“What’s he talking about, Marlene?” asked Karp. “That guy is a college professor. He’s the translator that Flanagan got that tainted lead on the typewriter from.”
“So it now seems,” Marlene replied. “Terzich and Dushan are the same guy, which I didn’t realize because I hadn’t really seen the translator’s face and I only saw Dushan for the first time tonight. It makes sense, though. He tried to screw up the case with Flanagan, and when that didn’t work, he decided to try a little direct action.”
That at least made sense to Karp, but everything else was confusion. “Yeah, but Marlene, why did you get involved with him? I don’t understand—”
“Because he wanted Karavitch, Butch. I figured whoever snatched you wanted Karavitch too. I made a deal with Dushan: I’d help him get Karavitch if he helped me get you away from these guys. I figured you’d call to set it up, so I told Yamada that I was second seating you on the case and if you brought Karavitch in anyplace he should call me. And you did, and he did. So it all worked out.” She smiled brightly. “Who are these guys, by the way—Croats?”
“No, Israelis. But, Marlene, for shit’s sake—”
“Israelis? What the hell are Israelis doing in this?”
“Marlene, it’s too complicated to explain. But, but, Marlene, why did you go with this guy? Why didn’t you bring the cops in?”
“The cops? Well, things sort of got out of hand. I was just going to Dushan for some information, and he said he knew who had you, they were Croats, and they were going to kill you, and he could stop it if I gave him Karavitch, because one of his guys had infiltrated this Croat terrorist group. You think I should have called the cops in?”
Karp flung his hands up in despair. “Of course! God, Marlene, we got nothing going for us now. What makes you think this sweetheart, Dushan, is going to let us go after he’s got Karavitch? We’ve blown his cover, one, and another we’re witnesses to a damn kidnapping. He lets us go and the fucking FBI will be over him like flies on shit.” “Maybe he’ll just go away, like back to Yugoslavia.” “Yeah, maybe. You better start praying, baby, because that’s all we got left. Shit!”
“You’re mad at me?” she said in a small voice. “I thought I was doing OK. Why are you getting all mean?”
“Mean?! Mean? We’re dead and you’re worried about mean? I can’t believe I’m having this conversation.” Karp slapped himself on the head and walked across the room to the window. There Yaacov and Natan were doing what looked like a crafts project with strips they had torn off the heavy blue drapes. Karp watched them dully while minutes passed. Then Leventhal cleared his throat heavily and said, “I’m afraid Mr. Karp is right, Miss Ciampi. We are all in grave danger.”
Marlene looked at him closely for the first time. “Hey, I know you. You’re the guy in the rain, the stereo guy.”
“Yeah, and he’s also an Israeli agent,” said Karp nastily, “and he used that stereo you bought to bug my place. That call to Yamada was a phony he rigged up out of different recordings.”
Marlene frowned. “You set that whole scene with the car up, right? Just so you could get a mike into Karp’s place. And you had the nerve to charge me for the damn stereo?”
Leventhal smiled and shrugged. “Don’t complain, lady, believe me, you got it below wholesale. What d’you think, we’re the CIA, we can throw money out the window? Meanwhile, look here—we still have a chance to get out of this. You see the boys have got a little rope together. Yaacov will hold it and Natan will slide down to the floor below and get out. We have weapons in the van. Then he will come back and ambush our Yugoslav friends.”
Yaacov had the window open and Natan, with a rope made of torn curtain slung over his shoulder and between his legs, was perched on the sill, preparing to rappel down to the floor below. He lowered himself out and disappeared.
A minute later there was a hoarse shout from below and Yaacov hauled Natan up flopping across the window sill like a landed cod. A burst of Hebrew from Natan, and Leventhal, his eyebrows elevated almost to the hairline, turned to Karp and Marlene. “He says men are coming down from the roof on ladders and going into the offices next to this one. Have you perhaps an idea who they might be?”
“Yeah,” said Karp, “it’s the KGB and the Mafia. They couldn’t stand to miss any of this action. I don’t know, Leventhal! Maybe it’s the Vienna Boys Choir.”
