“I’m fine, Frankie. How’s the new job going?”
“It’s days like these that make it all worth while,” Grecco replied. “I still can’t believe that we’ve finally got the chance to take Navarro down. All these years and we haven’t been able to get close to him. Every time we’ve brought him in for questioning we’ve never been able to make anything stick. I tell you, I haven’t been this excited since Scott Norwood missed that field goal for the Bills with eight seconds left of Superbowl Twenty-Five. That was a hell of a night for the Giants.”
“So Mike constantly reminds me.”
“How is that lunatic?”
“As ever,” Whitlock replied.
“And how’s my favorite UC?” Grecco said with a knowing grin.
“Sabrina’s fine. They both send their regards.”
“Thanks. Where are they?” Grecco asked.
“They had some business to attend to out of town.”
“Tell Mike I’ll call him sometime. I haven’t been to a game with him for a while.” Grecco rapped on the Ford’s rear window and gave the occupants a thumbs-up sign. Two men emerged from the back of the car. The rear doors of a second white Ford in front of it also swung open and two more plainclothes men got out. Grecco turned back to Whitlock. “I didn’t want to take any chances. Not when we’re dealing with a slippery customer like Navarro. If he does try anything, we’ve got the backup to deal with it.”
“Well, are you ready?”
“I’ve been ready for this for years,” Grecco replied with a grin.
The brunette looked up from her computer and gave Whitlock and Grecco a warm smile when they entered the room. “Good morning. May I help you?”
“We’re here to see Martin Navarro,” Grecco told her.
“Do you have an appointment, sir?” she asked, feeding a code into the computer to call up a list of Navarro’s appointments for the day.
“You won’t find our names on there, sweetheart,” Grecco told her, holding up his warrant card. “DEA. We try not to make appointments. That way we can catch the scumbags by surprise.”
“Mr. Navarro’s not due in until later this morning.”
“Your loyalty’s touching, sweetheart, but we saw him arrive half an hour ago with his hatchet man, Varese,” Grecco told her. “Don’t worry, we’ll see ourselves in.”
Whitlock opened the door and entered Navarro’s spacious office. Navarro looked up sharply from behind his desk and was about to challenge Whitlock when Grecco entered the room behind him.
The receptionist hovered anxiously in the doorway. “I’m sorry, Mr. Navarro, I did try to stop them.”
“It’s OK, Marsha. I’ll deal with this.”
She nodded nervously and closed the door behind her.
“This is Special Agent Whitlock, he’s come down all the way from our Washington office just to see you,” Grecco said to Navarro, indicating Whitlock behind him.
Whitlock held up the false DEA warrant card he’d been issued earlier that morning. Varese, who had been sitting on the sofa, got to his feet and took the card from Whitlock. He studied it carefully then nodded to Navarro before handing it back to Whitlock.
“I’m getting very tired of this continual DEA harassment, Grecco. Your people tail me wherever I go. My house is under constant surveillance. Not to mention the fact that I’ve been hauled in for questioning five times in this last year alone and on each occasion I’ve been released without charge. Doesn’t that say something to you?”
“Yeah, that maybe we’ve been concentrating on the wrong man.” Grecco turned to Varese. “I know you’re carrying, Tony. I want you to take your piece out very slowly and toss it onto the floor in front of me. And I wouldn’t do anything stupid. Special Agent Whitlock’s never been known to miss from that range.”
Varese’s eyes flickered to the automatic in Whitlock’s hand but he made no move to comply with Grecco’s instructions.
“Do you want, me to come over there and take it from you, Tony?” Grecco said icily.
“Why don’t you try it, Grecco?” Varese hissed, balling his fists at his sides.
“Just do as he says!” Navarro snapped at Varese.
Varese glared at Navarro then took the Heckler & Koch P9S from his shoulder holster and tossed it onto the floor in front of Grecco.
Grecco looped his pen through the trigger guard and slipped it into a plastic evidence bag he’d produced from his pocket. “I assume this is the same Heckler & Koch you used to kill Judd Miller and Ray Tillman?”
“What are you talking about?” Varese asked contemptuously.
“Are you denying that you were at the Paramus Flying School yesterday afternoon?”
“I’ve never even heard of the Paramus Flying School,” Varese retorted disdainfully. “I was here all afternoon. Mr. Navarro can verify that.”
“Can you?” Grecco asked Navarro.
There was something in Grecco’s voice that unsettled Navarro. Confidence? He wasn’t sure but he decided to play it safe. “You seem very sure of yourself, Grecco. What have you got on Tony?”
“Judd Miller, the owner of the Paramus Flying School, recently installed video surveillance equipment on the premises in an attempt to catch the vandals who’d twice broken into the hangar in the last month and tampered with his planes,” Grecco told him. “Tillman’s murder was captured on film. If you want, I can even tell you to the second when Varese actually pulled the trigger.”
Whitlock opened his attaché case and tossed a brown envelope onto Navarro’s desk. “Those are just a few of the stills which have been lifted from the film. Each one identifies Varese as the killer.”
Navarro removed the photographs from the envelope. He only needed to look at the first one. It showed Varese standing over Tillman, the Heckler & Koch raised to fire. That alone would put him away for twenty years. “I’m calling my lawyer.”
“Tell him to meet you both down at DEA headquarters,” Grecco replied.
Suddenly Varese rushed at Whitlock, knocking him aside as he ran to the door. Swiftly unclipping his two-way radio from his belt, Grecco warned his men in the corridor that Varese was headed their way. Varese’s attempt to escape was hopeless: they grabbed him the moment he appeared and wrestled him to the floor. Snapping a pair of handcuffs around his wrists, they led him back into Navarro’s office.
Navarro had spoken to the family’s senior lawyer, Edward Brasco; now he looked across at Varese who was slumped dejectedly on the sofa, a trickle of blood running down the side of his chin. “Brasco’s on his way over to DEA headquarters. Don’t say anything until he’s briefed you.”
“You’ve made your call, Navarro. Now on your feet.” Grecco nodded to one of his men. “Cuff him, read him his rights, then get him out of here.”
“And what are the charges against me?” Navarro demanded as he was handcuffed.
“Accessory to murder and conspiracy to import and sell illegal drugs in this country,” Grecco told him.
“What the hell have drugs got to do with any of this?” Navarro demanded.
“Senator Scoby left a detailed outline of the deal he’d made with the Colombians, as well as the one he intended to make with you on his return to New York today. That, in itself, might not have stood up in court. But by having Tillman killed, you’ve admitted your guilt. Unless, of course, you intend to deny that you had anything to do with his murder and let Varese take the rap by himself. Do you?”
Navarro knew what Grecco was trying to do. He turned to Varese. “Tony, now listen to me. Grecco’s going to try and offer you immunity from prosecution in return for testifying against me. Sure, it’s going to sound good. You won’t serve time. You and your family will be given a new identity. A new life. Don’t believe him. They won’t keep their word. They never do. They’ll use you then throw you to the wolves once they’ve got what they want. Don’t be tempted. Talk to Brasco. You know he’ll see you right. Promise me you won’t say anything until you’ve spoken to Brasco, Tony. Promise me.”