“You’re late, Dick,” Bianchi said. “I’ve been waiting over an hour.” He did not sound happy.
“I’m sorry, Ricky, we were stuck in the Midtown Tunnel the whole damned time; there was a big pileup. When we got out I called your beeper, but there was no answer.”
Bianchi ran a hand over his hair. “I don’t like to wait, Dick.”
“I apologize, Ricky; there was nothing I could do.”
Bianchi did not seem mollified. “So what’s the big emergency?”
“I want to call off the search for those two men,” Hickock said. “Something has happened, and it would be very bad for me if anything happened to them.”
“Dick, what is this on-again, off-again thing? You should know I don’t do business that way. What has happened?”
“They’re blackmailing me, that’s what. They’ve threatened to turn me in to the IRS and to send incriminating information to the media.”
“How much do they want?”
“Three million dollars. I’ve already wire-transferred the money.”
Bianchi looked astonished. “Dick, you shouldn’t have done that; you should have come to me and let me handle it.”
“I only had until close of business, Ricky, and they said that they had left the documents with other parties, and if anything happened to them it would be sent out. That’s why you have to call off the search; I can’t afford for anything to happen to them now.”
“Dick, don’t you know that’s what all blackmailers say? That they’ve left the pictures or the documents or whatever with a lawyer who has instructions if anything happens to them? They never do it; they never believe anything will happen to them. I think it would be best if we just leave things as they are. I’ve already had a tip that they might be in an East Side apartment. Someone is on the way there now.”
“Ricky, you’ve got to stop them; I can’t afford to find out the hard way if they’re lying. I’d rather pay them the money.”
“Then they’ll want more, Dick, don’t you know that? If you’re willing to pay them three million dollars on the basis of an unsubstantiated threat, they’ll bleed you again and again for years to come, until there’s nothing left. You just let me handle these two guys.”
“I can’t do that, Ricky. You’ve got to call off your men.”
Bianchi shrugged. “I’m afraid that’s impossible, Dick; it’s too late. You’ll just have to take your chances.”
Hickock slumped. “I hope to God you’re right about their bluff.”
“Trust me, I’m right. Is there anything else?”
“There is one more thing; the third name I gave you.”
“I remember.” He patted his pocket. “It’s right here. You want me to push the button?”
Hickock took a deep breath. “Push the button. I don’t care whether it looks like an accident, just do it.”
“It will be done,” Bianchi said. “But this is going to cost more money. This search has turned into an expensive operation.”
“Of course,” Hickock said. “Anything you want, just name the amount.”
Bianchi smiled for the first time that day. “That’s the way I like to hear you talk,” he said.
Stone phoned again, got the answering machine again. He had the awful feeling that something was very wrong. He’d go over there; maybe the doorman would let him in. Then he remembered. He found her handbag in the bedroom, opened it, and shook the contents out onto the bed. There was the key. He put it in his pocket, got a coat, and left the house.
Chapter 57
Allan Peebles had worked a long day. It was only midafternoon in L.A., but it seemed later to him. He was tired, and his editorial meeting was nearly over. He had only a story or two to clear, and he could close the paper for the week and go home. Then, through the glass wall of the boardroom, he saw a strange sight. A man named Harold Purvis, who was head of security for the Infiltrator’s building, was striding through the newsroom, followed by two uniformed security guards. Purvis walked up to the boardroom door, rapped sharply, and opened the door.
“Mr. Peebles, I must see you immediately,” he said. “Just as soon as you close the paper. It’s very urgent.”
“I’ll be with you in just a couple of minutes, Harold,” Peebles said, wondering if another lunatic had gotten into the building. He ran through the remaining stories, gave his approval, and wound up the meeting, then he walked down the corridor to his corner office. Harold Purvis and his two men were in the room, as was his secretary. “What’s up, Harold? More crazies with alien abduction stories?” This was a regular feature of life at the Infiltrator.
Purvis walked behind him, closed the door, and took an envelope from his inside pocket. “I have been instructed to read you a letter,” he said, “which will explain everything.”
“All right,” Peebles replied, wondering what the hell was going on.
Purvis held up the letter and read aloud. “‘Dear Mr. Peebles,’” he began. “‘You are herewith and with immediate effect dismissed from your position as editor and publisher of the Infiltrator.’”
Peebles blinked. He had not seen this coming.
“‘You are to vacate your office and depart the premises at once. Your secretary will send along any personal effects in your office.’”
Amanda Dart, he thought. She has betrayed me. I told her everything to save myself, but she has betrayed me.
“‘Your pension plan, medical insurance, and profit-sharing are cancelled with immediate effect; your stock options are withdrawn; your signature is no longer valid on any Infiltrator bank account; all Infiltrator employees will immediately be informed that your instructions are no longer to be followed. Two weeks’ severance pay will be wire-transferred to your personal bank account after, and only after, possession of all Infiltrator property has been surrendered.’” Purvis handed him the letter. “It’s signed by the chairman of the board,” he said.
“I don’t believe it,” Peebles mumbled, starting to read the letter.
“Give me your keys to the building and your office. your medical insurance card, and your credit cards,” Purvis said.
“How dare you speak to me that way!” Peebles sputtered. “I am your superior…” He faltered.
“Not any more,” Purvis said. He turned to the two security guards. “Gentlemen, clean out his pockets.”
One of the guards grabbed Peebles and pinned his arms behind his back while the other went through his pockets and emptied the contents onto the desktop. Purvis stepped forward, removed the cards from Peebles’s wallet, and looked through the other items. He detached two keys from a ring, then stepped back. “The rest of this junk is yours; put it back in your pockets.”
Peebles obeyed. “There has been some mistake here, and I will remember your conduct,” he said to Purvis through clenched teeth.
“Get his coat,” Purvis said to the secretary. The woman obeyed, and Purvis handed the coat to Peebles. Peebles put it on. “Tell his deputy that he is in charge until further notice,” Purvis said to the secretary, then he turned back to the two guards. “Escort Mr. Peebles from the building.”
The two guards frog-marched Peebles through the newsroom, down two flights of stairs, and out of the building. A moment later, he found himself standing alone in the parking lot.
Still unable to believe what had just happened and trying to preserve some semblance of dignity, Peebles got into his Bentley and drove home to Beverly Hills. As he pulled into his driveway and got out of his car, a man suddenly appeared, along with another uniformed security guard.
“I’m from the Infiltrator’s leasing company,” he said, snatching Peebles’s keys from his hand. “The lease on the Bentley has been cancelled.” The man detached the car key and returned the ring, which now held only a house key, to its owner. As Peebles watched, aghast, the man drove away in the Bentley.