Leventhal put on his pained expression. “Mr. Karp, you don’t seem to understand that this might be a serious development—”
Any speculation about the identity of the new players was resolved at that instant by several loud crashes, the sound of a shot, a yell of pain from the adjoining office, and a huge voice bellowing, “I said freeze, assholes!” the characteristic greeting of the New York City Police Department.
“It’s the cops,” Karp shouted gleefully. He pounded on the door and shouted. Then he stopped, frowned, and looked at Marlene, who was examining the ceiling and trying to keep a straight face. “You set this up, didn’t you?” he said.
“Yup.”
“You told me you didn’t call the cops.”
“No, actually, you assumed that. But in fact, I didn’t. I got Goddy Taylor to set it up after I met Dushan. I figured Dushan would have me followed and I was right. That little blondie out there was on my ass from the minute I left Dushan’s office.”
Karp waggled his head in admiration. “Amazing. You don’t see a triple-cross like this every day. Tell me, since you brought the cops in anyway, why did you keep Terzich on a string?”
“Oh, when Goddy told me that he knew Dushan maintained a cover as a college professor and translator, I knew he had to be the guy that set up the tainted evidence. So I figured it would be good if we had something on him, like maybe he would talk about where the idea for that scam came from.”
“Yeah, good thinking, Marlene. But you could of told me, you know.”
“Yeah, I could of. But I guess I figured you would trust me not to fuck up, at this late date.”
“A little test, huh?”
“Yep.”
“I failed, huh?”
“Yep. Hey, we’re being rescued.”
Somebody was turning a key in the lock. It clicked and the door was flung violently open, revealing two crouching SWAT cops equipped with black coveralls, flak vests, reversed baseball hats, and big, nasty-looking assault rifles. Karp was getting tired of having guns pointed at him. He said, “Don’t point that thing at me, officer, we’re the good guys. I’m Karp, DA’s office. I need to talk to Chief Denton like right now.”
The cops stopped crouching and lowered their weapons. One of them gestured like a maître d’ and said, “The Chief’s right out there. Who are all these people?”
“Friends and enemies, but they’re not sorted out yet. Could you keep an eye on these three guys? Don’t cuff ’em, but don’t let them leave either.”
At this, Leventhal strode forward and interjected, “Wait, Mr. Karp, I would like to know why we are being detained.”
Karp stared at him openmouthed. “Are you joking? Where have you been the last three days?”
“Attending to my business, Mr. Karp. And keeping an eye out for you. Are you intending to charge me with some crime?”
“You bet your sweet ass I am.”
“Really? What would that be?”
“Oh, homicide, kidnapping, obstruction of justice, and that’s just off the top of my head.”
Leventhal sadly shook his head. “You have been through a severe trial, Mr. Karp, and it is not surprising that you may not be thinking clearly. What evidence is there for these crimes?”
“Evidence? Leventhal, I was there. You shot a bunch of Cubans, you kept me in captivity, you phonyed up a phone call so you could kidnap a person in state custody. As soon as I’m through here, I’m going to get a squad into that house of yours and take it apart.”
Leventhal smiled sweetly as he asked, “What house is that, Mr. Karp? I think you will find the house I
live in very different from what you may remember. You have been delirious. You only came to your senses this evening, and asked to be brought to this office, which I did. I confess to being amazed at your attitude. My bodyguard, Yaacov Tsvi, happened upon the scene while you were being attacked and was fortunate enough to drive off your attackers—at grave personal risk, I might add. Then you were taken to my home and nursed back to health by my niece, who is a registered nurse. A difficult task, since you fell into a paranoid delirium and had to be restrained.
“Cubans? Phony calls? You made one telephone call yourself, a perfectly normal one, it seemed to me, from my New Rochelle number. I’m sure it can be checked.”
“And you didn’t report any of this Good Samaritan shit to the police?”
