Thin Air (30 page)

He eased into the hot water and relaxed. He could feel tension melting away. But the ache from head to toe was still there. He slid down until the water was up to his chin. It was soft, soothing, and quiet. He closed his eyes....

The door was thrown open with a bang and his knees jerked up involuntarily. He saw Jan coming at him with a terrible look.

"You sonofabitch!" she screamed.

She banged the sliding door back. Her hand swiped downward and caught him across the cheek. She bent over and flailed at him, slapping from every direction. She was sobbing with rage.

"Jan!" he yelled. "Jan, for Christ's sake!"

He managed to grab one of her hands but couldn't get the other one.

She held his mouth shut with her fingers. He strained for leverage. "Don't say anything," she warned. "Ever again! Don't ever say anything to me again!
You killed Harold!"

She was staring at him, her lips contorted into a snarl. Then her eyes swam with confusion. She weakened, realized what she was doing, then let go....

Hammond clutched the side of the tub and pulled himself up, sucking in air.
      

"You killed Harold," she sobbed. "And I killed him, by sending him to you."

She broke into tears. Her hands fluttered and he grabbed one of them. Her head sank onto his shoulder and she knelt at the side of the tub, sobbing herself quiet.

"We didn't kill him," Hammond whispered.

"But if he hadn't come to you—if you hadn't looked into his past—"

Oh God, he thought. She's blaming us both for Harold's heart attack. She still doesn't understand that it was McCarthy,

But maybe...maybe it
was
my fault, he thought.
 

Her coldness had vanished. She helped him out of the bath, paying no attention to his nudity. She was solicitous of his bruises and, as she rubbed them with ointment, demanded to know how he had got them. There was no point in holding back anymore, so he told her about MTL and Traben, about Rinehart's death and his own close call. She still found Thin Air hard to believe, but he'd made her understand the danger. Now all she had to do was connect murder to her husband's death.

By the time they sat down to dinner, the lamb chops were cold, but they ate voraciously. Flickering candlelight warmed their faces with a yellow glow. Hammond sijpped wine and wallowed in one of Harold Fletcher's terrycloth robes.

"You don't have anyone staying with you?" he asked.

"No."

"What about your mother?"

"She never travels. She won't leave New York." "Girl friends?"

"I don't really want anybody. Harold's boss calls once a day."
 

"How long are you going to stay in retreat?"

She didn't answer for a long time, then she said, "I'm glad you're here."

"I know. That's why you tried to drown me."

She choked out a laugh, then smiled: it was pleasant seeing her happy again. He got up on impulse and came around the table to stand over her. She looked up at him with amused interest. He leaned over and kissed her lightly on the lips. She wasn't surprised at all. Her amusement turned to trembling fascination. She closed her eyes and he kissed her again. Her hand closed over his.

They made love long into the night, then fell apart on the sheets in a sprawl and let the cool air from the open window dry their bodies. They touched hands and lay quietly in the dark until they were asleep.

Jan woke Hammond at around four in the morning and complained of being cold. Hammond pulled up the sheet and arranged the blanket and she huddled with him. He peered through the dimness and saw her studying his face. Her eyes were warm now.

"Nicky?"

"Umm..."

"Why did we do this?"

He said nothing and she didn't press him for an answer. They both lay there and thought about it.

"Are we going to be a thing again?" she asked.

After a moment, he said, "I feel like a football. You can grab me and run for the goal or kick me back to the visiting team."

She smiled. "I don't like football."

"Good," he said. "Then you name the game."

"I can't...yet."

"Just as well."

She was silent again, for a long time, then she said, "I guess I should wait until all of Harold's affairs are settled before thinking of myself. God, I'm so tired of answering questions. Accountants, lawyers, insurance men...Can you believe one of the companies that insured Harold sent an investigator around the other day?"

"Really?"

"He was very pleasant, but he was asking all sorts of questions."

"What questions?"
      

"About what Harold was doing in Washington, where he'd been, who he'd seen. I didn't tell him we had met with you. I said only that he'd gone on business."

Good girl,
Hammond breathed to himself.

"He asked if Harold had seen a doctor while he was in Washington. I said I didn't know. Then he asked something really nervy—if Harold was open with me about his personal problems."

Hammond managed to stay calm. "What did he look like?"

"The investigator? He was big, very big, with black hair, a crewcut...."

Hammond tensed. Coogan.

"Has anyone else been around asking questions?"

"No. Who would be?"

Hammond forced himself to keep his mouth shut. He didn't want her to feel she was in any danger.

"Listen, the insurance companies have no business harassing you. Don't let any more of those guys in. And if that one comes back, call
me."

"Where?"

"In Washington. And maybe it would be a good idea if you came back with me."
      

She looked at him seriously, "I can handle myself."

Oh, no you can't, he thought, not against
this
type of insurance.

"I'll come to Washington," she said, "if I just can't keep away—from you."

Comforting. He was suddenly very frightened. By coming here, had he put her life on the line? Was Coogan watching, even now?

17

Hammond went to the Federal Building in Westwood and stopped off at the FBI offices first. He requested round-the-clock surveillance for Jan Fletcher. He was introduced to Special Agent Morrow. "I can't tell you anything about the case I'm working on," he explained. "Just keep a close eye on the lady and don't let her see you."

"What are we looking out for?" asked Morrow.

