Condemned (50 page)

“Nothing much happening,” Castoro said idly.

“Should we tell that to Becker?” said Santiago, smiling.

“Are you crazy? He'll talk for twenty minutes, telling us to stay off the radio.”

Santiago laughed.

A dark-haired, young woman was now pushing a baby carriage along the sidewalk past the benches. The compartment of the baby carriage was covered with a white, gauze fly netting. When the carriage was abreast of the vehicle, the woman stopped, bending to adjust the fly netting over the baby.

“Uri is a friend of mine,” the woman murmured from the side of her mouth as she adjusted the netting.

The Agents sat upright, looking at each other with surprise. “Uri is a friend of mine, too,” said Santiago, pushing the button to lower his window.

The woman took a baby's milk bottle from the interior of the carriage as she finished adjusting the fly netting. Without another word, she moved back behind the handle of the carriage and began to push it forward again. As the carriage moved away, the baby bottle fell from the woman's hand to the sidewalk. Apparently not noticing that she had dropped the bottle, the woman continued walking.

Santiago stared at the milk bottle on the ground. “You think?”

“Open the door and see,” said Castoro.

Santiago unlatched his door and pushed. As the door opened, it passed over the spot where the baby bottle lay. He picked up the bottle and shut his door again. Inside the bottle, as he held it up, was something white. But it wasn't milk, or liquid. It was a white powder.

Castoro bent forward to fish the radio out from under his seat. Staying bent out of sight, he said: “This is Bird Dog One. The lady with the baby carriage just made the drop. Repeat, the lady with the baby carriage made the drop. Do you see her?”

“We've got her,” said Becker tersely. “Bird Dog Two, stay on the baby carriage. One, maintain your position. No radio traffic.”

Castoro slid the radio out of sight and sat up. He took the baby bottle from Santiago, holding it up to the light, shaking it from side to side. The powder shifted one side to the other. “Imagine that! A woman with a baby, dirty shit in a baby bottle. What's the world coming to?”

In his side-view mirror, Santiago was watching the woman moving away from their car. “Nice touch,” he said, his eyes not leaving the mirror. “Wholesome, family values, no?”

“Pretty nice, cover that is. You figure she's got a kid in the carriage with her?”

“What am I, Superman, with x-ray vision?” said Santiago.

“I didn't hear any baby.”

“Maybe it was asleep. Or maybe it wasn't there. What's the difference?” said Santiago.

“Some people have no fucking conscience,” said Castoro. “Isn't anything sacred?”

“You're breaking my heart.”

A champagne-colored Lexus was being driven past where the red TransAm was parked, Russian music blasting out of its moon roof. A dark haired young woman, smoking a long, thin cigarette was behind the wheel of the Lexus. She stopped her car directly next to the TransAm, lowering her window.

“Excuse me,” she said, gesturing forward as she spoke, as if she were asking directions. “Someone you want to see is standing on the next corner. You should ask him directions.”

Santiago made a motion toward Brighton Beach Avenue. “What's he wearing?”

“A black tee-shirt. Thank you,” she said the last loudly as she drove the Lexus away quickly.

Castoro bent down to talk into the radio again. “Bird Dog One to Mother Hen. The Lexus, with a dark haired woman driving, just told us where our next pigeon is roosting.”

“Bird Dog Two, you got her?” said Supervisor Becker.

“Affirmative,” said another voice.

“Man in a black tee-shirt should be on the next corner,” said Castoro. “We're proceeding there now, out.”

Castoro slipped the TransAm in gear and moved the vehicle in the direction of the next corner. Santiago was scanning every person they passed as they drove slowly forward.

“There's a guy in a black tee-shirt standing at the corner,” Santiago said to Castoro.

“I've got him,” said Castoro.

At the corner, smoking a cigarette, was Sascha Ulanov in a pair of jeans and a black tee-shirt. As the TransAm approached, Sascha made eye-contact with the driver.

“Looks like our boy,” said Santiago.

“Appears that way,” said Castoro, driving slowly. A car behind the TransAm sounded an impatient horn. The light at the corner turned red. Castoro brought the car to a stop at the corner, lowering his window.

