Ted Allbeury - The Twentieth Day of January

“Just do as I say, Jenny, and maybe we’ll be able to keep you out of it.”

She left a list of things she wanted from the flat and went off by road to the safe-house just outside Albany.

The CIA doctor eased across the three velcro straps on the splint. He lifted Spadone’s forearm and started wrapping the bandage over the dressing and the splint. He looked up at Nolan.

“There’s a simple fracture of the ulna and probably fractures in some of the smaller bones. I’ll know better when I can X-ray the wrist area. He won’t be able to use the hand for at least six months and I suspect one finger at least won’t articulate again.”

Nolan looked at Spadone who was sitting alongside the small table. The doctor packed his case and left them alone. Nolan pulled out a chair and sat down.

“Where did you meet the Russian?”

“In the parking lot at the medical centre.”

“Which medical centre?”

“NYU.”

“How did you recognize him?”

“I’d seen a photo and he was carrying a copy of a magazine. We both had one.”

“What magazine?”

“ Popular Photography of last June.”

“How much did you get?”

“Three and a half grand. The balance to come when it was done.”

“How did they originally contact you?”

“Kleppe arranged the deal with O’Reilly. I work for him.”

“A hood?”

“I guess you’d call him that. He’s got a plumbing and air-conditioning business in Chicago, out by the race track in Cicero.”

“Are you ready to sign a statement?”

“If we can do a deal.”

“No way, Frankie. You’ll be charged for possession of a firearm without a licence.”

Spadone’s face was vacant, and then the penny dropped and he smiled.

“OK, Mr. Nolan. I’ll sign.”

President Grover had extended every courtesy to the President-Elect, and Logan Powell and Andy Dempsey sat together in the Presidential compartment of Air Force One for their journey to Los Angeles. When the meetings were over they left the evening sun behind as they flew out across the Texas panhandle, and two hours later the plane was under the cloud cover and they could see the lights of Charleston as the plane came under Washington control.

Powell sat back with his head against the soft, white pillow from his bed and Dempsey gazed out of the window, his face tense and pale. He turned to look at Powell.

“Just find an excuse to talk with Harper. He’s a political appointee. You haven’t said you’ll let him stay at CIA. Let him know that he could be out in three weeks’ time.”

Powell spoke with his eyes still closed.

“You don’t know that they’re doing anything, Andy. It would be the FBI if it were anyone at all. It’s not CIA territory. They won’t want to tangle with me so soon.”

“For Christ’s sake, Logan. The people have been positively identified as CIA. They had to deal with Siwecki to head them off.”

“That’s absolute crap, my friend. I’d put my silver dollar on Siwecki’s murder being the usual union Mafia at work. By the way, what’s the Vice-President-Elect doing today?”

“He’s at the White House meeting the new Senators.”

“He’s gonna be OK, you know. He’s hard nosed but that ain’t bad in a Vice-President. He’s going to be a strong link with Congress and we’re gonna need one.”

“Will you let me see Harper?”

Powell opened his eyes and slid the pillow from behind his head and put it alongside him on the seat. They could see the White House below and ahead, looking like a wedding cake in the glare of the floodlights. He looked back at Dempsey.

“Have you seen Laura lately?”

“Not for ten days.”

“What did she have to say when you saw her?”

“I told you. She won’t make any trouble. She’s agreed not to file for divorce until we’re ready, but she wants the house made over to her.”

“That’s OK. Get Jim Oakes’s outfit to deal with it.”

“Aren’t you worried at all, Logan? Don’t kid me.”

Powell smiled and slid his arms into his jacket.

“In a few weeks’ time, Andy, these people won’t dare do a thing. And if they try anything then, they’ll have their arses out in the snow.”

“You’d be out there with them, Logan. They mean business.”

Powell leaned forward to watch the landing and without turning he spoke as he shaded his eyes.

“Leave it to me, Andy. You’ve been over-impressed by these people. The CIA and FBI won’t play games right now. The public and the media are agin ’em.”

Nolan sat in the unmarked van with the headphones on and the tape-recorder plugged in. He was listening intently, his hand half up to stop Langfeld from speaking.

Then he slid off the earphones and leaned back.

“That’s it. Katin has called him to a meeting at the UN. Take the pick-up team and lift him, when he gets to Mitchell Place. Take him to King’s Point and isolate him. I’ll be there when we’ve gone through his apartment.”

“OK, Mr. Nolan.”

He gave his team careful instructions. There was a man on the fire-escape already and the rest of the team were waiting for Kleppe to come out. They had monitored incoming and outgoing calls and the message from the UN building had been what they were waiting for.

Nolan wanted to go in the apartment before Kleppe was alerted and that was best done while he was out. If they tried to enter the apartment while he was there he could be phoning his influential friends.

At last Kleppe was at the entrance hall of the apartment block. They could see him talking with one of the security guards. He was laughing as he turned to come through the glass doors. He stood on the wide steps for a moment, looking up and down the street and then he turned left and walked slowly down Sutton Place towards the UN. Langfeld’s men called the car and it turned round to follow Kleppe.

Nolan showed his card to the security men in the reception area of the apartment block and left one of his team with them. He guessed that they had been well greased by Kleppe and he warned them not to attempt to use the phone. Nolan’s man would take all calls.

The search team piled into the lift with Nolan, their leather cases heaped in one corner. There was no hurry because Kleppe would not be coming back. He would be going straight to the safe-house.

The locksmith tested the two door locks for ten minutes before he turned to Nolan.

“I can’t open the second one without breaking the alarm circuit. There’s a whole loom of wires spread through the door.”

“OK. Break the circuit.”

There were no ringing bells or flashing lights but Nolan guessed that the signal was telling its story somewhere. He went to the telephone on the ornate desk and called his men in the foyer.

“We’ve had to break the alarm circuit. You’ll be getting visitors soon. If they’re from NYPD take their badge numbers and check their ID cards. Refer them to the downtown office. No explanations, just identify yourselves. If it’s a captain refer him to the Commissioner. He knows about the search warrant. But no explanations. Understood?”

“OK, Mr. Nolan.”

Nolan’s team were already at work in pairs. One pair searched for electronics, a pair looked for documents and a pair checked the structure for cavities. One of each pair recorded comments into a portable cassette machine as they worked, and a photographer recorded the search. None of them had been told what they were looking for.

When the structure team came down from the attic they were shaking water from the three plastic bags and they had a small metal case. They laid them all on the long table. Nolan watched them unseal the plastic bags and shake out the shiny black notebooks. They opened one and after glancing at it briefly they passed it to Nolan.