Seven Silent Men

by Behn, Noel;

  “… Ed Grafton, of all the men I’ve known, was a remarkable leader. He elicited from us a supreme effort and led as a true leader should lead, by example. He could, quite honestly, do anything we could do better. And he cared about us. That, to say the least, is unusual at the FBI.

  “Graf has been banished, and I have been ordered to serve in his stead. I am no leader by experience or design. My skills, whatever they be, lie elsewhere. I know you are my friends and wish me well. I beg you, in the name of that friendship, to face the reality that I am not Ed Grafton. What I can do for you in the four to six weeks allotted to us … and that is how much time I estimate we have to strut our stuff or be deported, or worse … is to estimate the most efficient use of our personnel, of each of your skills. We are, in spite of our troubled histories, a talented bunch. If you bear with me, abide my often rather pedantic approach to matters, maybe I won’t let you down as I worry I will at this moment. Maybe, with the help of God or beyond, we might even surprise a Brass Ball or two.”

  Preston Lyle, striding in on the conference with a big “Thirty-one mil, can you fucking believe it?” would later confess having felt as if he had violated a prayer meeting at which the pastor was stepping down from a pulpit and the parishioners, heads bowed, were mumbling quiet amens.

  “Who died?” Pres wanted to know.

  “Sit down and shut up,” somebody or other told him.

  Pres complied.

  “Now for Romor 91,” Strom announced with noticeable relish. He reseated himself at the head of the table and began passing out yellow pads and pencils. “Romor 91, past and present. What we know, don’t know, ought to know and had better damn well find out. Let’s recapitulate … and stop me if I’m wrong.

  “We know that Mormon State National Bank was not due to officially open until Tuesday, the twenty-fourth of August … which, come to think of it, is today. By the way, is it opening today?”

  “No,” Jez answered, “they put it off a week.”

  Strom continued. “We know that at approximately four P.M. Friday, the twentieth of August, a Brink’s truck delivered twenty-one packages to Mormon State which were placed in the vault. We know that two days later, at seven thirty-six A.M., Sunday, the twenty-second of August, the alarm went off at Mormon State. We know the alarm system, a Thermex scanning mechanism, indicated that seven or eight perpetrators were in the bank, six downstairs, one or two on the staircase leading up from the vault. We know that splice marks were later found on the main cable of the Thermex system. We know that the vault sank into the concrete floor and that when it was cut open on the top there was already a hole cut in the bottom … a hole through which Brewmeister was seen looking up. We know Brewmeister was washed from sight and found twenty-two miles away on a delta island in the river.

  “We know that the perpetrators somehow gained access to the cave beneath the bank. We know firsthand, from Brewmeister, the perpetrators brought in a metal scaffold reaching up to the roof of the cave and that one-hundred-watt electric bulbs were burning. We know from the cuts in the rock ceiling and in the bottom of the vault that the workmanship was very professional and that specialized high-powered electric drills had to have been used. This would presume the perpetrators had a source of electricity … perhaps a generator, perhaps a tap into a commercial supply of electricity … by the way, was there a report on the explosives in the cave?”

  “The police lab says nitroglycerin was used both in the vault and the rock below,” Cub Hennessy answered. “Used quite expertly.”

  “Make sure you personality-profile aficionados don’t overlook another already-mentioned professionalism,” Strom told the writing agents, “… electricity. Someone was playing with large amounts of electrical power down there. Perhaps lethal amounts.

  “We can presume additional supplies were brought into the cave. Fusing, detonators, food, clothing, communications devices. We can presume at least one large rubber boat was brought to the cave, the one whose remains were found near where Brewmeister was discovered in the river. We can presume from the static line in that boat and the Brink’s money sack snapped to the static line that the perpetrators anticipated a somewhat rocky getaway in that boat. We can presume that the perpetrators were able to somehow flood the tunnels to effect their getaway subsequent to the robbery. Flood the tunnel with millions of gallons of untraceable water, if we are to believe the Sewerage Department people. We can presume that in their getaway the perpetrators followed a route similar to the one traveled by Brewmeister … twenty-two miles through underground tunnels before being dumped out into the Mississippi River at the southern end of Prairie Port. We can possibly presume the perpetrators further contrived to flood and reflood the tunnels and cave beneath the bank for two more purposes, the removal of all physical evidence and, secondly, to act as a booby trap, or time deterrent, for anyone investigating the scene.

