Dan Simmons - Darwin's Blade

“Succeed,” said Attorney Du Bois. The lawyer’s heavily lined face usually showed merriment, or at least bemused irony, but the lines were grimly set today.

“Do you know something about this conspiracy that would help the task force?” asked Dar.

Du Bois slowly shook his head. “Remember, Darwin, I am also an agent of the court. If I knew specifics, I would have already approached the FBI or Ms. Olson. All I hear are rumors. But they are very persistent and ugly rumors.”

“And what do they say?” said Dar.

Du Bois locked his anxious brown-eyed gaze on Dar’s. “They say that this is very, very serious and that these new cappers are deadly. They say that getting in their way is like crossing the old Colombian drug lords. They say that it is a new era in fraud in this country, and that the small businessman is being pushed out as sure as new Wal-Marts in an area will shut down the mom-and-pop hardware and dry-goods stores.”

“Shut down the way Attorney Esposito was shut down?” asked Dar.

Du Bois opened his lined and gnarled hands in an expressive gesture. “All the old rules no longer apply,” he said. “Or at least this is what I hear on the street.”

“All the more reason to nail these bastards,” said Dar.

Du Bois sighed, gathered his cane and briefcase, set his fedora on his head, and clamped his hand firmly on Dar’s shoulder as the two stood. “Be very careful, Darwin. Very careful.”

Dar returned to Syd’s main office just as her meeting with Poulsen and Warren was breaking up.

“Just the man we wanted to see,” said the FBI agent.

Dar was getting leery of this greeting.

“We were talking to Captain Hernandez earlier,” said Syd. “He was bitching about the San Diego police overtime involved in watching you twenty-four hours a day, and we were bitching about how poor the protection has been.”

Dar waited for the punch line.

“So the Bureau will be taking over the protective duties,” said Special Agent Warren, softly, but with authority. “We’ll have at least a dozen people assigned to you full-time, so the protection will be both more intense yet much more subtle.”

“No,” said Dar. Syd, Jeanette Poulsen, and Jim Warren looked at him.

“The only condition for my continued involvement in this project,” said Dar, speaking directly to Sydney, “is that we drop the twenty-four-hour protection stuff. I want you to call off all the bodyguards. Agreed?”

“You didn’t say that there would be conditions to your joining the task force,” said Syd.

“There are now. Just that one,” said Dar. “Nonnegotiable.”

Warren shook his head. “You’re going to have to trust us on this, Dr. Minor. We’re experts at witness protection and—”

“No,” said Dar. “I’m serious about this. If we’re going to work together, I need as much freedom as the rest of you. Besides, we all know that no number of bodyguards can protect against a talented sniper or someone willing to trade his life for the kill.”

There was a silence. Finally Syd said, “We’ll have to honor that…demand, Dar. But only because we realize that what you say is essentially true. Who was it—President Kennedy, wasn’t it—who said, ‘If the twentieth century has taught us anything, it’s that anyone can be killed.’”

“Not Kennedy…” said Jim Warren.

“Michael Corleone…” continued Dar.

“In Godfather Two ,” finished the FBI man.

“God, you men and the Godfather movies,” said Jeanette Poulsen. “That movie a few years ago…whatchamacallit…with Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks was right. You guys think everything in the universe can be summed up by dialogue from the three Godfather movies.”

“Just the first two,” said Dar.

“The third one was a mess,” said Warren.

“Didn’t count,” said Dar.

“We pretend it was never made,” said Warren.

“Are you two finished?” asked Syd. “Or do you have any other pertinent dialogue from the first two Godfather s for this situation?”

Dar ran his hand through his short hair so it spiked up a bit and put on his best, husky Al Pacino voice and arm gestures. “Just when I thought I was out, they pull me back in .”

“Hey,” said the NICB woman, “no fair. That’s from Godfather III .”

“That line is exempt from the rule,” said Special Agent Warren.

“Good-bye, boys,” said Syd.

“Notice how they can call us boys but it’s literally a federal offense if we call them girls?” Dar asked the FBI man.

Warren sighed. “I just make it a practice never to call a female wearing a Sig ninemillimeter semiauto on her hip ‘girl.’” He glanced at his watch. “You want to catch some lunch together, Dr. Minor? I hear there’s a great Kansas City–type barbecue place near here.”

“There is and I would,” said Dar. He waved good-bye to the two women standing there like elementary teachers with their arms crossed in mature disapproval.

“Hey,” said the perfectly groomed, soft-spoken Special Agent Warren in a good imitation of Fat Clemenza’s voice. “Leave the gun—bring the cannoli.”

Downtown San Diego was already emptying out in a lemming rush for the suburbs by the time Dar finished his lunch with the FBI man.

At one point, Warren said, “The Bureau will do anything it can to help you.”

“I’d like to have copies of all the dossiers available on Pavel Zuker and Gregor Yaponchik,” said Dar. “Not just FBI files, but CIA, NSA, Interpol, Mossad, NDA—any that are out there.”

Warren looked dubious. “I doubt if I could get clearance to show you even the Bureau’s limited files. What makes you think we could come up with Israeli documents?”

Dar answered him with silence and a poker face.

“Why would a civilian need this stuff?” asked Warren.

“The only civilian who would need it is the civilian who’s been attacked twice by these two Russian gentlemen,” Dar said softly. “That information might keep the aforementioned civilian alive, rather than dead.”

The special agent looked like he had swallowed an olive pit, but he eventually nodded. “All right,” he said. “I’ll try to get you copies of whatever is available.”

“Great,” said Dar.

“Anything else you’d like?” said Warren lightly. “A helicopter, perhaps…or access to some of the different agencies’ spy satellites?”

“Sure,” said Dar, “but what I really want is the loan of a McMillan M1987R.”

Special Agent Warren laughed good-naturedly before realizing that Dar was serious. “It’s impossible.”

“It’s important,” said Dar.

“It’s illegal for a civilian even to own one,” said Warren.

“I don’t want to own one,” Dar said patiently. “Just borrow one.”

They ended the lunch with Warren still shaking his head. “I’ll try for the files, but the McMillan…”

“Or its equivalent,” said Dar.

“No chance of that whatsoever,” said Warren.

Dar shrugged. He gave the special agent his card with all of his phone, fax, and e-mail numbers on it; he even scribbled in the cabin number that he had given to no one but Larry and Syd. “Let me know about the files as soon as possible,” he said. He did not offer to pick up the check.

Leaving the metro area in his Land Cruiser, Dar called Trudy. “What’s the most recent word on the Esposito investigation?”

“Thanks to you and the ME, it’s being listed as a probable homicide,” she said. “I interviewed the architect—the one who was talking to the foreman, Vargas?—and he’s willing to testify that he and Vargas were very focused on referring to blueprints for several minutes right at the time of the accident…or murder.”