He was a big man but no fighter, carrying his weight on his heels rather than on the balls of his feet. When Stone cold-cocked him with the .45 at the top of the stairs he fell straight down, and groaned but didn’t resist when Stone rifled his pockets. Stone found a keyring, unlocked the door to the apartment, dragged the semiconscious man inside, and bound his wrists with his belt and gagged him with his garish tie.
There was no one in the living room or the small modern kitchen, but when Stone stepped into the bedroom a woman sat up in the big round bed. He showed her the .45, touched a finger to his lips; she shrugged, dead-eyed and unimpressed, not bothering to hide her spectacular white breasts. A little dog, some kind of poodle, jumped off the bed and ran up to him and began to yap.
‘Better call off your dog before I shoot it,’ Stone said.
The woman shook black curls from her face. ‘It’s Freddy’s dog, mister, it doesn’t answer to me.’
‘Where is Freddy?’
‘In the bathroom,’ the woman said. ‘You going to shoot him?’
‘I hope not.’ Stone caught the poodle by the scruff of its neck and tossed it to her. ‘Stay right there and keep hold of this.’
The woman cradled the poodle to her breasts. ‘If you fire that big weapon of yours, I’m out of here like shit off a shovel.’
The bathroom was almost as big as the bedroom, black marble and stainless steel, big mirrors, a corner tub big enough for two, someone moving in clouds of steam behind the frosted glass of the shower stall.
Stone turned on the bath’s faucet, full blast; the man in the shower howled. ‘What the fuck are you playing at, Patti?’
‘Come out just as you are, Freddy,’ Stone said.
Freddy Layne inched back the sliding door of the shower. He’d put on a lot of weight since Stone had last seen him. Long white hair hung in rat-tails around the scarred moon of his face. He smiled at Stone and said, ‘Adam, whatever brings you here? I heard you retired.’
Stone locked Freddy’s girlfriend in the bathroom. Freddy sat on the edge of the bed with a towel around his ample waist, calm as Buddha, cradling his poodle in his lap. He’d pulled his hair into a ponytail and fastened a black patch over the eye blinded when he’d been tortured at Buzzard’s Point. Stone scraped clothes from a wicker chair and sat down, asked if the room was clean.
‘I sweep it every day, you don’t have to worry about anyone listening in. I have a lunch appointment, Adam, so let’s not waste time pretending this is a social visit, playing catch up, all that. Why don’t you get straight to it?’
‘Tom Waverly is dead.’
‘I know. And it’s a damn shame.’
Stone decided to try a tiny bluff. ‘Why I’m here, the locals told me that you saw Tom recently.’
‘He may have stopped by now and then.’
‘You knew he was listed as missing in action three years ago.’
‘Of course I knew. Tom thought it was a tremendous joke. There’s no need to question me at gunpoint, by the way. I’m always happy to help out an old comrade, and if I may be frank, it’s rather insulting.’
Stone laid the .45 in his lap. ‘Why didn’t you tell the Company that Tom was alive? Or at least let his daughter know.’
‘You always were a self-righteous little prick, Adam. No offence.’
‘None taken.’
‘Tom and me were buddies in the good old bad old days. Comrades-in-arms. You really think I’d give up my buddy after he decided to go to ground? Shame on you. Besides, we were business partners.’
‘What kind of business?’
Freddy’s smile creased the scar that ran down his left cheek from under the eyepatch.
‘Perhaps you recall that after the revolution, after the state apparatus was dismantled, people were given ownership of their homes.’
‘Sure. Everything was made public property. People got to own their homes, workers their companies. I believe there were even shares in the armed forces.’
The poodle wriggled in Freddy’s grip and he chucked it under its jaw. ‘They were very idealistic here, after the revolution. The problem was, most people didn’t understand concepts like property ownership, investment, or share dividends. What they
did
understand was the value of hard cash in their hands. Some of the so-called gangsters got rich by buying up shares at ten cents on the dollar.’
‘I heard about that.’
‘The people got cash on the nail for their shares; the businessmen got to control the companies. That’s how your friend Walter Lipscombe made his fortune. That, and selling off the Metropolitan Museum of Art piece by piece.’
‘And you and Tom?’
