William Bernhardt - Double Jeopardy

“She’s going to be a top-drawer mob target,” Travis said, completing his sentence. He pondered for a moment. “Is Mario still in the grand-jury room?”

Blaisdell nodded. “He should be with his attorney waiting to be taken back into custody.”

“Can I see him?”

“Why on earth would—”

“Can I see him?”

Blaisdell glanced at Cavanaugh, then shrugged. “Be my guest.”

Travis crossed the hall and walked downstairs to the grand-jury room. After brief conversations with the federal marshal on guard and Mario’s attorney, he entered the small witness waiting room.

Mario Catuara was obviously surprised to see him. “Byrne? What the hell are you doing here?”

Travis stood in front of Mario. Although a chair was available, he didn’t sit. “I have a question for you, and I want it answered. Understand?”

Mario had lost weight since Travis had seen him last. Ironically, instead of making him look healthier, it made him seem tired, spent. “Suit yourself.”

“Am I a marked man?”

Mario pursed his lips but did not answer.

“Answer me, Mario. And no bullshit.”

Mario licked his lips, then slowly began to speak. “After Moroconi tried to kill me, I panicked. I called my … business associates in Chicago. I told them everything. The general consensus was that you knew too much about us.”

“And Cavanaugh?”

Mario nodded grimly.

“Call them off, Mario.”

He spread his arms helplessly. “Once the wheels are set in motion …”

“You owe me, Mario. I saved your worthless life. More than once.”

“Still, I—”

“I thought your organization prided itself on honor. I thought you paid your debts.”

“I’m sorry, but—”

“And if you don’t, I’m going public with my account of how you acted like a sniveling coward and revealed mob secrets to Moroconi. You violated the Omerta, Mario. The blood oath of secrecy. And I understand the penalty for that is somewhat severe.”

Mario sighed. “Even if I did everything I possibly could, it would be months before … before it would be wise for you to appear in public.”

“That’s fine. Just take care of it.”

“And you’ll keep your story to yourself?”

“I will.”

Mario bowed his head slightly. “You have my word.”

Travis returned to the courtroom upstairs. Cavanaugh, Blaisdell, and Henderson were still talking. “Have you worked out a deal for Cavanaugh yet?”

“I’m prepared to offer her full-scale, round-the-clock protection until the trials are completed,” Henderson said. “And afterward I’ll take her into the Witness Relocation Program. This is a totally revamped program. Heightened security. Bureau 99 has an entirely new staff. Janicek and his clique have been expunged. And,” he added significantly, “we’re going to burn all the lists.”

Travis glanced at Cavanaugh. She must have seen this coming; she remained calm. “For how long?”

“As long as necessary. It’s just a precautionary measure. After this all blows over, if we determine that there’s no continuing danger, she can come out of hiding. If she wants. Think of it as an extended vacation.”

Travis nodded. She would be safe until Mario got his dogs back in the kennel. But …

Cavanaugh seemed to be reading Travis’s mind. “Can I bring my friend Travis undercover with me?”

“Is he going to testify?” Henderson asked.

“Not if we can avoid it,” Blaisdell replied.

Cavanaugh stepped forward and took Henderson’s hand. “Please,” she said quietly.

“Well,” Henderson said, clearing his throat, “FBI policy wouldn’t permit you to bring a friend. But you could certainly bring your husband. …”

SATURDAY

June 29

77

6:45 P.M.

TRAVIS ARRANGED THE FIREWOOD, the leaves, and the scrap paper in a proper campfire formation, then waited patiently. The instant Cavanaugh turned her back, he whipped out a lighter and started the fire.

Cheating? True. But despite being a Boy Scout for five years, he had never managed to get the hang of that rubbing-two-sticks-together routine. Working with a flint was even more difficult. It had been such a pleasant, peaceful four days out at Robbers’ Cave; he didn’t want to spoil it with petty aggravations.

“Hey, you got the fire started,” Cavanaugh said. She sat down and snuggled next to him. “Congratulations.”

“It was nothing.” At least he couldn’t be called a liar.

She grinned. “You’re my hero.”

“Don’t be silly. It’s easy, Cav—” He closed his eyes. “I mean, Daisy.”

“Takes some getting used to, doesn’t it? Harvey,” she added.

“Yeah. But I’ll get it down.”

“No rush. We have lots of time.” She put her arms around him.

“I feel great. My blood pressure and ulcer are under control, and I’ve dropped ten pounds. Despite your cooking.” He smiled. “You miss your job?”

“Nah. You?”

“Not much. Miss your friends?”

She hugged him tightly. “Not when I’m with you.”

He returned her embrace. “Ditto.”

“Is Mary Jo still fishing?” she asked.

“I certainly hope so. This fire is ready to cook, and I for one am tired of canned beans.” He pulled Cavanaugh to her feet. “Let’s check on her.”

They walked hand in hand to the bank of the lake, only a few hundred feet from their campsite. Staci was standing near the edge, bracing herself against a tree. Both hands were clenched tightly to her fishing pole.

“Look!” Travis said. “I think she’s actually caught something this time!”

“Of course I’ve caught something!” Staci shouted. “He’s a gigantic rainbow trout—the biggest I’ve ever seen. I’ve been trying to reel him in for ten minutes.”

Travis ran up behind her. “You should have called for help.”

“I’ve been yelling for help, but you two were probably too busy making moony eyes at each other to notice.”

“Is that so?” Travis waved his hands dramatically over the edge of the bank. “Now watch this. I’m going to make the fish jump into my lap.”

“ No more magic tricks !” Cavanaugh and Staci shouted in unison.

Cowed, Travis braced himself behind Staci and grabbed the fishing pole. Cavanaugh stood behind him, reaching under his arms to add her support. As the sun dipped below the horizon, they were all pulling together, laughing and shouting, a newborn family frolicking under assumed names.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

ONCE AGAIN, I WANT to thank those who have made me seem much more knowledgeable than I really am: Trey Matheny, for his extensive telecommunications background and the first-person tour of WilTel switching facilities; Arlene Joplin, for everything you ever wanted to know about federal criminal law but felt stupid asking; Dave Johnson, for his insights on police procedure and the criminal community; Gail Benedict, for whipping my manuscripts into shape and putting up with endless confusing revisions; F.W. “Steve” Stephenson, for his unwavering support; and my wife, Kirsten, for virtually everything else.

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