Brian Freemantle - Charlie Muffin U.S.A.

Warburger held back from asking, instead leading Pendlebury to a seat near his desk. Bowler was already waiting near a chair which Pendlebury assumed was his by custom.

‘Got a big one for you,’ announced Warburger, back in his own executive chair, but leaning forward from it, urgently. ‘The biggest.’

Pendlebury decided that Warburger would always talk with intense enthusiasm, in the hope that those whom he was addressing would become infected by the feeling and work the better for it.

Warburger seemed to expect some response, but Pendlebury couldn’t think of anything to say. Finally the Director continued, ‘What did you think of those Chicago auctions?’

‘Brilliant,’ said Pendlebury honestly. He had never been able to understand how the second one had worked so well, after so many criminals, many with provable Mafia connections, had been scooped up in the first phoney warehouse sale of stolen goods that the F.B.I. had staged. Greed, he supposed. Often Pendlebury thought that psychiatrists and psychologists were wrong and that greed superseded sex or hunger as man’s primary motivation.

Warburger smiled, pleased with the assessment. ‘We’re going to put on another one,’ he said. ‘Just for one man. We’re going to get Giuseppe Terrilli.’

‘You’ve got to be joking!’ said Pendlebury, aware the moment he spoke that he’d lost the goodwill earned by his previous praise of the auction idea.

‘There’s nothing funny about this,’ declared Warburger earnestly. ‘I’ve created a situation that I know will get him and you’re going to be the one to make it work. And let me tell you something else… something I never want you for a moment to forget. There’s more in this than just catching Terrilli.’

‘What?’ demanded Pendlebury, cutting the Director off at what appeared to be the beginning of a speech.

Warburger paused, frowning at the intrusion.

‘Politics,’ he said. ‘If this goes as I intend, this Bureau is going to have Capitol Hill protection for years.’

Pendlebury sat regarding the Director warily. The crotch of his trousers was drying, the cloth becoming like stiff cardboard.

‘How’s that?’ he asked.

‘We needed a front… something that Terrilli would never suspect. The exhibition that is to trap Terrilli is being staged in aid of a children’s charity. And the organiser is Senator Kelvin Cosgrove.’

‘He’s an asshole,’ said Pendlebury, aware of the Director’s immediate wince and regretting the outburst.

‘He’s a powerful politician who stands a very good chance of becoming Attorney-General. And this operation is going to get him the appointment,’ said Warburger.

‘He’s media happy,’ warned Pendlebury. ‘He’d blow it.’

‘No,’ argued Warburger. ‘Not this time. He knows the advantages will come when it’s all over. He’ll do nothing to foul it up. It’s as important to him as it is to us.’

‘He’ll not want any part in the actual operation?’

‘Absolutely not,’ said Bowler. ‘He’ll be kept fully briefed on what’s happening, of course. But he wants no public acknowledgment for what happens until after Terrilli’s arrest.’

‘Which he will get, unstintingly,’ added Warburger.

‘And for which the Bureau will receive his heartfelt gratitude and support throughout the duration of his office, if he gets it,’ predicted Pendlebury.

‘Exactly,’ confirmed the Director. ‘How’s that for neatness?’

‘Why me?’ asked Pendlebury, more interested in his own safety than in flattering the Director. There would be at least a hundred other operatives at supervisor level whom he knew, quite realistically, Warburger and Bowler would prefer. He wondered if they’d tell him the truth or try to bullshit him.

‘Because you’re the one the computer came up with,’ said Bowler. ‘We cross-checked everyone at your level against any involvement whatsoever which might have made them known to Terrilli or his people. He’s got an organisation almost as efficient as ours and he’s survived so long by using it properly. There’s nothing you have done for them to have a file on you…’

Bowler trailed away and Warburger came in, as if they had rehearsed ‘… and we’ve been impressed by your file. Very few failures.’

‘Thank you,’ said Pendlebury.

‘And we don’t want any failures on this,’ warned War-burger. ‘Get this right and we’ll all be on guaranteed pensions.’

‘Or our widows will be,’ said Pendlebury pointedly.

‘Precisely,’ said Warburger, careless of Pendlebury’s reminder of who would be exposed to the danger. ‘Like I said, no mistakes.’

‘Terrilli’s a don, right?’ said Pendlebury. He hoped the honesty would continue.

‘A favourite to become capo di tutti capi,’ confirmed Warburger. ‘And he’s qualified to be the boss of bosses. He’s certainly the best example of how organised crime has covered itself with squeaky-clean enterprises. Those front businesses of his gross a legitimate $70,000,000 a year.’

‘Why be crooked?’ said Pendlebury, attempting some exactly what he is lightness.

Warburger misunderstood, snorting at the fat man’s naivety.

‘Every week of every year, approximately ten boats leave ports in South America, mostly in Colombia, and each is carrying an average of $6,000,000 worth of dope. They get off the Grand Bahamian Banks or around Cuba and then peel off, one by one, doing a chicken run for the coast of Florida. Those that get past the coastguards are a bonus. They’ve all got radio equipment aboard that could monitor a shot to Mars. As soon as one gets arrested, those still waiting offshore know. And so when the coastguard boat goes in as an escort those unarrested follow at a safe distance. While that one illicit cargo is being counted in Miami, the rest is being landed somewhere along the coast.’

‘That’s about $312 billion a year!’ said Pendlebury incredulously.

‘And that’s before it’s adulterated for street use,’ added Warburger. ‘Terrilli’s aircraft check the position of the coastguard vessels and he’s got radio equipment around the coastline, all with some legitimate function, listening to all coastguard and customs radio traffic’

‘Jesus!’ said Pendlebury.

‘And He’ll be the only one I can’t guarantee will be helping you,’ said Warburger, making his own heavy attempt at a joke.

‘Do what?’ prompted Pendlebury. ‘What sort of exhibition is it?’

The Director paused, staring down at the thick file before him. He had a satisfied smile upon his face when he looked up.

‘There’s always a weakness,’ he said, refusing to be hurried. ‘With some it’s sex. Others booze. Or drugs. There’s always something

…’ the smile widened ‘… Terrilli is so successful because he hasn’t got any weaknesses. Not something that can be turned and used against him. But he’s got a hobby. It took us a long time to discover it and even longer to establish how fanatical he is about it. But that’s exactly what he is: fanatical.’

‘About what?’ The Director’s theatricality was annoying Pendlebury.

‘Stamps,’ said Warburger, simply. ‘In Palm Beach he’s got a home that’s built and looks like a fortress. And somewhere inside he’s got a fantastic stamp collection.’

Pendlebury frowned. ‘I don’t appreciate how that gives us any edge.’

‘Neither did we, not at first. Not until we realised his addiction to it. We let some stamps be stolen and we put a trace on them through dealer to dealer. And guess who was the eager buyer?’

‘Terrilli.’

Warburger nodded. ‘He’s not interested in showing off, which is another reason why he’s so high in the organisation. The Mafia have always respected modesty. The stamps are entirely for his own enjoyment, something he can sit over and know no one else in the world possesses. And because no one else will ever see them, he can have as many stolen items as he likes, just so long as they go on building up his collection.’