The Corsican (57 page)

Peter leaned forward. “Spare me the rationalizations. I'm aware of how you finance your operations. My family helped you set it up years ago.”

Brody leaned back and raised his eyebrows.
“Your
family?”

Peter imitated Brody and leaned back as well, steepling his fingers in front of him. “If you decided to betray me, Francesco would have told you anyway. My grandfather is Buonaparte Sartene. I'm sure you know the part he played, years ago, to help you arrange all this. And it should also tell you why I want Francesco.”

Brody inclined his head to one side and stuck out his lower lip. “It does, and I'm impressed. You're well hung, captain.”

Peter looked at him with contempt. He found sexual metaphors the greatest of banalities.

“So I give you Francesco, and you give me the evidence. Right?”

Peter smiled and shook his head. “You give me Francesco, where and when I say, and Peter Bently disappears. The evidence disappears too, just to make sure you don't change your mind someday and decide the Sartene family needs to be punished.”

“Not much of a deal. Francesco is valuable to us.”

“I assume your reputation and the reputation of your government is also valuable.”

Brody sucked loudly on his teeth. “I suppose Francesco can be replaced. But I'll have to talk to some people about it. Where can I reach you?”

Peter stood. “You can't. I'll reach you. Please arrange it so Peter Bently is on an indefinite leave of absence. When I contact you, let's say in two days, I'll expect you to be ready to deliver Francesco within forty-eight hours, at a location of your choosing, close to the Lao border. I'll want no more than one guard with him.”

They were gathered in a large conference room in the sprawling, modern U.S. embassy. Robert Brody sat at one end of the conference table and looked over the six other men. Two colonels, three generals and a diplomat, he thought. Between them, they were certain to screw the whole thing up.

At the other end of the conference table, Chargé d'Affaires Morton Christopher tapped a pencil against the legal pad laid out before him. “Gentlemen, let's get down to details, please,” he said. He had a lean, almost emaciated face, thinning hair, and a long pointed nose. Except for his well-tailored suit, he closely resembled drawings of Ichabod Crane.

He looked down the table, waiting for the others to stop talking. Colonels Wallace and Warren sat next to each other, both uncomfortable, both keeping close watch on the three generals across from them. Major General Walter Mallory and Brigadier James Wainscott were irate. The only calm person among the military was ARVN General Binh Da Lat. He was smiling, inexplicably, his round, moonlike face appearing unperturbed by the matter that had brought them together. Christopher let his eyes come to rest on Brody. Calm and immovable as always, he thought.

“Gentlemen, please,” Christopher repeated, finally getting the attention of the others. “We have a difficult problem here, and we want it resolved quickly. Mr. Brody has been asked to handle whatever arrangements might become necessary. I am not going to involve myself directly in that. I'm going to leave it to you people.” Christopher hesitated, taking time to look at each of the men at the table. “If this matter reaches the ears of the ambassador, the whole ballgame changes. I trust you'll see that it doesn't. Everything we've been trying to achieve in this country is at stake now. All of it, just because each of you was a bit too greedy and a bit too careless. Now you can either correct it, or you can go down the tube with it. Frankly, I don't give a damn.”

Christopher stood, picked up his legal pad and loped quietly from the room, his tall, lank body looking like a reed that had withstood too much wind.

When the door closed behind him, Mallory slapped the table with the palm of one hand. “Who does that little bastard think he is, talking to us that way?”

“That ‘little bastard' was just here to lay down the ground rules, the bottom line. He's the man who's giving us the chance to clean up our own mess.” Brody said. “If he wasn't we'd all be busy making reservations at Leavenworth. So why don't we all just quiet down, general, and concentrate on business.”

“Well, he doesn't have to talk to us that way,” Wainscott said. “It's not like he never knew a little money was being made from time to time. Most of it goes to finance intelligence work. He doesn't have to be so damned pure about the whole thing. Christ, you CIA boys have been dealing in dope for years.”

