A Present For Santa

by James Burke

  Sam interrupted. "Courier operation? Couriering what?"

  "Money, plans, papers – all briefcase stuff, no drugs."

  "You drew the line?"

  "Would have, but didn't have to. Subject never arose."

  "Okay. Go on."

  "Anyway, some of these documents indicated that my boss was planning to sell his network to the Corse people, you know, the new French syndicate, which would have bugged old Albert Henry worse 'n a hot poker in the anus. Anyway, and this is guesswork, some syndicate enforcer had my boss knocked off before making sure he could get the documents! So I had the papers and they had zilch. This guy, my boss, had assured me some time before, and I believed him, that nobody but him knew who I was. I had a code name, and they knew that, but. . . ."

  "Code name?" Sam smiled. "What was it?"

  ''Santa.''

  "Santa? Just plain Santa?"

  "You got it, Sammy boy. Anyway, I figured I could take them for a good piece of dough, do the U.S.G. a good turn, and get immunity from the IRS, all at the same time."

  "So you contacted the General and made a deal with him?"

  "Yes, in essence. Actually I made a deal with Justice and Treasury, through him. But as I said, the best part was that he guaranteed that they would stand by the deal."

  "Which was?"

  "I gave them copies of the notebooks and the papers, and they gave me, and of course you - I'd already contacted you by that time - the IRS waiver, on the grounds of national security, on any monies I could bilk out of the syndicate on the operation. You know, they, the General and the whole USG, couldn't let the details of this case float around in government records that could be exposed some day! Or so I - and the General ­ told them."

  "And Lavarelli?"

  "He was a pot sweetener for them. You know, Lavarelli was one of Mr. Henry's captains at one time, 'til he murdered two Treasury agents, narc guys, in New York. He was indicted in absentia, having already skipped. He surfaces a couple of years later in Nice, France, as a second-level officer of the Corse. You see, he is - I should say, happily, he was - a pretty cagey old fart. He wangled the job as their contact man with all the Palestinian terrorists in Europe: advising, supplying, financing, whatever. And you see, as long as he was playing Daddy Warbucks to these finks, he was under their sponsors' ­ read Arab oil states -protection! France wasn't about to let him be extradited and annoy the oil people!"

  "Uh-huh. I see. So you had to get him onto U.S. territory somehow. The plot thickens."

  "Right. Now, one of the documents I nipped from that syndicate boss of mine was a letter he had received from one of his Arab contacts. The letter - it was really more of a confession ­ was from Samir al Faris, a Palestinian Black September officer.''

  "The guy who was blown up in Libya?"

  "The same, and he was blown up. It was no accident, I'm sure. Well, Samir stated in his confession that he was Lavarelli's double agent penetration of the Black September and that he arranged, on Lavarelli's orders, for the blowing up of a hijacked Lufthansa plane a few years ago. He said their purpose - his and Lavarelli's -was the elimination of a young Corse officer who was on the plane. This Corse guy was understudying Lavarelli, and since he was the brother of the Corse headman, Lavarelli saw the handwriting on the wall. Hell, old Lavarelli couldn't let anybody take away his Palestinian contacts and make him vulnerable to extradition! No way!

  "This Corse man, the younger brother, was helping Samir set up the operation, and Samir was slated to go on the plane as an 'observer.' Samir feigned illness at the last minute and conned the Corse guy into taking his place. Samir had already put an acid-timed luggage bomb on the plane. It blew up and that was that."

  "Yeah, I can see why Lavarelli had to have that piece of paper, but why was the syndicate helping him?"

  "Oh, I guess they help their own. Also, I'm sure Lavarelli put in dough, maybe all of it. And the American syndicate guys who, I'm sure, know Faris's story, get themselves a free penetration of the Corse. Hell, after that letter they could say 'jump' and Lavarelli would make like one of those automobile ad guys, reaching for the sky!"

  "So you set up the meeting in Tahiti to entice the old bastard, and they all had to come and they all had to pay!"

  "Right. He felt safe, and they had no option. And of course, this was our territory, especially yours."

  "So you got them on that Quantas flight to Mexico and France, had the Aussies fake engine trouble and land in Honolulu, where the Bureau guys were waiting with great big nets. Right?"

  "Uh-huh, that's the way it happened."

  "And all the good guys were happy. The U.S.G. gets to roll up a worldwide courier net, not to mention a lot of stateside plums to boot, including Lavarelli on toast; we get to keep the dough, tax free, while scoring lots of brownie points for the General and our old 'alma mater,' and last but not least, the enemy thinks we're dead!"

  "Let's hope so, Sam."

  Sam started moving that glass around again, lowering his eyes to watch the moisture tracks on the table. "Yeah, a real happy ending . . . for everybody but you, old buddy. I mean Angela. I really liked her, Pat. She was one fine lady."

  Pat's eyes glazed visibly and he lowered them, but his jaw line tautened. "Yes, Sam, she was that, all right. A helluva lady, and lots more." He raised his eyes to meet Sam's. "I loved her, my friend, very much, and I came to trust her. But now, I just don't know any more."