Leventhal’s smile broadened. “Guilty, Mr. Karp. I was busy, and in the confusion it slipped my mind. Also, I am a refugee from Nazi persecution. Many of us do not like dealing with police.”
“Son of a bitch,” said Karp, half in admiration. “You know, Leventhal, I never really understood the meaning of chutzpah until this moment. You really set it up right. I don’t know where the house is. It probably doesn’t matter, since it’s probably clean as a whistle by now. We probably weren’t in New Rochelle either, but I can’t prove that. I’m sure you played that tape over your own phone, and I’m sure you’ve probably got the bed I was in set up there in your guest room by now, and I’m positive your people will back you up in every detail. And most of all, you know I can’t afford to bust my hump over something that didn’t even happen on my turf. Did you forget to remove the bug from my stereo and phone?”
“I have no idea what you’re referring to, Mr. Karp,” said Leventhal blandly.
“That means you didn’t. You’re a menace, you know that, Leventhal? I tell you what, I’m going to keep you here on a weapons charge, until we check out whether the pieces we took off you and whatever you’ve got in the van are kosher—”
“Strictly kosher, Mr. Karp, it goes without saying.”
“We’ll see,” Karp said lamely. “Come on, Marlene.”
Denton was standing in the middle of the outer office, observing the work of his minions. Dushan and the big blond man were parked on the couch with their hands cuffed behind their backs, looking nervous. The small blond man was lying on the floor, covered by a blanket, his face pale. A police officer was tending to him.
Denton’s face brightened when he saw Karp and Marlene. “I’m glad to see you. That Taylor said you’d be here when we rousted these guys, but I wasn’t sure about it. We’ve been tearing the place up looking for you for the past three days. Where were you?”
“I have no idea. A house somewhere. Out of town.”
“Who snatched you? Ruiz?”
“No, Ruiz was the one trying to shoot me. By the way, he’s dead, also a bunch of his guys. I saw the whole thing.” Denton raised an eyebrow at that, but Karp did not explain further. Instead he said, pointing to Terzich, “Look, I need to talk to that guy right away. Could you stick him in my office?”
Denton nodded. “There’s one guy needs a hospital, but what about the others?”
“Oh, stick them in a pen for now. We’ll straighten out what we want to do with them later.”
Terzich sat erect in the straight chair in Karp’s office as Karp read him his rights. A thin gloss of sweat covered his bony face, but otherwise he seemed calm. Karp sat across the desk from him, and Marlene was curled up in the corner in a secretary’s chair she had rolled in. “I don’t need a lawyer,” Terzich said. “What will the charges be?”
“We have considerable discretion in that, Mr., ah, Terzich. Kidnapping, resisting arrest, assault with a deadly weapon, obstruction of justice, for starters, and we haven’t even begun an investigation. But what charges we actually bring, or if we bring any charges, may be influenced by the kind of cooperation we get from you. Now, I have no authority to make any binding promises to you in that regard, but do I make myself clear?” The familiar words felt strange in his mouth, as if his recent immersion in untrammeled violence had somehow unsuited him for the cloaked violence of the law.
Terzich grimaced. “I understand I am in your power. What do you wish to know?”
“Mr. Terzich, I don’t know what it’s like in your country, but in this country there is a very strong division between ordinary criminal justice and the national security apparatus. That is, there’s supposed to be. People tell me you’re a spy. Whether you are or not is irrelevant to me. Spying for Yugoslavia is not a violation of the New York State criminal code. Ever since this damn case started, people have been trying to get me interested in cloak-and-dagger stuff, but let me tell you that I could care less about anything that happens off the island of Manhattan, unless it’s connected with criminal violations in New York County.
“My only interest is in bringing the perpetrators of a particular murder, the murder of a policeman, to justice. So whatever you tell me that’s not so related will stay right here in this room. If you feel there’s something that you can’t tell me because it relates to your country’s security, then tell me, and I’ll see if it’s essential to me or not. And we can take it from there.