Brody let out a deep breath. “General, if you want to sit here and huff and puff about proper etiquette toward the military, you go right ahead. And by the time we get around to resolving this thing Bently will have made good his threat, and our friend Morris will have it all in print.”

Wainscott twisted angrily in his chair, then glared across the table at Wallace. “This is your damned fault,” he snapped, jabbing a finger in the air. He turned his attention to Warren. “And ours, colonel. If you had kept your damned shop secure, we wouldn't be facing this crap.” He stared back at Wallace. “And if you knew what the hell your people were up to, instead of letting them run around like a bunch of whores at a Boy Scout rally, we wouldn't be sitting here now.”

Brody rapped his knuckles on the table, his face pained. “Okay, if we're through browbeating subordinates, let's stop fucking around and get down to the hard facts of life.”

Wainscott fixed him with what was supposed to be a withering stare, unhappy with Brody's choice of words. Brody returned it unbothered, then continued.

He opened a folder in front of him, taking out photographs, tape cassettes and a long typewritten report. He lifted a handful of the material, then let it fall back into the folder.

“You've all seen this, so there's no sense going through it all again. Suffice to say it's painfully thorough. Right down to the name of the funeral home in Brooklyn that could be linked to some unsavory characters without too much effort.”

“Sonofabitch,” Mallory growled. “Where the hell do junior officers get off investigating senior staff?”

“I assure you it wasn't authorized,” Wallace said, immediately regretting it when faced with Mallory's eyes.

“Look, none of that crap is relevant. And we know that Bently was never what he appeared to be. Let's just stick with what he's demanding, and what the hell we can do about it.” Brody turned his attention to General Lat. “Your men, general. The major and the two sergeants.”

Lat turned to face Brody. His eyes were naturally hooded, offering little more than slits from his moon-shaped face. He smiled and nodded. “Unfortunately, the major and the two sergeants were killed in battle three days ago,” he said.

A dull silence ensued. Right after you learned about the photographs, Brody thought. “I'm sorry to hear that, general,” he said. “But it does eliminate your side of the problem.” He paused again, tapping a pencil on the table. “I think if you'll bear with us, we might find an equally satisfactory solution.” He glanced at the others, then continued. “First, Mr. Morris.”

Brody stood, walked behind his chair and placed his hands on the back, using it like a lectern. “Bently tells us he hasn't given Morris the material …” He paused, emphasizing the final word: “…
yet.”
He looked at each man before continuing. “But Mr. Morris has been in on this from the start. Even before Bently got involved. We have no way of knowing how much information he already has, or how close he is to developing it to the point of a story.” Brody gave a helpless shrug. “That being the case, I don't think we have much choice. Even a speculative article would bring our operation to an indefinite halt. And we can't afford that.”

“So we neutralize Morris,” Wainscott said.

Brody smiled at the polite terminology. “Yes, general. We murder him.” He smiled at the general's hardened expression. “But first we'll question him. He may know where Bently has stashed the originals, and I think our Mr. Canterina will be able to persuade him to tell us if he does.”

“But he dies, regardless,” Wallace said.

“Definitely,” Brody said. He looked down at Wallace. “And I'm afraid you're going to have to help us with that, Ben.” He watched Wallace twist in his chair. “Morris has probably been warned not to trust just anyone,” Brody continued. “But I'm sure he's eager as hell to get what Bently has, and I think he'll gamble on trusting Bently's commanding officer in order to get it. Even Bently doesn't know you're involved. You'll have to contact Morris and explain that Bently wants you to bring him to a meeting to get the material.” He shrugged helplessly again. “He'll just meet Canterina instead.”

Brody watched Wallace's discomfort, pleased that he had more discomfort to offer him. “But there's a bit more, Ben. When Francesco finishes, you'll have to take Morris' body to the place Bently expects to find Canterina.”

“What the hell for?” Wallace objected.

Brody held up his hand. “There are very good reasons, Ben.”

“Why not let your boy, Canterina, take his body there?” Wallace's voice was insistent.