  “Adding this to our profile would presume the perpetrators were also knowledgeable in both tunnels and underground water control, or at least more knowledgeable than the people we’ve talked with so far. I don’t believe half those tunnels have been inspected yet, have they?”

  “Not the ones going west, that’s for sure,” Jez Jessup said. “The deputy fire commissioner called again saying the tunnel flooding has turned into a river of mud under the western part of town. That’s what’s been causing mud geysers on the surface. He thinks it could be pretty serious, that mud.”

  “So does a guy named St. Ives,” Butch Cody added. “He called in too. He’s with the Missouri Valley Geological Survey. He says if the mud stays trapped and builds up pressure, we could damn near have an earthquake.”

  “Strom,” Happy de Camp called out, “think our perpetrators could have ended up inland by mistake?”

  “No way, José,” Lester Kebbon interjected as he entered the room with E. G. Womper. “I talked with the water commissioner myself when Brew got washed out to sea. He says the Sewerage Department is covering up on what really happened. He says there were all kinds of floodings over the weekend the sewerage people didn’t tell anybody about. The biggest floodings came first and they were doozies. They went right under town and spilled into the Mississippi. Brew was on one of those. Right after that the sewerage people tried to contain the flooding and opened the wrong gates in one of their transfer terminals … started sending all the water into the western tunnels. Sending it inland to the mud.”

  “What would the water commissioner know about what goes on in the Sewerage Department?” Happy asked.

  “What would he know about anything?” Jez Jessup said.

  “He’s not as dumb as you guys think,” said Kebbon.

  “Come on, Les, the guy’s an asshole,” Jessup maintained, “a certifiable asshole.”

  “He’s not as bad as the sewerage commissioner.”

  “The sewerage commissioner is in the right job,” Hap said.

  “E. G.,” Strom turned to Womper, who was co-founder and lead actor of a local amateur theater group, “go out front and man one of the phones. Tell the urgent calls we’ll get back to them. Slough the rest. Charm them all.”

  E. G. Womper, nodding, started for the outer offices. Never before could he remember Strom giving a direct order to himself or anyone. What Les Kebbon noticed as he took his place at the conference table was that Strom, a chronic pipe-smoker, had left his pipe and tobacco pouch untouched.

  “Is there anything else we should know in recapitulation?” Strom asked the group. “Anything I overlooked or one of you hasn’t mentioned? Cub, didn’t you and Jez sneak a couple of interviews at the bank yesterday morning?”

  “Sure did, with risk to life and limb,” Cub admitted. “Don’t forget, it was still the police department’s investigation as of yesterday, and they were leering at us every step we took. According to the bank’s assistant manager, a nervous wreck named Franklin Ulick, nobody was in the bank from the time it closed Friday afternoon until the police crashed in Sunday morning.
No one authorized. Like you said earlier, Mormon State’s official opening date wasn’t until today. According to Ulick, most of the regular staff had been hired and wasn’t due to show up until Monday morning … but people were in and out of the bank on Friday. In and out between ten A.M. and four-thirty P.M. About twelve people in all, but none of them regular staff. The first in were painters and maintenance people, and they stayed a good part of the day. We have their names and addresses. From twelve-thirty to two-thirty P.M. the bank manager and assistant manager interviewed job applicants for the positions still unfilled, including those for night watchman. Ulick gave the police the names and addresses of these people. He took them over to police headquarters Sunday night along with names and addresses of everyone who had come in or out of the premises for the last three weeks. A list of one hundred and eighteen names. Our guy inside the PD got us a copy the next morning … The last job applicants were out of the bank by two-thirty P.M. on Friday, August twentieth. The rest left at four-thirty. Brink’s made its delivery of money around four P.M.… between the time the interviews ended and the workmen left.”

