Алистер Маклин - Dead Halt

Whitlock opened the door and entered Navarro’s spacious office. Navarro looked up sharply from behind his desk and was about to challenge Whitlock when Grecco entered the room behind him.

The receptionist hovered anxiously in the doorway. “I’m sorry, Mr. Navarro, I did try to stop them.”

“It’s OK, Marsha. I’ll deal with this.”

She nodded nervously and closed the door behind her.

“This is Special Agent Whitlock, he’s come down all the way from our Washington office just to see you,” Grecco said to Navarro, indicating Whitlock behind him.

Whitlock held up the false DEA warrant card he’d been issued earlier that morning. Varese, who had been sitting on the sofa, got to his feet and took the card from Whitlock. He studied it carefully then nodded to Navarro before handing it back to Whitlock.

“I’m getting very tired of this continual DEA harassment, Grecco. Your people tail me wherever I go. My house is under constant surveillance. Not to mention the fact that I’ve been hauled in for questioning five times in this last year alone and on each occasion I’ve been released without charge. Doesn’t that say something to you?”

“Yeah, that maybe we’ve been concentrating on the wrong man.” Grecco turned to Varese. “I know you’re carrying, Tony. I want you to take your piece out very slowly and toss it onto the floor in front of me. And I wouldn’t do anything stupid. Special Agent Whitlock’s never been known to miss from that range.”

Varese’s eyes flickered to the automatic in Whitlock’s hand but he made no move to comply with Grecco’s instructions.

“Do you want, me to come over there and take it from you, Tony?” Grecco said icily.

“Why don’t you try it, Grecco?” Varese hissed, balling his fists at his sides.

“Just do as he says!” Navarro snapped at Varese.

Varese glared at Navarro then took the Heckler & Koch P9S from his shoulder holster and tossed it onto the floor in front of Grecco.

Grecco looped his pen through the trigger guard and slipped it into a plastic evidence bag he’d produced from his pocket. “I assume this is the same Heckler & Koch you used to kill Judd Miller and Ray Tillman?”

“What are you talking about?” Varese asked contemptuously.

“Are you denying that you were at the Paramus Flying School yesterday afternoon?”

“I’ve never even heard of the Paramus Flying School,” Varese retorted disdainfully. “I was here all afternoon. Mr. Navarro can verify that.”

“Can you?” Grecco asked Navarro.

There was something in Grecco’s voice that unsettled Navarro. Confidence? He wasn’t sure but he decided to play it safe. “You seem very sure of yourself, Grecco. What have you got on Tony?”

“Judd Miller, the owner of the Paramus Flying School, recently installed video surveillance equipment on the premises in an attempt to catch the vandals who’d twice broken into the hangar in the last month and tampered with his planes,” Grecco told him. “Tillman’s murder was captured on film. If you want, I can even tell you to the second when Varese actually pulled the trigger.”

Whitlock opened his attaché case and tossed a brown envelope onto Navarro’s desk. “Those are just a few of the stills which have been lifted from the film. Each one identifies Varese as the killer.”

Navarro removed the photographs from the envelope. He only needed to look at the first one. It showed Varese standing over Tillman, the Heckler & Koch raised to fire. That alone would put him away for twenty years. “I’m calling my lawyer.”

“Tell him to meet you both down at DEA headquarters,” Grecco replied.

Suddenly Varese rushed at Whitlock, knocking him aside as he ran to the door. Swiftly unclipping his two-way radio from his belt, Grecco warned his men in the corridor that Varese was headed their way. Varese’s attempt to escape was hopeless: they grabbed him the moment he appeared and wrestled him to the floor. Snapping a pair of handcuffs around his wrists, they led him back into Navarro’s office.

Navarro had spoken to the family’s senior lawyer, Edward Brasco; now he looked across at Varese who was slumped dejectedly on the sofa, a trickle of blood running down the side of his chin. “Brasco’s on his way over to DEA headquarters. Don’t say anything until he’s briefed you.”

“You’ve made your call, Navarro. Now on your feet.” Grecco nodded to one of his men. “Cuff him, read him his rights, then get him out of here.”

“And what are the charges against me?” Navarro demanded as he was handcuffed.

“Accessory to murder and conspiracy to import and sell illegal drugs in this country,” Grecco told him.

“What the hell have drugs got to do with any of this?” Navarro demanded.

“Senator Scoby left a detailed outline of the deal he’d made with the Colombians, as well as the one he intended to make with you on his return to New York today. That, in itself, might not have stood up in court. But by having Tillman killed, you’ve admitted your guilt. Unless, of course, you intend to deny that you had anything to do with his murder and let Varese take the rap by himself. Do you?”

Navarro knew what Grecco was trying to do. He turned to Varese. “Tony, now listen to me. Grecco’s going to try and offer you immunity from prosecution in return for testifying against me. Sure, it’s going to sound good. You won’t serve time. You and your family will be given a new identity. A new life. Don’t believe him. They won’t keep their word. They never do. They’ll use you then throw you to the wolves once they’ve got what they want. Don’t be tempted. Talk to Brasco. You know he’ll see you right. Promise me you won’t say anything until you’ve spoken to Brasco, Tony. Promise me.”

There was uncertainty in Varese’s eyes. He looked down at the carpet.

“Tony, look at me! Tony!”

“Take him away,” Grecco said disdainfully.

Two of Grecco’s men led Navarro from the room. Whitlock closed the door behind them.

“You’re facing a murder rap, Tony,” Grecco said, sitting next to Varese. “That’s life. You’d be lucky to be out in twenty years. More like twenty-five. Navarro knows that. Why do you think he didn’t speak up for you when he was here? Twice I put him on the spot and twice he weaseled his way out of giving me a straight answer. Why? Because he knows he can wriggle his way out of this by claiming he knew nothing of Tillman’s murder. And it’s his word against yours. Brasco’s brief will be to get him off. You’re of secondary importance to the family. The family need him. They don’t need you. Trigger men can easily be replaced. But Navarro’s the brains behind the New York operation. He’s being groomed to take over from Carmine Germino one day. Do you honestly think Germino would risk losing his best lieutenant for the next twenty years just because of you?”

“I can’t cop on Martin,” Varese said without taking his eyes off the carpet.

“Can’t, or won’t?” Whitlock asked.

Varese remained silent.

“I hear you’ve just become a father, Tony,” Grecco said. “How old’s your daughter now? A month? Two months? When you go down you’ll miss the chance of watching her growing up. Those are the best years of your life. I know. I’ve got a son of my own. Could you live with yourself knowing you’d missed her first step? Or her first word? Or with the fact that you’d only get to see her when your wife brought her on visits to the prison at weekends? And who’s to say she’d still come to visit you when she gets older and finds out that you’re serving life for murder? You’ve got to make a choice here, Tony. Which family’s more important to you? Your wife and daughter or the Mafia?”