Джозеф Хеллер - Maximum Impact

“Is there anything in my adult life I’ve decided for myself?” Davis demanded.

“Sure,” Marshall said. “You decided to say yes when I offered you the job.”

“And if I decide to say no now?”

“Well, my friend,” Marshall had said, “there’s no statute of limitations on murder. The evidence that would have convicted you for offing the pimp? George made it disappear, although it didn’t disappear, exactly. I imagine it’s still in his safety deposit box.”

So, over his years on the Hill, Davis had undertaken a dozen missions ordered by Marshall on behalf of Converse. He wasn’t proud of them, just as he wasn’t proud of the assignment that brought him to Roosevelt Island. But, hell, he was good at intimidation.

The man he’d come to the island to meet was white and pale and neither knew nor cared about the criminal credentials of his black companion. He knew only that he found Davis frightening and wanted to complete their business and be done with him. He nodded toward the two couples sharing the island with them. “I don’t care what they think as long as they don’t know us, don’t remember us, and don’t tell anyone they saw us here,” he said. “Now let’s get this done so I can get back to Dulles. They’ve probably missed me already.”

Davis knew in situations like this, you always play to another man’s weakness. In Elliott Parkhall’s case, identifying weakness was easy; the dossier given to the Senate aide revealed a half-dozen from which to choose. The engineer never closely held his anger over what he regarded as his dead-end career in government or his lack of the worldly goods that graced the lives of those he believed inferior technicians who happened to ply their trade in the private sector. Parkhall had been in the private sector once and had blown the opportunity through an utter lack of ability to get along with his co-workers. He wound up in a responsible job with the NTSB by dint of his engineering skills, not because anyone believed he would ever make a leader of men.

Parkhall commanded the power-plants group on the crash by the luck of the draw: It was his turn. Davis recognized immediately that Parkhall could be manipulated if given an opportunity to lash back at those he blamed for abandoning him to a lower station in life than he was due. By offering him the chance to get even, the money to live as he might have had his career taken a more favorable course, and the knowledge his life was forfeit if he failed, Davis calculated he could intimidate the engineer for as long as he needed him.

Watching Parkhall now, Davis could see he had succeeded in putting the engineer off balance. Parkhall fidgeted. He chewed on his fingernails. He kept wiping beads of perspiration off his upper lip. He was frightened, and a frightened man could be controlled.

Finally alone, Davis described what he expected of Parkhall and watched blood drain from the engineer’s face. Davis told him what he would be paid, what he could earn in bonuses, and how the total sum would let him forget injustices of the past. Parkhall remained pale, willing to accept the benefits of the job, but deeply concerned with the risks.

“Without risk, there is no gain,” Davis warned. “You may elect to accept both or neither. But be warned: if you elect to accept neither, this operation will proceed without you. If you raise objections, then life itself will proceed without you, if you get my meaning.”

Parkhall swallowed hard. He felt his companion’s eyes on his face, assessing every reaction. He looked up and saw in those eyes the reality that he was trapped. Then, in the span of a heartbeat, the black face around the dark eyes relaxed marginally.

“But if you choose to accept both the risk and the gain, you will have all the support you need to minimize the risk,” Davis said. “And while the risk is assumed immediately, the gain begins immediately as well.”

He took a thick manila envelope from the deep left pocket of the trench coat he wore despite the warm weather and slapped the package into Parkhall’s chest. “This is the first payment,” he continued. “The sum I mentioned is in here, plus a generous overage to cover expenses. If expenses run higher than expected, let me know.”

He pushed the envelope deeper into Parkhall’s chest, and the engineer grasped it with both hands, feeling what surely were bundles of bills inside.

“I don’t have a choice, do I?” he asked softly.

“No, not really. You abdicated that choice by hearing my proposal on the telephone and agreeing to meet me. But if you follow instructions, you have no reason to be afraid.”

“When do you want me to do this?”

“After dark, when you minimize the number of people likely to see you.”

“The engine will have been examined already.”

“Not closely. And not by very many people. There are no other members of your team scheduled in here until late tonight, and the Converse team won’t leave Ohio until tomorrow morning. The engine is off by itself, isolated. Right now the focus is on recovering bodies from the fuselage. You shouldn’t have any trouble at all.”

Parkhall opened his mouth to say something, probably to voice another objection, Davis thought, but no words came. Davis acted to bring the meeting to an end.

“When you return to your car,” he said, “two men will be waiting for you in a blue Ford van in the parking lot. They will follow you back to the airport and will, for the foreseeable future, act as your backup. They have my full trust, and they should have yours. They will take no action unless it is unavoidable, but by their presence, the serious nature of this business will be underscored. As you can imagine, they will be gauging your performance as well as assisting you. They have been told of your loyalty. I trust you will give them no reason to doubt it.”

“Are they my bodyguards or just guards?”

“That depends on you,” Davis said. “They will be what they have to be.”

“Who are they?”

“That’s nothing you need to know.”

Davis withdrew another envelope from inside his coat. It was much larger than the first and bulged heavily. Parkhall glanced at it, knowing what it was and feeling revulsion.

“This is the material you must use tonight,” Davis said. “We spoke of it earlier.”

“I know,” Parkhall said, recoiling from the package. “How about the equipment?”

“It’s in the van. The men will transfer it to your car and instruct you in its use. As an engineer, I suspect you won’t find it difficult.”

Parkhall nodded, fear beating like a hammer in his temples. He took the envelope.

Davis released his grip on it, making the transfer of ownership complete. “Perform well,” he admonished. “By your actions, so go my interests and your future.” Then he turned and crossed the bridge to the parking lot.

Parkhall could hear his footfalls for several seconds, and then he was alone. He sagged against the base of the statue and shivered once, deeply.

Shortly before 7:00 P.M., Vernon Lund convened an NTSB news conference. He looked as if he’d succumbed to his responsibilities barely hours after assuming them.

His shoulders sagged perceptibly, his eyes were puffed and bloodshot. His blue suit looked slept-in, the vest open and drooping from his crane-like neck. A red-and-blue-striped tie was drawn too tightly around a white shirt collar a size too large, so the collar points, rather than lying flat, stuck almost straight out. The suit coat was missing its center front button, leaving a space adorned by a small, unidentifiable, yellow-brown food stain. Lund’s sandy hair was thin and going mouse-gray. Half-glasses slid down his thin nose and carried smudges etched into the lenses by days without the benefit of a cleaning. His chest, which could be described as hollow on its good days, was more concave than usual, sinking toward the backbone and then curving out to meet a belly slightly distended by a wall of muscle flaccid and puffy with disuse.