Thin Air (32 page)

They picked up her baggage and then separated in the parking lot. Morrow went off with Michaelson to FBI Headquarters in Washington, while Hammond drove Jan to the safe house in Herndon. The trip was anything but enjoyable.

She took off the dark glasses and he saw how red her eyes were. Her chin jutted out and she hissed, "You didn't tell me. You didn't have the decency to let me know my life was in danger. What was I supposed to do—figure it out for myself?"

"Jan, I'm sorry. I tried to tell you—"

"You
did not!
And why are they after me? What have I done? What am I supposed to know? Is it because
you
came to me?"

He had no answer. She swore as loud as she could. He glanced over: her mouth was trembling.

"Harold was murdered, wasn't he?"

Hammond nodded.

"Because he came to you! You've got the
touch,
haven't you?"

"Now, wait a minute—"

"I
won't
wait
! I'm going to—" She stopped, trailing off.

"You're going to Herndon," Hammond said, "to a safe house with two other very fine people. And you're going to sit down and hear me—"

"Who broke into my house?" she interrupted.

"McCarthy."

She stared at him. "Harold's
psychiatrist?
"

Hammond raised his voice. "Damnit, McCarthy killed your husband! I'm sure of it! And I don't know
why
you're acting like
I
did it!"
      

He finished at a shout. She stared at the road ahead. He fell silent and neither spoke again.

He turned off Monroe Park Avenue to Worchester, then looked for Merlin's Way. The house nicknamed MAGIC was halfway up the block. He parked the car on the street and blinked the lights twice. A moment later, Ike Menninger stepped out on the verandah of the two-story brick house and waved.

Hammond got out of the car and walked around to open the door for Jan. She sat there pouting.

"Jan?"

"Go to hell."

His teeth tightened and he-shook with anger. He grabbed her arm and yanked her out of the car. She stumbled in surprise. He spoke fast and thinly. "They've made two attempts on my life and one on yours. There's a man inside that house who's been through the same hell as your late husband for more than twenty years. They tried to kill him, too! I would like to nail them before they nail us, Mrs. Fletcher!"

He was conscious of another warning lurking inside: it was a race against time, not only; for their own lives, but to prevent the murder of all the remaining Fletchers and Olivelys and Yablonskis.

Jan met his angry look with a cold scowl. She needed someone to be upset with. Hammond released her and she walked to the house alone.

Mrs. Yablonski was happy to have feminine company and took Jan upstairs to a bedroom to get settled.

Hammond joined Yablonski and Menninger in the den. Cas looked better. He was dressed in jeans and sweatshirt and seemed eager to hear about Thin Air. Hammond set up Menninger's tape recorder and sat down to relate as much as he could recall. He planned to use the tape as his report to Gault.

Hammond kept nothing from Yablonski. He explained that Rinehart had confirmed the nightmares. He told the history of the project, then described the gunplay, the chase, the fire, Rinehart's death, and his own visit to MTL.

Yablonski paced, growing angry, more than once interrupting to have something repeated, then cursing what he heard.

Hammond explained about the attack on Jan and that seemed to trigger something inside Yablonski. He went to the window and gazed out grimly. Hammond knew what he was thinking: at last he was taking the danger seriously. There would be no more talk of going home. If they were prepared to bump off
wives...

Yablonski watched his wife come down the stairs and enter the kitchen. Then he whirled and said, "What are you going to do?"

Hammond explained about the parity at Bloch's tomorrow night and how he hoped to confront the man and rattle his confidence.

"I want to go," said "Cas.

"No. Too dangerous." Hammond didn't explain what he really felt was dangerous about it, that Yablonski might lose control and blow the case.

"Hammond, when are you going to stop protecting me long enough to let me be useful?"

"You've been put through enough...but I may need you later."

"When?"

Hammond didn't reply. They both knew it was a brush-off.

Yablonski sat down opposite Hammond and caught his eye. "For what they did to Olively and all those other guys, I want to be there when you close in. I've been in plenty of bar fights and I know how to knock heads. Gimme the chance," he said through his teeth.

"We're not ready yet."

"When you are...?"

"Front-row seat, Cas."

She laughed. "You want me to play femme fatale?"

"No. Just be decorative. You can divert attention from what I'm doing."

"What will you be doing?"

They were sitting in Jan's room, far apart. She was on the bed; Hammond was in a chair by the window.

"My investigating act," he said. "Look, I could use you as a decoy. It'll be like flaunting failure in their faces. Should be fun to see them squirm. And at the worst, you'll have a good time. I hear Bloch's parties are sensational."

