“Interested, Connor?”
“What's different besides nice? What's his talent?”
“An alert question, Connor.” Peck smiled approvingly.
“All I have in reply is rumor. Folklore has it that he's an al
most hypnotically persuasive man. It's been useful in calm
ing truculent patrons. One story has him convincing a
gun-toter that he was holding a live rat instead of a weapon.
Probably apocryphal. But by all accounts a remarkable man.
Possibly a troubled man.”
Harrigan waited while Peck did an isometric while walk
ing. Peck was given to dramatic pauses and Harrigan had learned to indulge him.
“Twilley placed a call last month to the suburban New York number I mentioned earlier. Mamaroneck, actually. Would you
like to hear the transcript, Connor? I know it by heart.”
Harrigan nodded.
” 'Doc?' Then a hesitant, ‘Is this . . . ?' ‘It's George.’
‘Please hang up at once.’ ‘I've had it, Doc. Four years. I want
to use it.’ Til contact you.’ ‘Soon, Doc.' Click. Click.”
“That's it?”
“That's rather a lot,” Peck countered. “Right there you
have your probable conspiracy. We don't know what the 'it'
is that Twilley wants to use, but I'm inclined to guess it has
something to do with his talent.”
“Wha
t about 'Doc' ? Who's he?”
“The phone is unlisted. But it belongs to a Dr. Marcus
Sonnenberg of Mamaroneck, New York.”
Harrigan glanced curiously at Peck. Peck's eyes had done
something when he said that name. A switch opened in his brain and that impression was filed there. He stopped at a stone bench and began thoughtfully adjusting his laces.
”A medical doctor?” he asked.
”I don't know.” Another distant look. A spark of col
oration. “If he is, he doesn't practice. IRS says he's an in
ventor. Quite successful. Lives well and under extremely
tight personal security, which may or may not relate to the
fact that his business involves security devices. I've taken a
look at the home myself and I now have it under daytime
surveillance. Michael
Biaggi's up there. You know him,
Connor?”
“Young, bright, ambitious. Yeah, I know him. He get any
thing?”
“On Sonnenberg, nothing. It's apparently quite difficult
to
get close to the house or to spend much time in the vicin
ity without being questioned by the police. However
…”
Another dramatic pause. Harrigan sighed and looked at his watch, but the sarcasm did nothing to quicken Peck's deliv
ery. “However
...
the mysterious Dr. Sonnenberg has a house
guest. On two occasions, that house guest has slipped from
the house and made his way to a public phone a quarter-mile
away. He makes his call and returns immediately. The man
leaves the Sonnenberg home at no other time and for no
other reason.” Peck paused and waited.
“So?”
“So, doesn't that suggest anything to you?”
“Hey.” Harrigan threw up his hands. “What am I, your
straight man? The guy walks to a phone because he doesn't want to call from the house. He doesn't call from the house because the call is private. That would end that except you
got more, don't you. Biaggi would have taken the guy's pic
ture during the first phone call. Or he'd lift the guy's prints
off the receiver, in which case you'd have a positive ID
within twenty-four hours. You know who the guy is but
you're taking your time telling me. You're doing that be
cause you want to get me interested. You want me interested
because you're going to ask me to do something illegal, un
official, or at least outside your jurisdiction. Then I'm going
to ask you ‘Why should I?’ and you're going to say Trust
me.’ I'm go
i
ng to say ‘In a pig's ass,' and then you're going to lay a lot of shit on me about how I'm the only person in
the Fed who you can trust to do this right because I operate as a free safety and don't have to play politics. You might even wave the flag. But what it's going to come down to is,
you want to be the only guy in Treasury who knows what's going on. You want that so much, you're going to make al
most any deal I ask for. How'm I doing?”
”A shocking display of cynicism.”
“Duncan . . .”
Peck raised a silencing hand until two runners, both
women in their late twenties, passed by. One stopped, bend
ing over to pull up a sweatsock, then continued on without glancing at the two men.
“The house guest's name is Jared Baker.” Peck dropped
his voice by several shades. “An unremarkable man, at least
compared to Berner and Coffey. There are, however, at least
two key similarities. Mr. Baker committed an act of ex
traordinary brutality against a young man who caused the
death of his wife and crippled his daughter. It was the
daughter, incidentally, whom Baker left Sonnenberg's
house to call. In any case, Baker was arrested, bailed out by
none other than Benjamin Meister, and then fled upon the
murder of the young man's father, who was bent on
vengeance. Baker may or may not have done the deed. I
rather think not.”
“How come?”
“The killing of the father was too unlike the maiming of the son, although both were uncharacteristic of Baker. And the killing of the father, a judge named Bellafonte, had the
look of a frame. My hunch is that Meister, or Sonnenberg,
wanted Baker in a fugitive's role. If Baker was tried and im
prisoned, there seems to be some doubt that he'd have sur
vived his incarceration. The judge had considerable political
clout. There's also some vague connection with organized
crime in there somewhere, as if Baker didn't have enough
reason to run already.”
Harrigan made a face. “Bellafonte!” he repeated. “Every
dago with an uncle claims some connection with organized
crime. Most of it's bullshit. What's the second similarity?”
