Randy White - Dead Silence

“They’re sick, I agree.”

“Or detached,” I said carefully.

“Insane, out of their minds,” she replied. “I had the staff tack a copy on every wall to remind them why we’re working so hard. The FBI says the picture is good news in a way. If the shot was taken this morning, William has been alive for”-I was carrying the phone to the bed, yawning, as she did the calculation in her head-“so William has managed to stay alive for thirty-eight hours. Some of the agency people were hinting he was already dead.”

I said, “If the picture wasn’t taken this morning, I would agree.”

“Ruth Guttersen-William’s foster grandmother-Ruth sent me one of his school photos. I have both pictures on the desk in front of me, but I can’t bear to look at the coffin shot for more than a few seconds-” Barbara stopped. “ Detached? Is that what you said?”

I replied, “Impersonal. Emotionally uninvolved, yes. They haven’t changed the deadline?”

“Detached…” She was thinking about it as she continued, “No, nothing’s changed. Eight o’clock tomorrow morning, if they keep their word. We’re keeping ours, even though the official line is that we don’t negotiate with criminals.” She paused. “Detached. But you said they were after emotional impact, not financial.”

“Psychological intimidation, then emotional control: It’s a device, a tool interrogators use. Money or power or preserving power-it works on all three.”

“How the hell do you know about things like this?”

“It’s what social animals do. Wolf packs and male dolphins. We’re no different.”

“Then it is about money. That’s why you’re accusing Nelson Myles.”

I said, “I haven’t accused him. I want to talk to him… privately.” She hadn’t reacted to the word interrogator, so I added the next link. “You don’t associate Myles with anything Cuban, just wealth. Is that the problem?”

“No. Money and power, it’s what I think of now when someone mentions Fidel Castro. Until now, I had no idea how wealthy that man had become in fifty years. Favar Senior tried to tell me years ago and I didn’t believe him. Castro may have started as a penniless dictator, but now, even dead, he is an international conglomerate with world holdings worth-are you ready for a number?-worth seven hundred billion dollars. Were you aware of that?”

I wasn’t, but she had finally given me an opening to ask about something more personal. “It sounds like your people completed the manifest list.”

“Not just my people. Every bureaucracy from the CIA to the Park Service’s Department of Archaeology has their hands in it. It’s crazy how long they’re taking.”

“Find anything surprising?” If my name was on a list of licensed U.S. assassins, it was no wonder she wanted to cut me loose.

Instead of answering, Barbara covered her phone. I listened to a muffled exchange between the senator and someone who had come into her office. Male… British accent? I couldn’t be sure, but I was picturing Hooker Montbard standing in her doorway, dapperly dressed. .. or wearing khakis, which he often did on weekends.

“Doc, I’ll call you back in five minutes. No more than ten, promise.”

I said, “But if I don’t nail down a flight-”

“Read the newest updates. We can’t really talk unless we’re both on the same page, now can we?” The woman hung up.

I zipped my carry-on closed, checked the room and headed down the hall toward the elevator, telling myself there was no reason to be suspicious of my pal Hooker. But it was okay to call him. We were friends, right?

I dialed. No answer, and I didn’t leave a message. Next, I did what the lady suggested and opened the updates. SIGNET-D Communique (Level: Classified + Secret + Brown) Summary Report #12, Prepared by staff of Hon. Barbara B. Hayes-Sorrento, United States Senate, 1 Billings St., Washington, D.C., 24 January, Saturday, 11:00 EST. SUBJECT A: William J. Chaser, minor male, missing as of 22 January, Thursday, 16:00 EST SUBJECT B: FBI Addendum issued 10:00 EST SUBJECT C: NYPD Addendum issued 10:30 EST…

It was a typically staccato rendering, but it didn’t take long to get to something interesting. As I pushed through the lobby doors headed outside, I was reading: SUBJECT H: Jettisoning of Superfluous Chattel Properties of the late Castro, Fidel A., via Military Aircraft over an area yet to be designated…

Jettisoning? It was government-speak for delivering the ransom. Castro’s much-coveted personal files had been officially redesignated as trash. The military didn’t know where they were dropping the stuff, but the cover story had been established.

I didn’t smile, but it brightened my day despite the concrete chill of another New York afternoon. With any luck, it would be my last for a while. One way or the other, I was returning to Florida. If I couldn’t arrange a special flight, I would have to fly out of Kennedy International ninety minutes away.

I told the concierge desk I needed a cab, then skimmed the text, finding other interesting tidbits. SUBJECT H/Para. 4: Transport of Superfluous Materials: Aircraft: H130 Hercules Cargo Aircraft, USAF, has been assigned as Disposition Platform. Crew is on standby, Dulles Air Base, three watches, 8-hour rotation. The H130 was assigned despite the small amount of Superfluous Materials because the disposal area has yet to be designated. Aircraft range: 1800 nm+/- (BRC) with refueling aircraft on station. Status: Alert Orange…

SUBJECT H/Para. 11: Superfluous Materials consist of three (3) Industrial Cartons containing approximately 2.3 metric tons. Loading of Superfluous Materials is being finalized pursuant to variables of an undetermined disposal area…

SUBJECT H/Para. 14: Industrial Cartons have been mounted on skids and fitted with LALO parachutes for wet drop or dry drop. Final Go Confirmation expected by 1900 hours EST. FBI awaiting contact with Civilian Clients via VHF Marine Radio or electronic mail and will then advise USAF crew…

Civilian clients were the kidnappers. Castro’s possessions had been loaded on a long-distance aircraft and rigged for a parachute drop. Everything would be packed and ready to go by five p.m., which was fifteen hours in advance of the deadline. Good!

Or was it…?

I thought about it as I waited for a cab. What suddenly bothered me was that several normally inefficient bureaucracies had hammered this package together, meshing all the complicated pieces, in an extraordinarily efficient way.

Had I ever heard of a joint project being completed ahead of schedule? Hell, I had never even heard of a project that was finished on time.

Weird.

A few minutes later, sitting in the back of a cab, headed west on the road out of the Hamptons, my phone began buzzing: Barbara.

Barbara told me, “Castro was a neurotic, that was my first surprise-I’m talking about surprises in the last day or so. He was insecure when he took power in ’fifty-nine and the man never changed.”

I said, “Neurotic, hmm,” listening to the woman avoid discussing Nelson Myles by sharing revelations about the Castro Files. She hadn’t mentioned who interrupted our conversation either. Why was she being evasive?

“Castro kept two bags packed with collectibles, ready to go, in case he had to escape in the middle of the night. Valuables ”-her smile was audible-“is not the right word for what that man had squirreled away. It’s treasure, the pirate variety. I’d heard that he formed a team to salvage shipwrecks around Cuba. Now we know it’s true. There are some beautiful pieces from the seventeen hundreds: Spanish gold crosses, emeralds and jade. Small, not too heavy. Probably worth millions, and all of it easily converted into currency. There’s an emerald necklace-my God, you’ve got to see it.”