“Let's just say Canterina has a fetish about Bently,” Brody said. “He won't go within a mile of any place Bently might be.”

“But I'm supposed to?” Wallace snapped.

“You'll be in and out before Bently gets there, and I plan to have the area well covered by General Lat's people.” Brody looked at the ARVN general and received a confirming smile.

“I still don't understand,” Wallace said.

“It's very simple, Ben. Morris dies in any event. Bently too, if Morris can tell us where the material is and we can get our hands on it.” He paused to smile. “Now, you told me that Bently's previous job involved locating VC supply routes inside Laos. The meeting will be near the Lao border, at Bently's request. I'm sure he wants it that way so he has an easy escape route back to his grandfather's people. But it works for us too. When Morris' body is found, we'll say Bently took him to the border to give him a story on these VC supply routes. That scenario will involve an unfortunate run-in with the VC, and subsequent torture and execution.” Brody hesitated again. “We'll make it particularly gruesome so we get some good anti-VC press out of it from Morris' outraged buddies.”

Heads nodded approvingly around the conference table. “Now, if Morris talks, and we locate the material, then that's it for Bently. But I doubt that will be the case.”

“Why?” General Mallory demanded.

“Because I think Bently probably has the material stashed with his grandfather's people and hasn't told Morris where. If that's the case, we'll grab Bently and question him.”

“Good,” Mallory snapped. “I'd personally like to wire his balls to a field telephone.”

“Bently won't be easy to take,” Wallace interrupted. “He'll fight, and Lat's people might have to kill him. Then we're up shit's creek and whoever has the material turns it over to the press.”

“Bently won't have time to fight,” Brody said. “We'll have a specialist there who'll take him out with a tranquilizer gun. No fuss at all.”

Wainscott tapped his fingers on the table, for attention. “And what if the material is with Sartene? We'd need a damned army to go in and take it away from that old greaseball. And we can't do that in Laos.”

Brody shook his head. “We sure can't,” he said. “But I think Buonaparte Sartene will bring us the material, if he has it. If he doesn't, or if Bently won't talk, we'll offer that old Corsican a choice. Find the material and deliver it, or you don't get your little boy back.”

Wainscott nodded approval. “So we go Bently one better. He holds the material over our heads to get Canterina. We use the same material as the price to save his ass.”

“That's basically it,” Brody said.

“Two problems,” Wallace interjected.

Brody watched everyone's attention rivet on the man. “What's that, Ben?” he asked.

“First, if Sartene deals for his grandson, how do we explain Bently's missing body when Morris is found?”

“Easy,” Brody answered. “The VC took him for interrogation. We'll leave some of Bently's personal property behind, and a little sample blood. Nobody will question it.” He continued to stare down at Wallace. “You said two things, Ben.”

Wallace nodded. “Why not just give him this guy Canterina? It would be a helluva lot simpler.”

“It would, indeed, and normally I'd do just that. It would take time to find a replacement, but it could be done.”

“Then why not?” Wallace asked.

“Bently's ground rules are too rigid for the people upstairs. He wants Canterina, and he wants to keep the material for his future protection.” He inclined his head from side to side. “It's the right way to do it. It's the way I'd do it, if I were in his shoes. Unfortunately, the people above us don't want to live with the idea of the Sartene family having that kind of leverage.”

Brody let the idea sink in, then turned back to Wallace. “You think you can pull off your end?”

“I don't see why not,” Wallace said. “I do think it would be a good idea if the generals and Colonel Warren took some leave time and got out of town until it's over. If anything does go wrong, the more people away from it the better.”

“Good point,” Brody said. He turned to Mallory and Wainscott. “You gentlemen have any problem with the idea of some R&R in Seoul?” He watched as the generals slowly shook their heads, thinking to himself that they might as well keep going if this little plan didn't work.

Brody turned to Warren. “A vacation's a good idea for you too, colonel. We can put out the same story.”

“I'll be glad to get out of here,” Warren said. “I've even been giving some serious thought lately to a civilian medical career.”