‘Tom came to me three years ago right after his so-called disappearance, and said that he needed a frontman for a business venture, a little company that buys apartments and rents them right back to the people who sell them. It’s a nice little arrangement. We get title to the apartments, and the people who sell them get to stay in their homes as long as they pay the rent, plus they get a nice wedge of cash. They can buy nice stuff to furnish their apartments, maybe put it into a business . . . It frees up equity, helps keep the economy rolling along, and no one gets hurt.’
‘I guess no one gets hurt unless they can’t keep up with the rent. I hear there are a lot of homeless people these days.’
Freddy’s shrug jiggled his considerable belly. ‘No one can legislate against human foolishness, Adam, nor should they try. If people want to behave like children and blow their money on luxury goods or drink or drugs, if they prefer instant gratification to planning for the future, they have no one to blame but themselves. It’s a perfectly legal business, and we don’t coerce anyone into selling to us. Frankly, we don’t need to.’
‘No, all you have to do is wave a bunch of cash in front of people who’ve never had any, and let nature take its course. Was it your idea, or Tom’s?’
‘Tom needed money and found a way of making some. I was happy to help out.’
‘What did Tom need the money for?’
‘I didn’t ask. Old habits of self-preservation and all that. And as far as I was concerned, he was the ideal sleeping partner. He had the connections I needed, I did the work, and whenever he asked for cash, I gave it to him from the account I kept for him, no questions asked. If you want to know what Tom did with the money, though, you’re asking the wrong person.’
Stone found it hard to believe that Freddy hadn’t made any attempt to find out about his sleeping partner’s activities. He said, ‘You know he killed someone here, a few days ago.’
‘So I heard. Some scientist out at Livermore. I was as surprised as I bet she was, if she had time to be surprised before the bomb took off her head. Do you happen to know why he killed her?’
‘Did Tom ever mention that he was involved in Operation GYPSY?’
Freddy’s face gave nothing away. ‘As far as I know, he quit the Company right after SWIFT SWORD. Just like you did.’
‘If you know anything about GYPSY, if you know anything at all about what he’s been doing for the past three years, I’d appreciate it if you told me.’
‘Or what, you’ll shoot me?’
Freddy sat calmly in his towel, eyepatch and ponytail, tickling his poodle’s ear.
‘I won’t shoot you,’ Stone said, and pulled out the gizmo he had taken from Carol Dvorak. He held it up and pressed the button that made sparks snap between its prongs. ‘But I will hurt your fucking dog.’
‘You leave Billy out of this.’
Stone snapped off another spark. ‘Don’t make me do this, Freddy. I like dogs as much as you.’
The poodle yelped and wriggled when Freddy clutched it tight. ‘I already told you. Tom and I were in business together. If he had anything else going on, this GYPSY, anything, he didn’t tell me about it.’
‘What about the woman he killed?’
‘I didn’t know anything about that, either, until the local COILE chief dragged me in.’
‘Saul Stein?’
‘He held me incommunicado for twenty-four hours, the prick, wouldn’t let me phone my lawyers or the people I pay to protect me. He wouldn’t even let me find out how my little Billy-boy was doing,’ Freddy said, and blew into the dog’s ear until it began to wriggle with delight.
‘What did Stein want to know?’
‘He was asking the same kind of questions as you. He said Tom had killed this woman, showed me crime scene photos. He said he knew I’d helped Tom. Said he’d give me a good deal if I gave Tom up.’
‘And you told him what?’
‘I told him zip. He threatened to put me to hot questioning; I said I’d already been tortured by the best and never said a word, but he was welcome to give it a try. He held me for twenty-four hours, my lawyer got me out, and as far as I was concerned that was that. And then a couple of Stein’s people rousted me late last night, walked right into this place without so much as a please or thank-you, and told me Tom was dead, watched me to see if I’d blink. Told me they were making connections, told me that they’d be back. I wished them the best of luck. Poor Tom. How did he die? Stein’s people didn’t have the good manners to tell me.’
‘He got into a situation, and he shot himself,’ Stone said, and sketched out the details.
‘Poor crazy Tom.’
‘Crazy,’ Stone said. ‘Is that how he seemed to you, the last time you saw him?’