  “Cub, let’s get this straight.” Strom lifted his pencil, reread his last notation. “There were workmen present at the time Brink’s made the delivery, is that right?”

  “According to Ulick, the assistant manager.”

  “Painters only, or painters and some of the maintenance people?”

  “Painters only. The maintenance people were all out at three sharp because the bank didn’t want to pay them union overtime. The maintenance workers were union. The painters were nonunion. The painters started working about ten A.M. They were still there when the Brink’s truck arrived.”

  “Then what?” Strom asked as he made his notations.

  “The Brink’s driver and a Brink’s guard brought the load into the bank,” Cub said. “Another Brink’s guard waited in the armored truck outside. The Brink’s driver and guard brought the load down into the vault in the basement. Twenty-one small canvas sacks is what the load was. Giles Julien, the bank manager, was with them. Ulick, the assistant manager, and the painters were upstairs on the main floor of the bank. Ulick doubts if the painters noticed the shipment come in, since they were painting the back offices. After the sacks were put in the vault, the manager closed the vault door and activated the television scanning equipment connected to the alarm system. Once the vault door was closed, the manager activated the system for just downstairs, for just the vault in the basement. The manager went upstairs and left the bank. That was at four-fifteen P.M. The painters were let out by Ulick, the assistant manager, at four-thirty. Then Ulick checked the offices and shut off the lights. The last thing he did was activate the alarm system for the entire premises. That was at ten to five, which is also when he went home …

  “We know the Friday afternoon shipment to the bank by Brink’s was only the first delivery in an overall shipment of some sixty-plus packages worth over a million dollars in cash. This was the working money to get the bank operation started on its opening day, Tuesday. No individual value records had been made on the cash contents of the Friday delivery. As it turned out, that first delivery was only meant to provide the bank with supplies from Brink’s, extra sacks and locks, lading forms, tabulation forms, et cetera. Some of the sacks contained paper currency … sixty-five hundred dollars in one-dollar bills. That’s when some of us had a good laugh and Graf pulled out of the investigation. Before pulling out,” Cub added, “we picked up other information through secondary sources and the media, but on a direct knowledge basis that’s what we had.”

  All eyes were on Strom, who was reading his notes and dropping his pencil, eraser end first, on the tabletop, catching it as it bounced back up, reversing ends, dropping it lead first … on the bounce, catching it … reversing … dropping … catching.

  “You said there was no watchman at the premises over the weekend?” Strom asked.

  “Or anyone else,” Cub replied. “According to Ulick, the assistant manager, no watchmen had even been hired. Three applicants were accepted and waiting approval from the bonding company.”

  “But the alarm system had been activated before the bank was locked up for the weekend on Friday?” Strom asked.

  “Right.”

  “And you said the television-scanning portion of that system had been activated as well, which would mean that the premises were being scanned by closed-circuit television cameras whose pictures were relayed to a monitor screen somewhere?”

  “Four monitor screens. All in a control room beside the assistant manager’s office at the bank,” Cub said.

  “All four screens were active over the weekend?”

  “So I was told.”

  “Who was there to watch?” Strom asked. “Why bother to turn on television cameras and monitor screens if there’s no one there to watch the monitor screens?”

  “… I should have explained,” Cub said, “it wasn’t activated as much for security reasons as for testing. It’s a sensitive and complex system. Installation is a bitch. It takes adjustment after adjustment to fine-tune it. Technicians from Thermex had been at Mormon State Thursday afternoon making final adjustments. The system was left on over the weekend to see if it was functioning properly.”

  “You talked with the Thermex people?”

  “Not yet,” Cub said. “The assistant manager told me about it.”

  E. G. Womper stood in the doorway. “Strom, Denis Corticun’s on the line.”

  “Tell him I’ll get back to him.”

  “I did, but he said to go get you.”

  “Say I’m in conference and can’t be disturbed.”

  E. G. shrugged and disappeared.

  Strom returned to dropping his pencil, finally asked Cub, “Was any mention made by either the bank people or Brink’s regarding the shipment of another thirty-one million dollars to Mormon State? Thirty-one million from Federal Reserve?”

