“Wait a minute,” said Lamar. “You keep pullin’ this information out of your hat every time you need it, and we’re supposed to buy it.” He looked around the room. “Doesn’t it seem that way to you all?”
Before any of us could answer, Volont spoke rapidly. “My rules keep me from telling you certain things until you demonstrate a ‘need to know’ When you ask the question, I can sometimes give an answer under those rules.”
Lamar sighed, and stood up. “I gotta get back to the office.” And he walked out. Just like that.
Well. There was a pretty thick silence after he left. I broke it with “Looks like you better be right on this one.” I could say that. I’d been shot the last time Volont had made a mistake. In the vest, admittedly. What the hell, it’s the thought that counts.
“Confidence,” he said, blandly, “is high.” I thought of what Hester had said about a psychic. I caught her eye and grinned at her, but she was too worried to catch it.
We made tentative assignments, and the call went out to begin gathering reinforcements. I headed back to Maitland. Tomorrow was Sunday. Sunday was Bank Day. Time was getting short.
Twenty-two
Saturday, January 17, 1998, 1358
Volont stuck his head in the door. “TAC team commander will meet with you out here in a few minutes. He just landed.” He was gone as quickly as he’d appeared.
George had hardly had time to “pop to.” “We gotta plan, I guess.”
“Yeah.” I rummaged through the box, looking for another doughnut with little sprinkles on it. “I think this is as close as Volont ever gets to orgasm.”
George started to laugh, caught it, but still had a dribble of coffee on his chin. “Don’t say those things!”
“Oh, yeah, before I forget … Remember Nola Stritch?”
He sure did.
“Well, Cletus Borglan’s hired man and his family? The Grossmans?” He nodded. “Turns out that she’s Nola’s sister. Half sister, anyway. Neat, no?”
“Well,” he said, “I’m glad Volont finally told you.”
“He didn’t tell me, George. We found out on our own.”
“Oh, then you must be the one who told Volont,” he said, lamely.
“Well, I thought so … You know, George, I’ve been thinking about all this. You guys are really throwing a lot of resources at this. I mean, really. Surveillance for God knows how long. TAC team. It’s a lot like last time. Only more, you know?”
George smiled. “Just consider it part of the Peace Dividend.”
I thought that was a strange thing for George to say.
“I’ve been led to believe that this was sort of a vengeance thing between Gabriel and Volont,” I said, slowly. I looked at my empty coffee cup. “I’ve been buying into a cover story, haven’t I?”
Silence.
“Not blaming you, George. You bought it at first, too. But something’s different, and I think it’s that you know a lot more than you’re being allowed to say. Now.”
He smiled, ruefully. “I couldn’t tell you even if I did. Could I?”
I spoke very quietly. “The whole damned Bureau has just been relentless with this Gabriel dude. Obviously for several years, going back to before I ever knew about him. And still. Still at war with him.” I pushed my cup away, and my chair back. “It’s no vendetta, where he screwed Volont, and Volont is just screwing back. Is it?”
Before he could answer, I grinned and said, “Don’t tell me, you’d only have to kill yourself.” I was sort of kidding. He surprised me, though. He gave me an answer.
“No. It’s much more than that. Volont really doesn’t give a damn about Gabriel, at all. He just knows him fairly well.” He shrugged. “If it helps, I only found that out a few months ago, myself.”
We were interrupted by Sally, who knocked on the door frame and announced we had a guest.
The FBI TAC team leader was top-notch. Higher, in fact. Excellent individual, very precise, and completely without pretense.
“This could get to be a real zoo,” he said. “We really don’t have a lot of good data, do we?” Smart, too.
He knew damned well that I hadn’t called him in. I couldn’t. Neither could George. That being the case, he didn’t have to worry about hurting our feelings.
“Not a lot.” I handed him a cup of coffee, and our file on the banks, the schedules for deposits, and the plans of each building. “I do think the Frieberg bank is the main hit, though.”