  "Pat, we really don't have any evidence that she betrayed us. Hell, if she had they wouldn't have made the meeting."

  "She didn't know it was a trap. But you're right; we certainly don't know that she betrayed us. Still, I -"

  "Patrick, we do not know for sure that she left Vera Ti that day willingly and wittingly."

  "No, we don't. But the servants said she was smiling and stopped to say good-bye, and the charter pilot who took them from Vera Ti to Faaa said all was friendly and light. And of course the description of the guy she went with fits the Professor like a glove. And the Professor's from Chicago. You see, Sam, I want to believe, but these things keep piling up. It's hard as hell to think positive, believe me-much as I want to do it."

  "There are lots of ways to get somebody to do something besides coercion, Patrick. She could have been conned into it, maybe even thinking she was being taken to you! Chicago's a big city, you can't assume she knew the Professor . . . . Hey! Did you tell her you'd left a guard on the island?"

  "Not in so many words, but she could easily have inferred it. I did tell her not to leave the house and she'd be safe. But it's no use, Sam, it all then comes back to the most damning thing of all - she was back with Conners again the night they were bombed. That's the one thing I can't explain myself. That's truly the 'most unkindest cut' of all."

  "I know. I know. But dammit, we still don't know the 'why' of it. The whole thing could have been part of the con job. We don't even know whether she thought you were dead or alive those days. Patrick, my trouble is that my gut tells me Angela was a straight lady. I believe there's an explanation for the whole deal even if we can't figure it out today, or ever."

  "Thank you, my friend. I guess we'll just have to think the best of her and remember the good times - the way she was."

  Sam nodded sadly. "So what happens now, Patrick? Back to the States, new name, new face, whatever, and spend your ill-gotten grubstake on birds, booze, and bets?"

  Patrick laughed. "No, I don't think so, Sammy - at least not just yet. Think I'll stay around here for a while and let some more of the dust settle from that syndicate roll-up. You know, just see what happens. Maybe Mr. Henry’ll get hit by a car or something. Who knows? You know they don't have a picture of me - to my knowledge - and their people who've seen me in person are either dead or in jail. Yeah, who knows? What about you? Back to hula land?"

  "Yeah, eventually, I guess. Gotta go back to the business sooner or later, although little brother Tony is probably running it better than I could!"

  "You'll hang on h
ere a bit?"

  "Uh-huh. You know, the old guy really is my uncle, and he sure as hell could use some help 'til he gets a bit more mobile. Guess I'll stay on for a couple months or so. Hey, let's go see what that crazy chef of ours is cooking for dinner tonight! Then we could grab a quick swim and another pink gin before he finishes stirring with his thumb and rings the bell!"

  "You got it, pal. Let's go."

  24

  Assistant Attorney General Byron Cawlfield picked up his phone, listened a moment, and said, "Send him in."

  The door opened and a tall young man of serious mien and somber apparel came in. He handed Cawlfield a small, tightly wrapped package. "Sir, this is the tape that Mr. Macalaster phoned you about yesterday - it's Mr. Rafferty's interview tape. Will there be any return message, sir?"

  Cawlfield shook his head slowly, looking at the now unwrapped cassette. "No . . . no, I don't think so. Just tell him many thanks and that I'll take it from here, any problems I'll call him. And thanks very much."

  The young man turned and went back through the door. Cawlfield got up and went over to a small, very compact tape system that sat on a section of library shelf, turned it on, and inserted the cassette. He pulled a chair over in front of the ma­ chine and sat, listening intently.

  When the tape ended, he rewound it, ejected, and walked back to the desk looking thoughtfully at the cassette as he moved. He picked up the phone. "Marcia, please get me General Ashley at the Pentagon.''

  25

  One of the servants came down to the dock to tell Morley he was wanted on the radiotelephone. It was Sammy Kee. "Patrick, I've just received a cable from the General. It's for you, and it's very interesting."

  Morley laughed. "You've read it, you nosy Chinee?"

  "But of course, tuan, it's my job. Seriously, why don't you pay a call and we'll have dinner. I think old Wong is about to make his special prawns with black bean sauce! Anyway, come on over, read the cable, drink a pinkie, and we'll have some of it. Okay?"

  "You sure as hell know how to get a guy's attention, pal. A secret message and prawns with black bean sauce! How can I resist. Be there in an hour, give or take fifteen minutes depending on the water level at the ford. See ya."

  Morley sat in his favorite chair in the lounge while Sam Kee mixed him what looked like the granddaddy of all pink gins. He brought it over, set it in front of him, waited while Morley took a large, mouth-puckering swig, and then handed Morley a white envelope. Morley took out several folded sheets of onionskin paper, read the first few lines, and then stopped to take another large sip of his drink. Sam waited quietly for a moment until Morley picked up the papers again. "Patrick, would you mind reading it aloud? I glanced at it as I was breaking it, but didn't really get it all."