“Excuse me,” he said to Ulanov. “Which way is Brighton Beach Avenue?”

“You're going in the right direction,” said Ulanov, moving toward the TransAm. He gestured straight ahead. “You got something for me,” he said into the car.

“Right here,” said Santiago, handing an envelope containing ten thousand dollars in marked bills to Castoro.

“Keep it low,” said Ulanov

Castoro raised the envelope only to the bottom of the window opening.

Still bent forward, but looking and gesturing toward the elevated trains over Brighton Beach Avenue ahead, with one motion, Ulanov snared the envelope and stuffed it into the neck of his tee-shirt. He stood. The traffic light turned green. The car behind the TransAm sounded its horn angrily several times.

“Get the fuck out of here!” Santiago said urgently. “
Get the fuck out of here!”

Castoro glanced at Santiago, quickly stepping heavily on the gas at the same time. The wheels of the TransAm chirped the car forward. Santiago ducked down in his seat as they crossed Avenue Z. “What's up? What happened?”

Santiago leaned over and took the radio from beneath Castoro's seat. “Mother Hen, Bird Dog One. Come in” he said excitedly. Castoro was half watching the road, half watching Santiago.

“Mother Hen.”

“Our friend Tony Balls is walking toward the pigeon in the black tee-shirt.”

“You serious?”

Castoro looked in his rear-view mirror. He saw the tall, broad figure of Tony Balls nearing the corner of Avenue Z and Ocean Parkway. “I'll be damned.”

“God is good,” said Becker. “Good work, Bird Dog One. Continue moving away from the subject.”

“Roger.”

As he drove away, Castoro saw Tony Balls' reflection in the rear-view mirror stop near the man in the black tee-shirt, appearing to be asking directions.

Carlisle Barracks, PA : August 11, 1996 : Noon

Mulvehill sat at a small table in the Rec room in the barracks, reading a magazine devoted to guns, ammunition, and shooting. Geraghty sat with Hardie on the couch, watching a videotape of The Godfather, Part I. Geraghty had his feet up on the magazine-strewn coffee table; Castoro was on assignment today in Manhattan. Santiago was in the bathroom, brushing his teeth.

“I never get tired of watching this tape,” said Geraghty, stretching his arms above his head.

“I don't know how you can watch that bullshit,” said Mulvehill, standing, walking to a small refrigerator. “It glamorizes the
Goombas
, which sends the wrong message to the public. Makes them, the
Goombas
, seem like they really have things together, like they know what they're doing, when we know that they're really a bunch of assholes with a phony set of rules and regulations—which none of them pay any attention to nowadays, anyway.”

“It's only entertainment,” said Hardie, “like that Star Trek show you like. It's not real.”

Mulvehill glanced at Hardie. “Who the fuck asked you to join into this conversation?”

Hardie shrugged. “Just a friendly remark.”

“I think the guy has a valid point,” said Geraghty.

“Pound some salt up your ass.” Mulvehill said. He looked at his watch. “It's noon,” he announced loudly. “Time for a beer.” He stood and walked to the refrigerator. “Want one?” he said to Geraghty.

“One thing we always know around here is noon time,” Santiago called from the bathroom.

“You want one or not?” said Mulvehill.

Geraghty shrugged. “I don't want you to drink alone.” He rose and took a bottle of beer from Mulvehill. “Want one?” he said to Hardie. Red shook his head. “Want a beer?” he called to Santiago.

“Too early for me, noon or not.”

“You're going to brush your teeth down to nothing,” Mulvehill called out to Santiago.

“Cheaper than the dentist.”

“Last night I was freezing my ass off again,” said Mulvehill. “And while I'm tossing and turning, and I began thinking of Lou Castoro—which you got to admit is a pretty miserable thought to have—I was thinking about that son of a bitch at home last night, warm and toasty in a civilian house, and here we are, freezing our asses off on an army base, because the foreman asshole won't turn the heat on.”

“Coming from you, that's subversive, anti-government sentiment,” said Geraghty.

“I may be a company man on some things,” said Mulvehill, “but it's our asses that are freezing here. I called the Boss at home early this morning, while you guys were still asleep. I told him I thought it was time—”

“For the electric blankets?” called Santiago.

