“Who, then? Geis?”
“Maybe. What puzzles me is the erratic pattern of the hits. They don’t ring true. Bombing at the marina. Veiled hit on Hormann. Obvious assassination of Faeber. Either Kalatis is losing his grip… or someone with a heavier hand has stepped in.”
“You’re sticking with your ‘government man’ theory, then?”
“I don’t know,” Arnette admitted. “If there’s a second hitter involved… if it’s Geis… the government’s coming unhinged.”
“Before now I thought you were wrong,” Graver said. “Now I think you’re right, but I’m hoping you’re wrong.”
“I just don’t know why-if I’m right about a second hitter-why is he playing into Kalatis’s game? I mean, ideally Kalatis would have wanted Burtell and Sheck and Faeber dead anyway, as a part of his plan to burn his bridges. Why is someone stepping in and helping him out… so crudely?”
“I don’t know,” Graver said. “I don’t know about any of that, but I do know I made a mistake by not pulling in Faeber. Honestly, I didn’t anticipate that I should have, I just didn’t.”
“What about Faeber-and the woman? Do you want us to put in an anonymous call to Homicide?”
“No,” Graver said quickly. “That’ll only bring everything down on me even faster.”
“Jesus, baby, that’s going to be a mess for that girl to find.”
“I can’t help that,” Graver said.
There was a pause and then Arnette asked, “So what did you find out from your pilot then?”
He told her about their interview with Ledet and the options he and Neuman had been discussing.
“Well, you’re probably right there,” Arnette said. “This is going to be over by tomorrow morning. And I think you’re right in assuming Kalatis is getting ready to disappear. I can’t believe it. This has been one hell of an incredible run. Paula’s still plowing through Burtell’s account He was thorough, Marcus. Everything’s there. It’s going to cause a sensation when you finally come out with it.”
“It’ll have to wait.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I’m going after Kalatis. I’m going to try to turn Eddie Redden,” Graver said. “What about Murray and Remberto?”
“What do you mean? You want to use them?”
“I want to know if they’d help me out.”
“Do what?”
“I don’t know. I just want to know if they’d be interested.”
“Are you sure… you know what you’re doing, Marcus? No offense, but-”
“No offense taken,” Graver interrupted.” If you don’t feel good about it tell them so. I don’t know any more than I’m telling you. I just want to know if I have anyone I can rely on if it looks like there’s something I can do when the time comes. Guns blazing is hardly my style, Arnette, so don’t worry about it. On the other hand, after what they went through at Connie’s they know what kind of stuff they might expect. I just need some competent people who’ve at least been to a firing range in the last six months.”
Arnette didn’t say anything for a moment.
“Maybe they’ll help you out,” she said finally. “But probably not for the good of mankind. They’ve worked for the government before. It doesn’t pay what it ought to for what you have to do. They may respect you, baby, but they’ve already given at the office.”
“I can’t pay them anything,” Graver said, “but if I’m right about what we’re going to be getting into here, we’ll be picking up a lot of hot cash. Maybe millions. I could use some help keeping up with it.”
Arnette was silent again. He knew she understood what he was saying. “Okay,” she said. “I’ll ask them.”
“If they’re interested, I’ll have to have them here as soon as possible, but no later than four-thirty.” He gave Arnette the address. “If they’re coming, have them call me.”
He disconnected and dialed Rayner Faeber’s number. She answered, and he asked for Last When Last came on, Graver said:
“This is for your ears only, Victor.”
Last paused only a second. “Yeah, okay.”
“I need your help. There’s money in it” That was a bit of an exaggeration, Graver thought, but since Last was in the exaggeration business he ought to understand that. “If you want in you’ll have to leave right now. I’ll give you an address.”
“I understand,” Last said. “Give it to me.”
Graver gave the address of a service station a couple of miles from where they were. He didn’t trust the extension phones in Faeber’s house.
“You need to be there at four o’clock,” Graver said. “Okay?”
“I’ll be there.”
Graver hung up and looked at Neuman. “You okay with what’s going on here?”
“So far,” Neuman said.
It was the kind of response Graver appreciated. He could trust Neuman to tell him if it didn’t smell right to him. With the exception of Last, who Graver thought would be the wild card in the operation, he knew he could expect the same from Murray and Remberto, if they decided to come in. They had seen a hell of a lot more of this sort of thing than he had.
“Okay, good,” Graver said. The handset rang, and he answered immediately.
“Is this Marcus Graver?”
“Yes, I’m Graver.”
“This is Remberto. We’re on our way right now.”
Disconnect.
Graver looked at his watch. It was ten minutes after three o’clock. An hour and fifty minutes before Eddie Redden was supposed to touch down at the small strip at Bayfield.
Chapter 72
3:50 P.M.
Graver sat on the back porch with Remberto and Murray. He had explained everything to them, trying to give them as much perspective as he could in a short time. All three men were sweating, all three men were drinking ice water, none of them wanting anything stronger which might cause even a momentary flicker in their judgment Since Neuman had gone to pick up Last at the service station, Graver told them about Last, too. These were two men he could trust without reservation, and inasmuch as he could influence their opinion, he wanted them to have that kind of trust in him as well. The best way to get that, aside from having Arnette’s endorsement, was to give them a clean view of the players and the circumstances, though the latter might change dramatically within the hour.
“What about the girl in there?” Murray asked. He sat up straight in his chair without leaning back, holding his glass in thick hands, the muscles in his arms and shoulders looking like they belonged to a man twenty years his junior. He had a ballpoint pen stuck in the neck of his plain white T-shirt, and an old Colt-Browning. 45 service automatic stuck in the waist of his jeans. His face was so closely shaven it was slick, and his burr haircut, even though his widow’s peak was thinning considerably, added to the air of no-nonsense professionalism that he exuded. Graver had no doubts about either the competence or the reliability of Murray.
“I thought I’d leave Last with her while we go to pick up Redden. I haven’t thought about it beyond that. But I can’t very well let her go.”
“Good.”
“And this Redden, he will be armed?” Remberto asked.
“Ledet says he will be.”
Remberto was tall for a Latin, a little taller than Graver, rangy but with broad shoulders. A good-looking young man with thick black hair that was neatly barbered and combed, he wore slacks, a pale blue shirt, and a sport coat, all of which looked very much stressed after his hour-long sauna in Connie’s courtyard. He wore a shoulder holster under his jacket with a Sig-Sauer like Graver’s jammed into it and sat in his chair with a very relaxed and self-assured manner. But the stillness in his dark eyes belieda a concentrated tension that he had acquired during his few, but densely experienced, years in undercover work and which now occupied the core of his personality.
Both men had kept their eyes on him since the moment they had walked out on the porch. For them there was no tendency to let their attention wander to the bay, the predictable reaction of anyone who sat on a porch with a beach view. But Remberto and Murray-Graver still didn’t know their last names-had no curiosity about the water or the ship or the Gulf. They were only interested in Graver and what Graver had to say to them about the impending events.