Алистер Маклин - Dead Halt

Varese continued to stare at the carpet as the reality of his situation slowly began to sink in. He finally looked up at Grecco. “You’d protect me if I testified against the family?”

“You’d immediately be put on the Witness Protection Program. New identities. New lives. You’d be safe.”

“Would I serve time first?” Varese asked, the uncertainty still evident in his voice.

“That would depend on what you could give the DA. The more you gave him, the more flexible he’d be.”

“I can give you Carmine Germino. I’ve got enough on him to put him away for life. And his lieutenants. I’ve sat in on their strategy meetings for the last five years. I can give you numbers of bank accounts all around the world that the Germino family are using to launder their drug money. And I can give you names of senior politicians Germino has in his back pocket. But I won’t cop on Martin. Not directly. You’ll build up enough evidence against him from what I’ve got on Germino and his lieutenants. But before I do say anything to your DA I want a guarantee that I won’t spend time in jail. Because I know I’d never come out of there alive. Even if I was put in solitary they’d find a way to get to me. That’s the deal.”

“Why this obsessive loyalty to Navarro?” Whitlock asked.

“Because they’re related,” Grecco told him.

Varese nodded. “Martin’s my half-brother. We had the same mother. I was the tough one. Martin had the brains. He’d always try and talk our way out of trouble but if that failed, I’d use my fists. I guess you could say I always looked after Martin when we were growing up. But that all changed when we joined the family. Then it was his turn to look after me. Martin insisted that he wanted me as his right-hand man. Germino wanted to keep him happy so he agreed. Family loyalty means a lot to Italians, Mr. Grecco. You should know that.”

“I do.”

Varese looked from Grecco to Whitlock. “You know my terms. Put them to the DA. You shouldn’t have too much trouble finding me when you’ve got the answer.”

Grecco turned to Whitlock after Varese had been taken away. “Now I’ve got to convince my superiors and the DA to go along with this. Let’s face it, keeping Varese out of jail’s a small price to pay for landing the top echelon of the Germino family. But I guess in the end it’s all down to politics, isn’t it?”

“Isn’t it always?” Whitlock replied as he followed Grecco from the room.

Graham and Sabrina flew to Milford by helicopter. They were met there by Jim Kingsland, a recent graduate of the FBI academy who’d been sent down from the Bureau’s New York headquarters earlier that morning to liaise with the local police department. All he’d been told was that Graham and Sabrina were “affiliated” to the Bureau and that he was to give them his full cooperation. He didn’t like the vagueness of his orders but he knew better than to question them.

Kingsland drove them to the docks. Graham and Sabrina were determined to nail Killen and his men for the murder of Billy Peterson and the attempted murder of their colleague. And if that led to information about the link between the Ventura ’s cargo and the IRA, then so much the better. Two patrol cars were already waiting for them outside the main gates. One of the patrol cars followed them into the compound and parked next to them in front of the harbor master’s office.

“Kingsland, you and the two uniforms get Woods and Natchett,” Graham said, getting out of the car. “Sabrina and I will deal with Jess Killen ourselves.”

When they reached Killen’s office Graham knocked and entered. Killen was on the telephone, his feet propped up on the desk. He nodded to Graham, his eyes instinctively flickering past him to Sabrina. He wet his lips as his eyes scanned the length of her body.

Graham reached over and yanked the telephone from Killen’s hand. “Yeah, he’ll call you back in twenty years’ time.” He slammed the receiver back into its cradle. “Are you Jess Killen?”

“Yeah, I’m Killen. What the hell’s going on? You can’t just come–”

“Special Agents Graham and Carver,” Graham said. He held up his ID card then took a warrant from his pocket and placed it on the desk. “Jess Killen, you’re under arrest for the murder of William Peterson. Anything you–”

“Spare me the lecture,” Killen snarled. “I want my lawyer.”

Graham put his hand on the receiver and finished reading Killen his rights. “On your feet, Killen. Hands against the wall, feet apart.”

“You thinking I’m packing?” Killen said in disbelief. “I’m the foreman of a dockyard, not some gunslinger.”

“Just do it!” Graham hissed menacingly.

Killen swore angrily then stood up and assumed the position. Graham frisked him quickly. He was clean.

“Satisfied, G-man?” Killen snapped. “Who is this William Peterson anyway?”

“Billy Peterson,” Sabrina said. “He used to work here, remember? Then, one night, he just disappeared. Nobody’s seen or heard of him since.”

“So, what’s that got to do with me?”

“You killed him. First you beat him senseless then you put a bullet in the back of his head,” Graham told him.

“You got a witness to prove it?”

“As a matter of fact we do,” Sabrina replied, taking a photograph from her pocket and holding it out toward Killen. “Fabio Paluzzi. One, of us. Only you’d know him as Pasconi, the Italian journalist.”

“He didn’t drown when you and your two huskies pushed the car into the water,” Graham told him. “Our colleagues are at this very moment reading Woods and Natchett their rights. I’d suggest this was as good a time as any to call your lawyer, Killen.”

Killen picked up the receiver then suddenly lashed out at Graham, catching him across the side of the. face. Graham stumbled backward against Sabrina, knocking the gun from her hand. It skidded under the desk. Killen shoved past them and disappeared out through the doorway. Sabrina squinted under the desk for the gun. It was out of reach and there wasn’t time to retrieve it. She went after Killen.

Graham got to his feet and gingerly touched the side of his face. A cut had opened up at the corner of his right eye. He cursed angrily then went outside. There was no sign of either Killen or Sabrina. He looked around, deciding which way he would have gone if he’d been in Killen’s place. The warehouse? The back of the warehouse. Yeah, he’d probably duck behind the warehouse. There was a lot of foliage there. A good place to move without being seen. He drew his holstered Beretta and was about to make his way around to the back when he noticed a movement out of the corner of his eye. He swung around, Beretta raised.

Killen slowly emerged from the warehouse, his arm wrapped around Sabrina’s neck. He was holding a screwdriver to her throat. “Okay, G-man, drop the piece.”

Graham kept the Beretta trained on Killen. He couldn’t risk the shot, not with the tip of the screwdriver pressed so close to Sabrina’s throat. “Let her go, Killen!”

“I said drop the piece,” Killen snapped back.

“Don’t do it, Mike,” Sabrina said to Graham.

“Shut up!” Killen snapped at her, pressing the tip of the screwdriver harder against her throat. It broke her skin and a trickle of blood ran onto her sweatshirt. Killen swallowed nervously. “I want a car brought round here now. Then the lady and I are going for a ride. Then once I’m outta here, she goes free.”

“The lady’s not going anywhere with you,” Sabrina said calmly. “So you’d better kill me now.”

It was then that Kingsland and one of the uniformed policemen appeared behind Killen, their weapons drawn.