“He has no idea where it is. He can’t even prove that it exists, and even if he could, he’d have a hard time explaining why he’s known about it for months and didn’t report it. Don’t worry, Grant isn’t going to cause any trouble for himself.”
“Holly, I’ve been thinking about this, and I think you should leave the money in that tree.”
“And wait for the putative lumberjack to discover it?”
“If somebody finds it, then you can confiscate it as the fruit of a crime.”
“Anybody who found it would be a fool to tell anybody.”
“And you’d be a fool to go back to the tree. Right now, you’re clean. Only Grant knows about it, and, as you’ve pointed out, he’s unlikely to mention it to his superiors. But if you go back to the tree and get it, there’s always the chance that someone will see you do it or that something else might go wrong. You just can’t take the chance.”
“Okay, I’ve had your full views on this subject. Can we change it now, please?”
“Sure, what would you like to talk about?”
“How can I take Trini before the NYPD does?”
“Holly, you’d better forget about Trini. Let them take him, then you can get in line to prosecute him.”
“Which means never.”
“Lots of people could match that description, surely you know that.”
“It’s Trini. I know it in my bones.”
“If it is, wouldn’t you just as soon see him get the death penalty in New York as in Florida?”
“No, I wouldn’t. I want to sit in a Florida prison and watch him take the needle.”
“Dino can arrange for you to sit in a New York prison and watch. Wouldn’t that do?”
“No. I want to arrest him.”
“You want to kill him, don’t you?”
“If he gave me an excuse, I would.”
“Don’t you realize that he’d have as good a chance of killing you, maybe better?”
“I’ll take that chance.”
“So you’re going to pursue Trini with reckless abandon.”
“Right up until the moment somebody takes him off the street, and I hope it’s me.” Holly set her empty plate aside and started eating Grant’s lunch.
22
STONE WAS ABOUT to ask for a check when Lance strolled up to their table.
“Mind if I join you?” he asked, sliding into the banquette seat next to Holly.
“We’ve just finished lunch,” Stone said.
“I won’t keep you long. Let me buy you coffee.” He was sitting too close to Holly for Stone’s comfort.
A waiter appeared, and Lance looked at Holly.
“Decaf cappuccino,” Holly said.
“Stone?”
“Double espresso, please. The real thing.”
“Same for me,” Lance said.
“How did you know we were here?” Holly asked.
“The CIA knows all,” Stone said wryly.
“Oh, not all, perhaps,” Lance said. “Truth said, one of my people followed Agent Harrison and called me.”
“And why is the CIA following the FBI?” Stone asked.
“We have come to expect a certain… how shall I say?… lack of candor from our colleagues at the Bureau,” Lance said.
“Even after nine/eleven?” Holly asked.
“They’ve become more candid about certain things since nine/eleven,” Lance said, “and less candid about others.”
“Why?” she asked.
“Because they’re the Bureau,” Lance said.
“Oh. I knew that.”
“Frankly, in part because of this behavior, I don’t expect them to survive as a discrete entity much longer.”
“Oh, come on,” Stone said. “Congress would never allow the Bureau to expire as an agency.”
“Mark my words, Congress will insist on it,” Lance replied. “They have become too devious for their own good. When senior officials start lying to congressional committees, the Bureau does not enhance its longevity.”
Stone snorted. “Whereas Congress expects the Agency to tell the truth?”
Lance nodded gravely. “Certainly not. They simply expect a certain lack of frankness, given the work we do.”
“So why are you here, Lance?” Stone asked. “Certainly not for the coffee.”
Lance sipped the cup that had been set before him. “A plentiful reason for being here,” he said, looking around. “I’ve always liked this place. It’s like Paris without the French.”
Holly laughed, but Stone restrained himself. “Come on, cough it up.”
“I merely came to suggest that you watch the six o’clock news this evening.”
“Why?”
“You don’t want me to take all the fun out of it by telling you in advance, do you?”
“Yes,” Stone replied. “Besides, wouldn’t you enjoy watching the expressions on our faces?”
“Well, there is that,” Lance said, smiling. “Oh, all right: On tonight’s local news you’ll learn that the killing of the policeman in Little Italy was the result of a random gunshot from the street, not an execution.”
Stone and Holly gaped at him.
“You’re right, Stone, the expression on your faces was worth it,” Lance said.
“Tell me,” Holly said, “how do you get a witness’s description of the shooter from a random incident?”
“An excellent question,” Lance said.
“So who is manipulating the media, and why?” Stone asked.
“An even better question. Look at it this way: Who benefits from the altered perception of the incident?”
“Trini Rodriguez,” Holly said quickly.
“Of course, but not just Trini.”
“I think I’m picking up the thread,” Stone said.
“Enlighten us.”
“If the cop was killed as a result of a stray bullet, then the NYPD is no longer investigating an execution, but an accident-manslaughter, not murder.”
“Very good!”
“So what?” Holly said.
“Detectives loaned from other precincts will be sent home, and the investigation will become much less intense,” Stone explained. “And that takes some of the pressure off Trini, at least for the moment.”
“But why would the NYPD want to take pressure off a cop killer?” Holly asked.
“Not the NYPD,” Lance offered. “The FBI.”
“Excuse me,” Holly said, “but this is way too sophisticated for my simple mind.”
“You have an excellent mind, Holly,” Lance said, “but not as devious as that of the collective guile of the Bureau.”
“Holly,” Stone said, “Grant has just told us that Trini’s use to the Bureau is important for only another couple of days.”
“Bingo!” Lance said.
“So they want Trini on the street long enough to complete whatever the FBI wants him to?”
“Bingo again!” Lance said. “And would you like to know what Trini is doing for the Bureau?”
“Yes, please,” Holly replied.
“Now I must remind you that you two are, each in your way, arms of the Agency, and as such, you may not reveal to anyone what I am about to tell you.”
Stone sighed.
“Specifically, you may not reveal it to Dino,” Lance said.
“Why not?” Holly asked.
Stone spoke up. “Because Dino is NYPD, and he would be outraged to learn that the Bureau is messing with the investigation into a cop killing for its own purposes, and he might intervene.”
“Exactly,” Lance said. “Are we all in the tent now?”
Stone and Holly nodded.
“Well,” Lance, said, looking around to make sure he was not being overheard in the crowded restaurant, “it seems that our Trini has somehow convinced the Bureau that there is a financial connection between his mob friends and a certain Middle Eastern terrorist fraternity, the name of which shall not escape my lips.”
Stone shook his head. “The Mafia financing a terrorist organization? Not possible.”
“Stone, you forget that the Mafia is a terrorist organization, in its small way, and that their sympathies become altered when there is money to be made.”
“No, Lance, the mob is-in its small way, as you put it-a bunch of patriotic guys who are very grateful for the opportunities the United States has given them to become rich-stealing, extorting, and killing.”