William Bernhardt - Double Jeopardy

He took the first exit, turned right into a residential section, and wandered aimlessly for fifteen minutes.

When he was certain he had lost them, Travis pulled over to the side of the street and rested his forehead against the steering wheel.

Somehow he’d managed to give them the slip. But where could he go now? He couldn’t go anywhere he would normally be expected. Driving was itself dangerous; they could easily identify his car. Whoever they were. He slapped the dash with the flat of his hand. Why would the FBI try to kill him?

He didn’t know what was and wasn’t safe, who could and couldn’t be trusted. All he had were guesses. And if he guessed wrong, it might prove fatal.

29

12:22 P.M.

HENDERSON WAS ENRAGED. “YOU did what ?”

“I organized a recovery team to bring Byrne in,” Janicek said, folding his hands calmly in his lap.

“Without my authorization?”

“You weren’t around,” Janicek said, with barely a hint of derision.

“You knew I’d be back.”

“We couldn’t wait. The man was desperate. Claimed his life was in danger. We had to hurry.”

“Goddamn it, your haste got an agent killed!”

Janicek examined his fingernails. “We had no reason to believe Byrne was armed or dangerous.”

“Well, you should’ve, Janicek. You should’ve planned for every contingency.”

“I’m sorry, sir. I tried to act according to regulation. But the first thing I knew, Byrne was shooting at us and poor Mooney was dead.”

Henderson threw his coat bitterly on the floor. He was a big barrel-chested man with rugged features, now contorted by his anger and frustration. “Did he say whether he’d looked at the list?”

“He claimed he hadn’t.”

“Which doesn’t tell us a damn thing.” Henderson pounded his fists together. “I can’t believe that list got out in the first place. Have you tracked down the leak yet, Holt?”

Holt stepped forward. “I have compiled and committed to memory the names of all the people who had access, sir.”

“And what is your conclusion?”

“That would be premature. Any number of agents could have obtained clearance. Any of us could have.”

“Thank you very goddamn much, Mr. Holt. Tell me something I don’t know!”

“Sir,” Holt said, “I’m formally requesting authorization to interview every agent on our special team. Separately. See what they have to say for themselves. See if they have any knowledge they shouldn’t.”

“We can’t do that,” Henderson said. “Among other reasons, we don’t have time. We have to recover that list before it’s sold or made public.”

“With all due respect, sir, that won’t be easy,” Janicek said. “Byrne is a cold-blooded killer.”

“Are you sure? It just doesn’t make any goddamn sense.”

“I told you what happened,” Janicek said. “What other explanation can there be? Simpson, Mooney, and I arrived at the appointed place. When I demanded the list, Byrne opened fire and shot Mooney. He would’ve killed us all if he’d had the chance.”

“But why ?”

“Apparently he plans to keep the list,” Janicek replied. “Maybe Moroconi was acting for Byrne when he acquired it. Maybe they’re in it together. We’ve checked Byrne out. He’s not a wealthy man.”

Henderson pressed his knuckles together. It still didn’t add up. He’d already checked with Simpson, though, and he had confirmed Janicek’s story in every detail.

“Well, what the hell are we going to do?” Henderson asked, his teeth clenched.

“I don’t see that we have a great deal of choice,” Janicek said. “Damage control is our first priority. If it’s possible to preserve the integrity of the list, we have to do it. And that means we have to get Byrne. Immediately. Before he’s found by someone else. We’re not the only group in town chasing him, you know.”

Henderson’s eyebrows shot up. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about Moroconi’s old business acquaintances.”

“They’re after Byrne, too?”

“There’s no other explanation for what happened at the West End. The initial target was Moroconi. But Byrne’s got the hot potato now, so they’ll want him. And frankly, if they find him first, there won’t be enough left for us to scrape up with a pizza knife.”

“And they’ll have every name on the list,” Henderson said solemnly.

Janicek nodded in quiet agreement. “Names and addresses.”

There was a long silence during which all three of them thought the same thought. It was Holt who said it first. “We have to find Byrne before they do, sir. And if we have to kill him, then we have to kill him. In all likelihood, we will.”

30

2:00 P.M.

ANOTHER OFFICE, IN ANOTHER high-rise, on the opposite side of town. Shadows masking the grim faces of the participants.

Mario pressed a hand wearily to his forehead. “Can someone please explain what is going on? How did this simple plan for the elimination of one penny-ante pissant turn into a major disaster?”

Kramer’s face became taut, distending his long, gruesome facial scar. He spoke in measured tones that in no way prevented Mario from realizing Kramer would like to set his face on fire. “That ain’t fair. Most of this operation has been flawless.”

“One of your own men was killed!” Mario shouted. From the safety of the sofa, Donny smirked. “What the hell is so flawless about that?”

“That was a mistake,” Kramer admitted. “Hardcastle fucked up and he paid the price. Still, most of our goals have been achieved. Such as watchin’ the phone lines and locations connected to Byrne. That’s how we got our first lead to Moroconi. That’s how we learned he had the list. That’s how we interrupted their little rendezvous at the West End.”

Yes, Mario thought, that was Kramer—quick to bulldoze over this gaping hole in his heretofore unblemished record of stylized sadism. Why had the family endured him for so long? Sure, he was proficient, but he was unpredictable. And expensive. At least fifty thousand dollars a hit. Hell, the Outfit was teeming with poor slobs desperate to finish a hit so they could become made men. And Mario never paid them more than ten thousand a shot. Sure, there were risks, but anytime a murder was actually planned —wasn’t executed in the heat of the moment by an enraged spouse or jealous boyfriend—the chances of the police ever figuring out who did it decreased dramatically. All in all, Kramer was convenient, but unnecessary. So why the hell were they still using him?

“Yes, you discovered the rendezvous at the West End, but once you arrived, what did you do?” Mario demanded. “You screwed up!”

“There was … some confusion. I dunno why Hardcastle identified himself as a cop.”

“The police line was a great idea,” Donny said. “In fact, I suggested it.”

“That figures,” Kramer said with disgust.

“I thought that if Byrne took us for police, he’d surrender quietly.”

“Brilliant.” Kramer pulled out his lighter. “Unfortunately, Moroconi, who had busted out of jail a few hours before, had a slightly different reaction.”

“I couldn’t predict that!” Donny screamed. “He always blames me, Uncle Mario. It’s not my fault.”

“Of course it’s your fault, you little shit!” Kramer shouted back. “Your stupidity got one of my men killed!”

“Uncle Mario, make him stop!”

Mario covered his face with his hands. “Please, gentlemen. Must we always have this squabbling? No wonder we can’t accomplish anything. We’re our own worst enemy.”

“Our worst enemy is our blood relations,” Kramer muttered.