  “Absolutely not. I’ll tell you something else. Julien, the bank manager, sure as hell didn’t expect the shipment before it arrived. Or know about it after it got here. He was the one who set the alarm system on the vault. Then he locked the system into a master timing mechanism which would keep the vault door locked until nine-thirty A.M., Monday morning. If he was expecting something to arrive before Monday morning, why go to all that trouble, no matter what the Thermex technicians needed? Uh-uh, he wasn’t expecting zilch. From his tone of voice today I’d say he was as surprised about the shipment as we were.”

  “You talked to the bank manager today?” Strom asked.

  “He called while you were talking to Director Hoover,” Cub said. “He wanted to know what we knew about the thirty-one million.”

  The pencil bounced and was caught. “Did the manager say if the vault could be opened once the alarm and timing mechanisms were set?”

  “He did,” Cub said. “He claims two people had the double keys and knowledge needed to do it, the manager himself and the bank’s president, Emile Chandler. The manager said he didn’t open the vault and doubts if Chandler could have. He says Chandler was out of town over the weekend, and is still out of town.”

  “Tell me about the bank manager.”

  “Giles Julien … if you can believe a bank would have a manager named Giles and a president named Emile … he’s a real oddball type. Creepy. The kind who brings his lunch to work in a brown paper bag and buys used shoes. He looks like yesterday’s throwouts. But I don’t think he’s up to lying.”

  E. G. Womper was back in the doorway. “Corticun says he’s about to catch a plane from Washington to here and wants to know if there’s anything special you need besides a teletype machine and switchboard.”

  “Tell him a little information on that thirty-one-million-dollar shipment would be appreciated.”

  E. G. threw a salute and was gone.

  “What about the police investigation?” Strom asked Cub. “How had that progressed until Mr. Hoover’s press conference?”r />
  Cub shook his head. “They were running around in circles, if you ask me. Rounding up every punk they could find. The commissioner of police supposedly told the state’s attorney general the robbery had probably been perpetrated by a group of out-of-town criminals. That’s usually a giveaway they don’t know what the hell’s going on.”

  “No suspect then, even out of town?”

  A thumbs-down, a headshake. “The only thing they’re sure of is that the bank got robbed and the crooks flooded the tunnels for their getaway.”

  “Do they have any idea when over the weekend the bank was scored?”

  “Nope.”

  “I suppose it would be asking too much for them to know where the water for flooding came from.”

  Cub nodded.

  “Is that what you guys are after, where the water came from?” Les Kebbon said. “Hell, I know where it comes from. It comes from Tomahawk Hill reservoir.”

  “Who told you that, the water commissioner?” asked Jez.

  “No, Chet Chomsky. The reporter on KTY who’s thick with the mayor and city hall crowd. He’s usually accurate. E. G. and me just heard him on the car radio driving over here. Chet Chomsky said the Tomahawk reservoir reported losing millions of gallons of water over the weekend and that the city engineers are sure this is the water that flooded the tunnels … only they don’t know where it went to get there.”

  “How the hell can you lose millions of gallons of water and not know where it went?” Jez protested.

  “I’m only reporting what Chet Chomsky reported,” Kebbon said. “He said the main water ducts leading from the reservoir didn’t show any unusual amounts of water coming through over the weekend, leastways not forty to fifty million gallons. That’s what they estimate was lost, forty to fifty million. Chomsky said all kinds of old tunnels and water systems everyone’s forgotten about are all over the place. He said the tunnels right under the bank, the ones that flooded, have been identified as being part of an old system called CCC or something. But none of the engineers can figure out how the hell the millions of gallons from the reservoir got way the hell over to the CCC tunnel at the bank. There’s nothing connecting them that anyone knows of. He said a state geologist thinks the tunnel flooding is directly related to the mud slides and explosions west of town. According to WQG, which we were listening to earlier, the mud is so serious the governor’s thinking of declaring west Prairie Port a disaster area. Getting back to Chet Chomsky, he said the flooding has to do with the electrical dimouts too.”