He looked at the possible-banks sheet. “I agree.” He looked up, sharply. “You guys just found out about the cash on hand yesterday?”
We told him how that had happened. He grinned. “Always the last to know.”
We went over again the list of other possible banks. We hit upon a compromise. FBI TAC would take on the Frieberg bank, while the Iowa State Patrol TAC team would put two men on each of six little banks, in plain clothes. A tactical reserve of eight FBI TAC officers would be at the Maitland Airport with a helicopter, ready to respond to whichever area seemed to need them.
I just love resources.
As a gesture to goodwill between departments, our county officers would be assigned as roving patrol near each of the banks. Iowa State Patrol units would be assigned to each area as well, with the majority being around Frieberg.
Each local police department in a town with a “targeted bank” would be notified, and would have an officer on duty, but not obviously around the bank.
I held my hands up off the table, palms toward the TAC man. “That might be a problem …”
“Oh?”
“Uh, well, you see, of the six ‘possibles,’ only two are in towns with police departments.”
The TAC man seemed somewhat taken aback. “Just how big are these towns, anyway?”
I pointed to them on the map, and told him the population of each town as I did so. “Three hundred, two fifty four fifty two hundred, eighteen hundred, and twenty-six hundred.” The last two were Maitland, the county seat; and Frieberg. “Maitland and Frieberg have local departments.”
“Gonna be difficult for the surveillance teams not to stand out,” he said.
“Let me tell you,” said George. “Rush hour consists of three or four cars …”
The TAC commander gave me a quizzical look. “In such small places … how much money do you think they’ll get?”
“Twenty-nine ninety-five,” I said. “Hey, don’t ask. Reliable informant says, ‘five banks.’ Volont says, ‘five banks.’ All in the same area. We figure that’d be here.”
“Same area … same time?”
“Yep. That’s what they said.”
“Well, then, that’s what we prep for.” He grinned. “Good exercise. We can get inconspicuous here, we can hide just about anyplace.”
“If you can hide in these little towns,” said George, “you can hide on a gym floor.” He looked kind of sheepish all of a sudden. “Nothing personal, Carl.”
“You never can tell about these little places,” said the TAC commander. “They’ll surprise you.”
As our plans developed, it became painfully apparent that “Sunday” was a period twenty-four hours long. We had no idea when on Sunday they were going to hit. If they hit at all, of course. Consequently, it was decided that we’d be up and running for the full twenty-four hours. Lovely. I thought I’d probably go home for supper, get a nap in, and be back out around ten or so. It looked to be a long time before we got much sleep.
It was almost time for dinner when the intrepid Nancy called.
“Not on the phone. How about dinner? Just you, me, and Shamrock. It’s pretty good stuff.”
Where do you meet for dinner in a small town with two restaurants that were bound to be filled with either cops or press? Not the office. I couldn’t afford to have them see any of the prep people who were beginning to arrive. Too cold for a picnic. Which left one place. “Can you pick me up a fish sandwich? Bring it to my house … You know where I live, don’t you?”
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br /> She did. I called Sue, and told her that I had to have company for dinner. She thought that was nice, and suggested I get home a few minutes ahead of our company, and tidy up my breakfast dishes. She was going out with a friend, anyway. I told her that I’d have to go back out about ten. She wasn’t too enthused about that, and reminded me about the dishes again.
“Can you please get home before your company comes? I left some homework on the dining room table … if you could move it to my desk… and there’s some really good rice in the freezer, if you need it.”
“Thanks. Do we have any potato chips or anything?”
“Some in the cupboard on the right. Use the good green dishes. Not the good china, but the good but not everyday things.” She thought for a second. “And the good glasses. Those other ones are just too old.”
“Okay.”
“Don’t eat too much. See you, Batman.”
By the time Nancy and Shamrock hit the house, I had cleared the table, set it, put a couple of condiments out, started a pot of coffee, and had remembered paper napkins. I was rather proud of myself.