“I hope you believe that, but if not, let me tell you something else. This affair has lots of threads—some you know about, and others you don’t, but I think I have just about all of them in my head. If you try lying to me, I’ll know, and then this conversation ends and I call the cops out there to take you out, and I prepare the strongest case I can possibly make against you for the grand jury, no screwing around and no second chances. You follow me?”
Terzich nodded and a humorless smile flickered across his mouth. He said softly, “I understand. Please do not take offense, Mr. Karp, but it is difficult for me to believe that you are as naive as you pretend. No connection between the national security apparatus and your office? If you wish to pretend this, I will indulge you. As for your questions, please go on. As you point out so well, I do not have a choice in the matter.”
“OK.” Karp began, “First, I want to know how you came to supply information about the location of Milo Rukovina’s typewriter to Sergeant Paul Flanagan.”
A look of faint surprise appeared on Terzich’s face. “Oh, that.” He took a pack of cigarettes out of his jacket pocket. “May I?” Karp nodded and he lit up and took a deep drag. “Well, of course, when Karavitch was captured with Raditch and Rukovina, it became essential that we get our hands on him at once, so—”
“Why was it essential?”
“Because we knew that Rukovina and Raditch had been the conduit for money and arms from the U.S. to Croatian terrorists in Europe. Now, Rukovina is a rabbit and the other one is a moron. They had to be very closely directed by someone. What we did not know was who, although we had other evidence that it was a Croat living in this country, with former ties to the CIA. There are many such, and we did not have the resources to track him down.”
He smiled. “You understand, Yugoslavia is still a poor country. In any event, when Karavitch was captured with the other two, it became most probable that he was the one. We wished to talk with him because he, of course, would have the names of Croat sympathizers both in Yugoslavia and in other places. Also we wished to know what further mischief they were planning. But how could we get to him? We have no resources. As you say, we are on one shoestring here.
“So, while I am pondering this, I receive a telephone call from a man I know, a Croat, and an officer in an organization called Association for European Freedom. This organization is of course funded by the CIA, but this man and I have reached an understanding. He knows what I am, I know what he is, but we have an understanding, and sometimes money changes hands.”
“A double agent?” asked Marlene.
Terzich inclined his head a few inches. “Double agent is perhaps too dramatic. In any case, this man informs me that some people in the CIA are extremely upset about what Karavitch has done and do not wish him to remain i
n custody. They wish the case against him, the local murder case, that is, dismissed.”
Karp said, “Did he say that? The local case?”
“Yes, he was very definite.”
Marlene said, “Sure. The skyjacking’s a federal rap. Once he’s in federal custody he’s a puff of smoke.”
“Right,” Karp replied. “OK, Mr. Terzich, go on.”
“So I asked him how this was to be done, and he said that if I was willing, arrangements would be made with the local authorities to retain me as a translator for the court, and that once this was done some means would be found to destroy the legal case. Naturally, I was suspicious, for I do not wish to expose myself in this affair. But he was firm. His people want me to do this, and no one else. So I agree. Why shouldn’t a professor work as a court translator? I think that if it is too dangerous, I can always remove myself, and perhaps I can learn something by this, or find some way to get to Karavitch alone.
“In a few days, a Mr. Wharton calls me and asks me to be the translator, and I agree. For a while, nothing. I am very frustrated because never do they leave me alone with Karavitch. Then, one day, in a conversation between this Rukovina and his lawyer, John Evans, Evans asks him where is the typewriter that types the note and the message found with the bomb. Rukovina tells him, and Evans says he hopes the police do not find it, because it would be very good evidence against us. Later Evans mentions to me, as a joke it seemed then, how strange it is that the rules of evidence say that if the police find the typewriter it would hurt the client, but if he or I should tell the police about it, the case would be ruined and the client would go free.”
“Evans said that? Christ! What did you do?”
“Nothing. I waited for what I knew must come.
Then this policeman, this Flanagan called me and said that he heard I might have some information that would be useful to the police. And I thought of the typewriter and about what Evans had said. This must be why I am hired. So I agreed to meet him, but anonymously, and I took him to the machine.
Depraved Indifference Page 34