“That he vanished, obviously,” Peck answered. “Just as
Berner, Coffey, and Lord knows who else vanished. And that
all three are connected with the mysterious Dr. Sonnenberg.
At the moment, by the way, only you and I know that.”
“What about Biaggi and whoever identified Baker's pic
ture?”
“Biaggi knows little or nothing about Baker. Identifica
tion does, obviously, but they don't connect him with Son
nenberg.”
“One last question. Why don't you just feed all this to the
FBI?”
“Because the FBI, assuming they don't muck the whole
thing up, will only want to know what Sonnenberg is doing
and why, and whether he's violated any federal law. Clearly, he's part of a conspiracy, but conspiracy is difficult to prove.
They might get him on three counts of abetting a fugi
tive
...
if
l
were to tell them about the Berner and Coffey
connections, but even that is hard to prove. Their investiga
tion would accomplish little more than driving Sonnenberg underground. I want to know more than what he's doing,
Connor. Even more than why. I want to know how he's
doing it.”
Connor Harrigan's mind seemed to have wandered. His head had turned toward the Jefferson Memorial. Peck fol
lowed his eyes. Harrigan, Peck saw, was looking not at
Thomas Jefferson but at the distant swaying rumps of the two women who had passed them. Duncan Peck reddened.
“This is important, Connor.”
Harrigan raised one finger, smiled, and walked a few feet closer to the receding women as if for a better look. With his
back to Duncan Peck and without moving his head, he
looked down at the spot where the one runner had paused. He saw it. A button microphone lying low in the grass. Har
rigan turned and retraced his steps back to the irritated Dun
can Peck.
“Let's walk again. I'm beginning to feel healthy.”
“Connor—”
“Where were we?” Harrigan interrupted, guiding Peck
away from the microphone. “Oh, yeah. You're saying that you want to go to school on this Sonnenberg guy. I thought your people were already the best around at burying peo
ple.”
“Connor, have you been listening at all carefully?”
“Yeah,” Harrigan answered quietly. “I'll even summarize
it for you.” He walked with Peck for a few more yards as if
gathering his thoughts. “Try this on. Berner goes down and
Hershey comes up. But as a different person. Professional gook-shooter becomes Mr. Nice Guy and bookworm.
“Coffey goes down and Twilley comes up. Angry black activist becomes friendly saloonkeeper beloved by honky
rednecks, maybe even makes like the Shadow and clouds men's minds.
”
“Now Baker goes down and you want to see what comes
up. But you already know that Baker has done something
entirely uncharacteristic. And you tell me what you want to
know is how. Not why, as in
I’
m a responsible federal offi
cial and I want to know if a law's being broken,’ but how. And you want to know so badly that you're willing to risk
an obstruction of justice rap for not blowing the whistle on Baker and those other guys.
“Here's what you didn't say. You want to know how so
maybe you can do it yourself. But not just to hide people,
because your job is bigger than that, isn't it, Duncan? You don't just hide people. You train people. You want to see if
you can put people in the field who can do head tricks like
turning guns into rats or becoming legitimate experts in ar
chaeology overnight.
“Next comes this Relocation Section that no one's sup
posed to know about. If it exists, which it does, it's expen
sive as hell. But it's not funded out of Treasury's budget, is
it? Treasury has to account for what it spends. Which means
you're funded by someone who doesn't have to account to
the GAO. Which probably means the CIA, because you've been working with them anyway on most of the people you stash. If it is the CIA, you figure they'll pay up the ass if you
can train spooks who can go into the field doing what Berner
and Coffey can do.”
Peck walked in silence for another hundred feet. “Harri
gan,” he said at last, “you did well not to seek a career in the
diplomatic service.”
“No disrespect, Duncan. I wanted you to know I'm not
stupid.”
“You've been showing me that for years. You're certainly not a stupid man.”
“Neither are you, Duncan,” he responded. “Neither are
you.”
”I detect a certain pregnancy in that compliment.”
“You told me what I had to know.” Harrigan looked di
rectly into Duncan Peck's eyes. “You didn't tell me all of it.
I want you to know I know that.”
“Meaning?”
“I'll play straight with you until or unless I find out that you're suckering me. From then on, it's hardball.”
Duncan Peck stared back, appraising Harrigan. His eyes
didn't waver.
“What I hoped for, Connor,” he said at last, “was your
friendship, your trust, and your loyalty. Perhaps we should
drop the matter here.”
Harrigan appeared to be considering it. Backing off. But
it was more that he was considering how great a distance
to keep between himself and Duncan Peck. He knew that
Peck trusted him. Respected him, anyway. But only for
what he could do. The friendship and loyalty part was al
most true. Peck liked him. Peck would like him even while
he was pulling the trigger if he happened to open the
wrong door somewhere. Like finding out what's really be
tween him and Sonnenberg. There was something. It was
on his face.
On the other hand, maybe life's too short for this kind of
shit. What do you think, Connor? Do you go have a beer
and forget it? If you do, do you then hope that nobody fig
ures you're already smarter than they can afford? Yeah,
though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, he
thought, remembering some career advice he'd heard years
before, I shall fear no evil
...
as long as I know where the
bodies are buried. And as long as I know who's listening in the grass.