“Jeez,” said Nancy. “You expecting company?”
We unwrapped the sandwiches, poured caffeine-free diet pop all around, and sat down to eat. I took a couple of bites, and then asked the question.
“So, what you got this time?”
Nancy took a drink of pop, and put her glass down. “You know anything about a bank robbery going to go down in Nation County on Sunday?”
I thought I carried it off rather well. “Sure. You too, eh?”
“You serious?” she asked. “You do know about that?”
“Sure.” I took a drink of my pop. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Shoot.”
“Just how in the hell do you find this shit out?”
She grinned happily. So did Shamrock. Nancy pointed at the blue-eyed little elf with the camera. “My girl Friday, here. You gotta give it to her, Carl. She’s good.”
According to the two of them, they were in one of the local bars on Wednesday night. Relaxing. One of the local denizens hit on Shamrock. Gently, to be sure. But a hit, nonetheless. Being bored, she played him for a while, with Nancy right at the table.
I asked who. Didn’t know his name, beyond Terry. They described him as about twenty-five through thirty, nearly six feet, and with “nice buns.”
“That’ll look good on a police report.” It had to be Terry Waterman. The only guy I could think of in the county with a strong ass.
“Be creative,” said Nancy. “Anyway …”
Terry found out that Shamrock was with the media. Trying to impress her, he said something on the order of “I just might have a scoop for you …”
“And I go, ‘Oh, right,’ like that,” said Shamrock. “And he goes, ‘No really, there’s something big going down on Sunday.’ And I go, ‘Oh, sure.’”
She must have said it sweetly, because, as the evening wore on, he got more specific. Apparently, with both details and proposals. After the second time she refused to go home with him, he really turned on the charm.
“So he goes, ‘You want to cover a bank job, sweet lady?’ and I go, ‘Maybe.’ So he goes—” and she lowered her voice about two octaves—“‘This is gonna be a record breaker. Five hits at the same time. Five. All close.’”
Five. There was the magic number again. And all close.
“No shit?” I took another slug of pop. “What else?”
Nothing. She’d still refused to sleep with him. So he got angry, called her a “media tease,” and left.
Shamrock was laughing so hard she almost fell off the chair. “Mmmedia teeeasse!”
I was glad to see the local boys were still as adroit as ever. I laughed, too, but it wasn’t easy. Five. Five.
When the gaiety subsided a bit, I pressed. “You sure it was five?”
“It was,” said Nancy. “Five hits, and all close together. That’s what he said.”
I excused myself, and went to the phone. Fascinating. I called the office, and got George and Sally looking for information on Waterman.
When I returned to the table, I popped the question. “So, what would you like in return? I suspect this little dinner isn’t going to cover it.”
As it happened, Nancy had a plan. All I had to do was tell her where the hits were going down, and they’d just “happen” to be in the area. Might even get a shot or two of the thing in progress. Scoop of the century. Hint, hint.
Or, as Shamrock put it, “That could make my whole career. Honest.” The eyes had it, so to speak.
“Look, you two. I only have fair information on one location. I’ll give you what I have, but you gotta promise to stay back where you won’t get into trouble.” I shrugged. “If it actually goes down. I’m not going to promise anything more than a fifty percent chance at this point.”
Of course they would. Went without saying. Nancy I could really believe, as she’d been in the crap before, and wanted no more. I felt I could rely on her to keep Shamrock from getting carried away.
I took a deep breath, and let it out very slowly. “Right. Okay, look, sometime on Sunday, we think there may, and I emphasize may, be a hit on the bank in Frieberg.”
“No shit! This Sunday?” Nancy was genuinely excited. It dawned on me that they hadn’t had any idea of the reality of the bank hits until I’d confirmed it. They’d been guessing. Maybe “hoping” would be a better word. But they obviously hadn’t expected anything so soon.