‘No more than usual.’ Freddy stroked his poodle and said, ‘Poor Tom. He always was a wild one. Wasn’t he, Billy-boy?’
‘When did you last see him, Freddy? Don’t tell me what you told Stein. Tell me the truth. It can’t hurt you, and it definitely can’t hurt Tom.’
‘It was before the hit. He told me he needed to fly out to the West Coast and back incognito, asked me to get him army ID and travel orders so he could hitch a ride on a military flight. I have a tame colonel who got too rough with one of my girls - he strangled her to death, if you want to know the plain truth - and had him help out.’
‘Did Tom tell you why he wanted to travel incognito?’
‘He said that he had some delicate business out there and didn’t need the hassle of airport security. I didn’t ask what kind of business it was, and that was the last time I saw him.’
‘What about his health?’
‘You said you were there, at the end. What do you think?’
‘He told me he was dying. He looked like he was, too.’
‘Did he tell you what he was dying from?’
‘I heard it was cancer. Was it?’
Freddy shrugged. ‘I’m going to miss the son of a bitch. About the last thing he said to me that he was going to change history.’
‘We’ve all changed history, Freddy. It’s what we did.’
‘We did it here, all right.’ Freddy paused, then said, ‘He was the best of us, Adam.’
‘I know.’
There was a moment of silence.
Freddy said, ‘Who are you working for, Adam? Really.’
‘I’m retired, Freddy, just like you. I was brought back to help find Tom. And that’s what I did, but he killed himself, right in front of me. I want to know why. So does his daughter.’
‘Linda’s in on this?’
‘If you help me, Freddy, you’ll be helping her too. She wants to clear her father’s name.’
Freddy smiled a little. ‘She’s what? Nineteen, now? Twenty?’
‘A little older.’
‘And you and her, you’re . . .’ Freddy wiggled a hand, winked his one good eye.
‘Don’t judge everyone by your standards, Freddy.’
‘Is she here?’
‘She’s watching the front door for me.’
‘So are a bunch of Company guys.’
‘Linda’s watching them too. I don’t have much time, Freddy. Why don’t you quit pussyfooting around? Tell me everything that happened the last time you saw Tom.’
‘He was in a bad way when he turned up. He looked like he was about to fall down flat on his face. When he took a drink with me he puked it right back up. And he was self-medicating, taking Dramamine tablets, proprietary antibiotics, painkillers . . . I persuaded him to get checked out by this doctor I know, a good man who takes care of my girls.’
‘And what did your doctor find?’
‘He said that Tom was suffering from sores and haematomas caused by capillary bleeding over just about every part of his body, including his eyes and mouth. He had some skin darkening, too, and his blood was in bad shape. The doctor couldn’t be certain, but he thought Tom was suffering from radiation sickness.’
‘What kind of radiation sickness?’
‘The lethal kind. The doctor told Tom he should be hospitalised, and Tom said, “Keep me going.” The doctor gave him some injectable steroids, but he told me afterward it wouldn’t do much good - Tom only had a few days left.’
‘Did your doctor have any idea about when Tom might have been exposed to radiation?’
‘He thought pretty recently. He said that most people either die of radiation sickness within two or three weeks, or they get better. Tom drew the short straw.’
‘Did you talk with Tom about this? Did he tell you how he’d been exposed to a lethal dose of radiation?’
Freddy shook his head. ‘I tried to talk to him, but you know Tom.’
‘Where did Tom stay when he passed through this sheaf?’
‘I don’t know. Different hotels.’
Freddy said it a little too quickly.
‘He was your business partner, but you didn’t have a contact address for him? Not even a phone number?’
‘Hey, be nice. I just told you all I know. What else do you want?’
The telephone on the bedside table rang.
Stone got a chill of premonition, thinking Carol Dvorak, thinking Saul Stein. He told Freddy Layne to answer it, but warned him that he should watch what he said.
‘I’m not going to rat you out,’ Freddy said. He shifted his grip on his dog, plucked the receiver from its cradle, listened for a moment, then said, ‘Don’t you worry about a thing, Linda. I’m an old friend of your father’s—’
Stone snatched the receiver from Freddy and said, ‘What’s the problem?’