“What'd he say?” said Geraghty.

“He said, okay.” Geraghty and Santiago cheered. “First, he said, send Marty over to the Base Superintendent's Office one more time to find out if they're planning to put some heat in this joint.”

“It's a waste of fucking time. They're not about to turn the heat on,” said Geraghty.

“If they're not going to turn it on today, then, okay, we'll go this afternoon and buy some blankets—as long as you didn't change your mind about paying,” he said to Hardie.

“Didn't change my mind,” said Red.

“You really want me to go and check with the Base Superintendent about the heat?” said Geraghty. “You know he's not going to turn it on by tonight.”

“The Boss said you should go, so yeah, we've got to do it by the numbers. If nothing has changed—and I doubt it has—we'll go this afternoon. Enough of this stiff upper-lip shit. Take Santiago with you to the Office, so he gets to know the lay of the land.”

“You'll be here alone with—”

“He's not running anywhere,” Mulvehill said with a thin smile. “You're not running anywhere, are you?”

“You never know,” smiled Hardie.

As soon as Mulvehill finished his statement about buying the blankets, and directing both Geraghty and Santiago to go to the Base Superintendent's office, Red's mind began to race.
Why would he send both Geraghty and Santiago away?
he thought to himself,
leaving me alone with him? He wouldn't have done this on his own. Supervisor Becker must have instructed him on this. Jesus! This doesn't sound right.

“Bullshit. You're not running anywhere,” said Mulvehill. “Even
you
aren't that dumb.”

“You sure?” said Geraghty.

“Sure, I'm sure he's not dumb enough to try to escape.”

“No, about us going?”

“Yeah, sure. Piece of cake,” said Mulvehill. “Stop at the ‘PX', grab some beer.”

Geraghty rose from the couch, stretched, took a long pull on the neck of his beer, then took his leather windbreaker from a hook near the door. “C'mon,” he called to Santiago.

“I'll be right there,” Santiago called back.

“I'll wait in the car.”

“Pick up some cigars, too,” Mulvehill added.

“Can you pick up a bunch of candy, O'Henrys, Almond Joy, and those Jolly Rancher things?” Hardie asked. “Here's some dough.” He handed twenty dollars to Geraghty. “Buy the chief a couple of good cigars instead of those cheap ropes he smokes.” He handed Geraghty another ten.

“Get the really good cigars they've got there,” Mulvehill said. “
Te Amos.
”

“See you in a little.” Santiago said, grabbing his jacket and going out to the car.

Mulvehill sat on the couch, watching the twelve o'clock news on TV. “You know,” he said, taking the cellophane from a cigar. “I did a lot of thinking when I was freezing my ass off last night—” Hardie watched as Mulvehill lit his cigar, the flame leaping from the match with each draw of his breath. Mulvehill took the cigar out of his mouth to inspect the lit end. “Yeah, I figured, why fight nature? That's why I said to the Boss, what the hell would be so wrong with us having a couple of them electric blankets—especially, if Hardie is paying for them?” Mulvehill laughed.

Red said nothing. He was just listening, his eyes never leaving Mulvehill.

“Your offer still stands, right?”

“That's right.”

“Hey! You know what'd be a great idea. Let's you and me go to the mall now. We'll get the blankets and surprise the boys when they get back,” said Mulvehill. “That Base Super is never turning the heat on by tonight.”

“Just you and me?”

“Yeah, why not? We can go and come back. They'll be surprised as hell when they get back. The mall's only what—fifteen, twenty minutes away?

“You and me, alone in the woods?” Hardie said.

“I don't think you're going to jump me, are you?” He looked at Hardie with a confident air. “Besides, escaping won't exactly be an escape. You'll be as vulnerable to the drug scumbags who are looking for you as a turtle without a shell.”

“The only people looking for me are ones that you all encouraged by putting me in this God-forsaken place that you've got me in.”

“There was a contract on you. You heard what the A.U.S.A. told the Judge in court.”

“That was all a load of horse manure,” said Hardie. ‘Just an excuse for putting me in solitary to make me look like I'm a snitch.”

“Yeah, like the Government has been wasting all this time and effort protecting you because it's horseshit,” said Mulvehill.