“Yeah,” I said, “tomorrow. Don’t make me sorry I told you …”
“No, no. But that’s the little bank just up the street from the Beauregard, isn’t it?”
“Yep.”
“Fantastic,” said Nancy. “You can see it from the boat. We’ll be able to do a phony shoot from the boat, and pick up the bank really good …”
“How far to the bank?” said Shamrock.
“Eight hundred feet? Right, Carl?”
“About.”
“Great! I’ve got a five hundred millimeter Schmitt-Cass in the car …” Shamrock, I thought, was going to be happy with this arrangement. Good. I didn’t want either of them getting in close.
“What time?” asked Nancy.
“For the hit? Don’t know. Sunday is all I have.”
“You trying to tell me that you guys are going to set up on it, full force, for twenty-four hours?”
“Yeah.”
“Good Lord, Carl,” she said. “You really like these marathon things, or you just have bad intel?”
“I’m just in this for the food. You decide.” I smiled. “Look, if you two get any more, let me know. But for Christ’s sake, don’t breathe a word of this to anybody else.”
“You mean, like, the competition? Get real.” Shamrock had that eager look about her. “They can buy my frames, man. Big bucks. Big, big bucks.”
“Take a deep breath, dear,” said Nancy.
Shamrock stuck out her hand. “Thank you, Carl. I mean it.”
I shook her hand, a little surprised. “Hey, it’s nothing definite. Just a chance, here.”
“Oh, no,” she said. “That dude Terry really wanted it, last night. He didn’t lie.”
“We’ll talk about evaluation as we get ready,” said Nancy. “Lust makes guys stupid, but it doesn’t make ’em tell the truth.” She laughed. “He was just stupid enough to let it slip.”
Because we were to be on duty for twenty-four hours straight, I tried to catnap after Nancy and Shamrock left. Right. Like I could just go to sleep. I did try. Sat there, watching TV. Dozed once, I think. Not for more than forty-five minutes.
I kept the Weather Channel on and saw that my favorite blue and pink segmented worm of a jet stream was making progress. Tomorrow would be much warmer. A real, sudden “January thaw,” in all its glory.
That was Iowa, for you. In eighteen hours, the temperature could change fifty degrees or better. Much better, in this case. It looked like we’d hit thirty degrees
by 3 A.M., and go up from there.
God bless warm fronts. If we were going to have to be outside for any period of time, warm was so much better …
When I got back to the office a little after 2200, they gave me everything I’d requested on Terry Waterman. I would have liked to haul him in, but good sense prevailed. After Sunday, either way, Terry would pay us a visit. Beforehand would just tip people off. With his inadvertent contribution, however, the estimates on Sunday actually happening went nicely past the fifty-fifty level.
The main control point was designated as Hester’s DCI office at the General Beauregard pavilion, in Frieberg. It was just about on top of the main target bank, it was well equipped with communications devices, it had its own teletype and fax, and it was warm and comfortable with many creature comforts. I came drifting in about 2230, having picked up Sally at Volont’s request. He wanted a top-notch dispatcher with us. Hard to argue.
When we arrived, we established Sally with the radios, and a good land line to the Nation County Sheriff’s Department, and to the Conception County Sheriff’s Department across the river. Both were to be contacted on special phone numbers which were not to be used for routine calls until further notification.
She had the base station portion of the FBI scrambled radios, and a small base set with local police, fire, and ambulance frequencies. She was all set.
I picked up the scrambled walkie-talkie I’d been given. FBI issue. Looked a bit older than I’d expected. Almost as old as my new one for the Sheriff’s Department. “What’s the range on these?”
“Couple of miles, line of sight,” said George, clipping his inside his jacket.
“Totally secure?”
“Absolutely. Programmed to a different code every time, downloaded before each operation. No duplicates. You can even say ‘fuck’ on these and the FCC won’t ever know.” He grinned broadly.
I was sorely tempted, but decided not to push my luck. I’ve always hated being first.
The Big Thaw Page 27