"Strangers. Possible attempt on her life. I don't know yet. She's recently widowed. Shouldn't be any men going in or out and she's discouraging visitors. I suggest you bug the front door and monitor conversations."

"But that's illegal," said Morrow with a big smile.

"So?" Hammond watched him scribble a few notes absently, then leaned over the desk and covered the paper with his hand. "Hey," he said, "I'm not fooling. This is not routine. Two people are already dead, and I don't want
anything
to happen to her."

His voice had risen, attracting attention from other agents. Morrow looked at him tightly, then smiled. "Don't worry," he said quietly.

"Okay." Hammond nodded and left.

He walked into the Navy Office of Information at three minutes to nine. He was taken back to the chief's desk and handed papers that had just arrived via long-distance photo-copier. They were copies of the MTL portfolio and several pieces of information.

The top sheet was a memo on Coogan. It read:

BUPERS reports a COOGAN, JOSEPH K.,
 

Lieutenant Commander, U.S. Naval Reserve,
 

Social Security No. 028-49-7721
 

USN Serial No. 1389805
 

Released from active duty August, 1955.
 

Limited annual service to present.

Hammond glanced through the information several times before he caught the telltale clue in the middle of the page:

9805—the last four digits of CooganV serial number and the final link is the code: 9805CGN-166.

The red flags in the files at BUPERS were set up to notify Joe Coogan of any inquiry into the
Sturman's
former crewmen. Coogan, still on limited duty in the Navy, had instituted this procedure himself, but how?

The second memo contained a' report on the status of Dr. Kurtnauer. Records showed that he had gone to Israel in 1950, had taken Israeli citizenship, and had never returned to the United States.

The next memo was from the FBI. No security clearance for any Emil Kurtnauer at MTL, now or ever.

Hammond's heart was pounding. So Traben
had
thrown him a curve. What a stupid move to pretend Kurtnauer was coming over from Israel. He should have known that Hammond would find out the truth and his suspicions about all of Traben's operations would only be heightened.

They had to be stalling for time.

Hammond turned to the MTL portfolio. Micro-Tech was a subsidiary of RTI, whose principal stockholder and Chairman of the Board was Francis P. Bloch. Bloch had founded RTI in 1955 and Edmond Traben's name appeared on the first Board of Directors. When Micro-Tech was formed in 1962, Edmond Traben became that company's principal stockholder and chairman. Joseph Coogan, Chief of Security, had held his post since the founding and, prior to that, had been head of security at RTI from the time he left the Navy in 1955.
 

The key date was 1955, when all the plots were hatched, the conclaves met, and the umbrella of secrecy was drawn over everything.

At exactly 0930 the phone rang and Hammond was buzzed. He got on the line with Slater.

"Hiya, Hammond, what's on your mind?"

"Where are you calling from, Tom?"

"MAGIC."

"Is Yablonski listening?"

"He's exercising in the backyard. I can see him from my loft window."

"How's it progressing?"

"Like squeezing toothpaste. It all came to the top yesterday afternoon. He's remembering names and dates like a repentant mobster up before a Congressional committee. We can't shut him up."

"Any side effects?"

"No. I think we've blown all that away. He's still got some anxiety about McCarthy, but I think that's mostly his need for revenge. A nice murder should cleanse his soul."

"I'd love to give him the chance."

"Better make it soon, Nick. He's talking about going home. So's Momma."
 

"They don't like the hospitality?"

"They don't see the danger."

"Nobody ever does. I'll see them when I get back. I think I can scare the daylights out of them."

"How about you,
señor?
Anything on Thin Air?"

"Plenty, but I'll tell you later. Do me a favor—ask Yablonski if he ever knew a man named Coogan. Navy. Lieutenant Commander Joseph K."

"Just a minute. Larry's got the notes...." Slater was gone for a moment, then Cohen got on the phone.

"Here we are," he said. "Lieutenant Commander Joe Coogan, head of security for Thin Air. Yablonski met him once, probably in 1954."

Hammond whistled. 1954? "Was Yablonski involved with Thin Air after 1953?"

"Yes. He now recalls spending a great deal of time under special care. He's beginning to realize he never did go back to his original assignment. His records are absolutely false. He was discharged through a special processing station in '55."

"Anything else on Coogan?"

"Yes. He said Coogan left Thin Air sometime in mid '54 to move to Washington. The rumor was he got assigned to BUPERS."

Hammond nearly crushed the receiver. So that's how it was done. As far back as 1954, Joe Coogan had infiltrated BUPERS and set up his coded alarm system. So the cover-up began even before the project went private. Traben must have been plotting with Bloch ever since the abortive, experiment of 1953.

Hammond told Cohen to make a transcript of his notes and send it to Admiral Gault along with a note that Hammond would be back to meet with the admiral and Smitty later that day.

Hammond hung up and called Ensign Cokeland at BUPERS in Washington. He was asking her to run down Lieutenant Commander Coogan's association with BUPERS when she interrupted him.
 

"No need," she said. "I know Lieutenant Commander Coogan. He's Naval Reserve. He works here two weeks every summer."

"He still does?" cried Hammond. Then he realized he should have known there would be an inside man to update those files. And two weeks a year would be sufficient.

Before leaving for the airport, he tried calling Jan. She was out. He hoped Morrow was on her tail. He didn't like depending on the FBI. But once he laid his information in Smitty's lap, he felt sure there would be action on all fronts.