  Morley raised his left eyebrow but said nothing. Finally he nodded his head and began reading. "Dateline yesterday, headquarters. Morley from Ashley. Received this date tape of conversation between Assistant District Attorney Rafferty, Chicago, and Dennis Conners, St. Joseph's Hospital, Chicago. Conners aware his medically hopeless condition and wanted get message to you prior death. Said quote: 'girl did not turn you in. Backed out in Florida before we identified you. Made no further contact. She was tricked into leaving island thinking she was going to meet you after exchange had aborted. She got wise in New Zealand, so they drugged her and brought her back as mental patient, later released her in Chicago. She thinks you are dead, but I know better. Figure you outsmarted us every other way, no way you would lose big one. Tried to tell girl but, she would not talk to me. Come get her, Santa, she is a "oner."' End quote.

  "Rafferty told Conners that Mornay was killed with him in bombing. He became very agitated. Said it was not Mornay with him but his sister Ivy Ratzinger, which was major cause his anger toward syndicate. When told Mornay ID found at bomb scene, insisted it was plant and that Mornay in great danger. Said Mornay probably hiding aunt's home Racine. At this point Conners became incoherent. Died twenty minutes later.

  "U.S. Marshals, Milwaukee, took Mornay into protective custody same evening. Dana Kelly, cousin and roommate of Mornay, was shot by unknown assailant following morning at entrance their Chicago apartment. Kelly serious but will recover. No press release on Kelly who is similar in appearance to Mornay, since assume Mornay was target.

  "Am forwarding package that will explain in more detail but felt you needed this info soonest. Best regards, Ashley."

  Morley just sat there smiling and slowly shaking his head in wonder. He didn't move when Sam Kee got up and went out of the lounge, and he was still sitting and smiling when Sam came back. Sam said something he couldn’t hear, then he seemed to come into focus audibly as well as visually. Pat turned to face him. "I said, Patrick, that the General's package has arrived. Would you like to see it?"

  Morley came back to the world, fully. He nodded. Sam got up again, went to the door of the lounge, then stood aside to let a radiantly smiling Angela Mornay walk in.

  25

  One of the servants came down to the dock to tell Morley he was wanted on the radiotelephone. It was Sammy Kee. "Patrick, I've just received a cable from the General. It's for you, and it's very interesting."

  Morley laughed. "You've read it, you nosy Chinee?"

  "But of course, tuan, it's my job. Seriously, why don't you pay a call and we'll have dinner. I think old Wong is about to make his special prawns with black bean sauce! Anyway, come on over, read the cable, drink a pinkie, and we'll have some of it. Okay?"

  "You sure as hell know how to get a guy's attention, pal. A secret message and prawns with black bean sauce! How can I resist. Be there in an hour, give or take fifteen minutes depending on the water level at the ford. See ya."

  Morley sat in his favorite chair in the lounge while Sam Kee mixed him what looked like the granddaddy of all pink gins. He brought it over, set it in front of him, waited while Morley took a large, mouth-puckering swig, and then handed Morley a white envelope. Morley took out several folded sheets of onionskin paper, read the first few lines, and then stopped to take another large sip of his drink. Sam waited quietly for a moment until Morley picked up the papers again. "Patrick, would you mind reading it aloud? I glanced at it as I was breaking it, but didn't really get it all."

  Morley raised his left eyebrow but said nothing. Finally he nodded his head and began reading. "Dateline yesterday, headquarters. Morley from Ashley. Received this date tape of conversation between Assistant District Attorney Rafferty, Chicago, and Dennis Conners, St. Joseph's Hospital, Chicago. Conners aware his medically hopeless condition and wanted get message to you prior death. Said quote: 'girl did not turn you in. Backed out in Florida before we identified you. Made no further contact. She was tricked into leaving island thinking she was going to meet you after exchange had aborted. She got wise in New Zealand, so they drugged her and brought her back as mental patient, later released her in Chicago. She thinks you are dead, but I know better. Figure you outsmarted us every other way, no way you would lose big one. Tried to tell girl but, she would not talk to me. Come get her, Santa, she is a "oner."' End quote.

  "Rafferty told Conners that Mornay was killed with him in bombing. He became very agitated. Said it was not Mornay with him but his sister Ivy Ratzinger, which was major cause his anger toward syndicate. When told Mornay ID found at bomb scene, insisted it was plant and that Mornay in great danger. Said Mornay probably hiding aunt's home Racine. At this point Conners became incoherent. Died twenty minutes later.

  "U.S. Marshals, Milwaukee, took Mornay into protective custody same evening. Dana Kelly, cousin and roommate of Mornay, was shot by unknown assailant following morning at entrance their Chicago apartment. Kelly serious but will recover. No press release on Kelly who is similar in appearance to Mornay, since assume Mornay was target.

  "Am forwarding package that will explain in more detail but felt you needed this info soonest. Best regards, Ashley."

  Morley just sat there smiling and slowly shaking his head in wond
er. He didn't move when Sam Kee got up and went out of the lounge, and he was still sitting and smiling when Sam came back. Sam said something he couldn’t hear, then he seemed to come into focus audibly as well as visually. Pat turned to face him. "I said, Patrick, that the General's package has arrived. Would you like to see it?"

  Morley came back to the world, fully. He nodded. Sam got up again, went to the door of the lounge, then stood aside to let a radiantly smiling Angela Mornay walk in.