi, a fast-rising junior officer in his country's security service, had been assigned to work with the U.S. Army on the Swiss aspects of a sabotage case centered in Germany but with tentacles into Austria, France, Switzerland, and Denmark. He and Willi had hit it off from the start, and when in a critical moment Morley's fast action had enabled them to stop an almost successful attempt to blow up a Swissair passenger plane, Willi became his friend for good. Not only had they saved many lives, but the action had saved Willi's career - he'd have been blamed had the disaster occurred. Morley felt badly about cashing one of his "blank checks" with Willi, but then, he rationalized, Willi was a proud man who always seemed delighted when presented with an opportunity to return a favor. And after all, it wasn't illegal in Switzerland to bring in money to put into Swiss banks. Hell, everybody should be happy. Everybody except those three hoods and their bosses, that is.
It was late afternoon by the time he got back in the Palm Beach area. He decided to drop in on Roger and see if he could firm things up a bit. Roger was there, looking harassed, as if he'd been too busy to get away for one of his continental lunches. He jumped up smiling when Morley came in. "Patrick, my lad. Good to see you. You're just in time for some business discussions, but we must adjourn to more comfortable surroundings, n'est-ce pas?"
Morley smiled back, amused as much by the obvious correctness of his own guess as by Roger's levity. "And why not, my good friend? 'Would appear you have already wasted too much of this glorious day in the pursuit of Mammon."
"How true. How true. Let us away to yon public house while we are still able."
"Lead on."
Safely ensconced in a padded booth in a cool dark corner of a nearby cocktail lounge, Roger lifted his glass in salute. "I’m glad you decided to come to work a bit early, old man. I was about to parch away."
