‘Chambine is going to be the key,’ agreed Warburger.
‘How closely have you briefed those watching him?’
‘I personally instructed them,’ said Warburger.
‘How are things going with Senator Cosgrove?’ asked Bowler.
‘Good enough,’ said Pendlebury.
‘He’s not demanding too much involvement?’
‘Not yet,’ said Pendlebury. ‘But I kind of imagine he wants to be around when it happens.’
‘He won’t get in the way,’ promised Warburg again. ‘He’ll be present at the press conference, of course.’
‘Press conference?’ said Pendlebury.
‘I thought we’d stage one in Palm Beach after the arrests,’ said the Director. ‘Might even come down myself.’
Bowler saw Pendlebury wince. The man tried to disguise the expression by looking down and slightly moving his wrist, so that he could see his watch.
‘Anything more?’ asked Bowler.
‘I don’t think so,’ said Pendlebury. ‘I’d like to get back. And I don’t think there’s any point in my coming here again, not until after it’s all over.’
‘What about the Englishman?’ said Warburger, remembering Charlie suddenly.
‘Nothing,’ said Pendlebury. ‘It’s going fine.’
The Director leaned forward, to give emphasis to what he was going to say. ‘Now that the pattern is establishing itself, I think we have wasted a lot of time over that man.’
‘I don’t fully agree…’ started Pendlebury, but Warburger talked over him. ‘He creates an uncertainty. And I don’t like uncertainties. I went along with you this far, but I want you now to take a positive directive. At the slightest indication of any difficulty, you’re to have him removed.’
‘It would be a shame to frighten away Terrilli or his people,’ said Pendlebury.
‘And an even greater shame to lose them,’ argued the Director. ‘That damned man can do nothing but get in the way.’
As Warburger spoke, Charlie Muffin was emerging from the Senate Records Office not two miles from where the three F.B.I. men were in conference.
It had been easier than he had expected, but then Charlie was unused to the Freedom of Information Act or the efficiency of American library systems and computer records. Giuseppe Terrilli’s name had not been linked with organised crime since the Democratic administration’s investigations under Bobby Kennedy. And even then it had involved situations that existed much earlier. In 1958, a Giuseppe Terrilli was named as a link between crime in America and the gambling syndicates in Havana, before their expulsion by Fidel Castro. There was then a gap of four years, after which the name of Terrilli appeared again, this time in connection with the refusal of a gambling licence for one of the Las Vegas hotels later discovered to be wholly Mafia controlled. After that, nothing.
Not on Terrilli, at least. But by going back as far as he had, Charlie had come across another name and it had intrigued him as much as what he had learned about the Mafia associate.
It would never have shown up but for the excellent cross referencing available in the records office and only then because he had probed so deeply into the Bobby Kennedy investigation. Kelvin Cosgrove had never been involved in any Terrilli probe, but he had been associated with others and appeared to have established himself so highly that there had been speculation of his being appointed Attorney-General after Bobby Kennedy’s Californian assassination.
It could still be a coincidence, Charlie thought, waving down a passing taxi to take him to Dulles Airport. But increasingly he was disregarding the anomalies upon which he kept stumbling as coincidence.
12
The initial planning meetings of Terrilli’s men who wanted to steal the stamps and the F.B.I. group who wanted them to do it, took place within two days and one hundred and fifty miles of each other.
Chambine’s meeting occurred first. So determined was the New Yorker to impress Terrilli and be invited to join the Florida operation that he had taken even greater care over the selection of those who would help him than he had indicated to Terrilli during their Miami meeting. Finding men with minimal criminal records had been the first essential; and it naturally followed that they were also people of above average ability, to have evaded detection for so long. All were past thirty, men who no longer considered machismo was kept in the crotch of their jockey shorts. Four were married and outwardly lived in a respectable, responsible fashion in affluent city suburbs. One, David Bertrano, was honorary secretary
of his local P.T.A.
It was Bertrano whom Chambine deputed to take the hotel suite, choosing him for no other reason than that it was from Chicago that he took his first recruit and that was where Bertrano operated. The purpose was to provide a comfortable meeting place for the group, which everyone else understood, so there was no jealousy over this apparent favouritism.
Bertrano had had coffee and sandwiches provided before anyone arrived at the Contemporary Resort in Disneyworld. There was a bar in the corner, but no one had asked for a drink when they assembled, and Chambine noticed this, content that he had obtained professionals. Leonard Saxby and Peter Boella came from Las Vegas, Umberto Petrilli from Philadelphia and Walter Bulz and Harry Beldini from Los Angeles.
Even though it wasn’t his suite, Chambine took the role of host, formally introducing the group to each other. The responses were polite but equally formal.
‘No doubt you’d recognised each other before today?’ said Chambine.
‘Nearly everyone,’ said Bertrano. Realising the reason for the question, he added, ‘There’s been no contact.’
‘I’m glad.’
‘It’s obviously something big,’ said Saxby. ‘Nobody’s laying out fifty grand for nothing. We didn’t want to do anything to foul it up.’
‘It is big,’ admitted Chambine. ‘There’s a particular market for what we’re going to take.’
‘What is it?’ asked Bertrano.
‘Stamps,’ said Chambine. He waited for the surprise to register, but there was no reaction from anyone, and once again Chambine congratulated himself upon the selection.
‘What sort of stamps?’ asked Boella.
‘A very special collection,’ said Chambine. ‘Used to belong to the Russian Tsar.’
‘We’re not to know who wants them?’ asked Beldini.
‘No,’ said Chambine, intent on the response to the refusal. Once again the group remained impassive.
‘Is the collection on show?’ asked Bulz.
‘Palm Beach,’ said Chambine. ‘The exhibition opened three days ago.’
‘So you know the security,’ said Petrilli, investing the organiser with the same expertise as the rest of them.
‘Rotating staff of twenty uniformed people. Ten plainclothes, as far as I can establish. Display cases possibly wired and ten swivel cameras and two fixed mountings,’ said Chambine.
‘What about the person in charge?’
‘A stumble-bum named Pendlebury. No problem. And there’s some kind of Englishman attached to the insurance company. No problem there either.’
‘Staff at night?’ asked Saxby.
‘Three-man night shift. No one actually on duty in the hall; they make half-hourly checks.’
‘But the cameras will be kept on?’ asked Petrilli.
‘Of course,’ said Chambine.
‘How do we overcome that?’ said Saxby. ‘Block the supply?’
‘No,’ said Chambine immediately. ‘It’s wired so that if there’s any interruption to the power, a battery-operated alarm sounds…’
From a briefcase he took plans and drawings he had made during the time he had been at the Breakers. While he laid them out, Boella poured coffee. They huddled around and behind Chambine as he laid the papers out.
‘Here,’ he began, indicating a camera at the top of the drawing, ‘is the biggest risk. It’s one of the fixed cameras and it’s equipped with a fish-eye lens, giving it cover of almost all the chamber. That’s the one we hit first…’