"What about safety?"

"You'll be surrounded by Navy brass."

She sighed. "Oh, Hammond..."

"What?"

"You're going to have to buy me a dress. I just haven't got a thing to wear."

She batted her eyes at him.
      

They convened at Smitty's flat on 29th Street, less than half a mile from Hammond's. There were Hammond and Jan, Gault and Smitty, and their wives. The two Navy men were in dress blues, the ladies wore gowns, and Smitty effectively hid his bulk inside a tentlike tux.

Jan was open and charming, much to Hammond's relief, even sweeping aside the muttered condolences offered by Smitty and Gault and captivating them with a warm and radiant smile.

As he strolled past Hammond to get the ladies a drink, Gault mumbled, "That's a widow?"

Certainly Jan was not behaving like a widow, nor did she even resemble one. Her gown was a pale green silk off-the-shoulder, with a sash draped across her breasts. Her brown hair gleamed, pulled back tight to fall around her neck in Grecian curls. Hammond could hardly take his eyes off her.

Smitty excused himself to the ladies and led the men into his den, a dark oak-paneled cave lined with books. He poured them Scotch and plain soda water for himself from his private bar, then he sat down and faced Gault.

"Okay, Admiral, let's have it," he said.

"I spent all of yesterday morning with Admiral Larry Corso," Gault began. "He's Bloch's Washington rep. Retired six years ago as chief liaison for Naval Air Systems Command and he collects a fat pension. But he's a double dipper, because he also takes a fat paycheck as a lobbyist for some of the big defense contractors. And he's got a direct line into the Navy Chief of Staff, close ties with the Armed Forces Appropriations Committee, and the cooperation, if he needs it, of the White House.

"He made it clear that he resents us sticking our noses into Bloch's business if only for one reason: both RTI and MTL are prime contractors on a super-sensitive, top-secret Navy project, the most advanced orbiting weapons guidance system of its kind. They've been developing it for years and they're very near completion. Admiral Corso, 'in the interests of the Navy' as he puts it will take any steps necessary to see that this project is not jeopardized."

Hammond snorted. "Did you drop any hints about the steps Traben and his people have been taking?"

"I did. And he looked at me like I was crazy. In fact, he got furious. He seemed to be aware of you, Hammond, and was quite upset. He accused us of cooking all this stuff up and he demanded to know why."

Hammond looked to Smitty for comment, but the big man sat silently behind his desk. He didn't even appear to be listening.

Gault resumed. "I checked with the CNO. The business about the guidance project is true. Very hush-hush. It's Micro-Tech's biggest contract, and RTI is a major subcontractor."

At last Smitty let out a grunt. He shifted in his seat, picked up a pencil, and began to doodle. "You know, it's very interesting," he said. "I've had the Government Accounting Office do a preliminary audit on both companies going back some five years, just a check of in-house records. RTI is clean as a whistle. But on some of MTL's larger deals, contracts in the range of half a billion dollars, they've frequently requested enormous increases in funding. If, for example, they've got three big projects going and one of them falls into trouble, they have no compunction about running immediately to Defense for more money. You would think they'd want to uphold their sound image and simply rob Peter to pay Paul—fall back on company profits. But no way." He stopped, then looked at Gault.
      

"You were right," said Gault. "They're kiting funds."

"Sure they are," Smitty agreed. "And if they've been doing it for twenty years, it could amount to millions—certainly enough to finance Thin Air."

"And without absolute proof, we can't touch them," Gault sighed.

There was a long silence. Gault tossed down his Scotch.

"It would be nice," began Hammond, "to sort of hint to F.P. Bloch that we know what he's doing."

"Wouldn't it?" said Smitty thinly. "They're making a bona fide threat. Corso wants us to lay off."

"But we're not getting anything in return," growled Gault. "That's a helluva one-sided bargain."

"At least he's giving us a little time," said Smitty. "He could have charged right over to his 'friends in high places' and had us hog-tied."

"But he didn't," said Hammond, putting down his drink, "because he doesn't want to attract attention. That means he
knows
what's really going on in there!"

"Possibly," Smitty grunted. "In any case, we can continue to pursue this discreetly, as long as we don't antagonize Admiral Corso. I too have the ears of the Navy Chief of Staff and the Appropriations Committee." Smitty flashed a wry smile.

Gault shifted uncomfortably. "I'm afraid Corso is a little better connected. The present Navy Chief served under him for ten years, and the head of the Appropriations Committee is a cousin."
 

Smitty's face grew dark, "If there's one thing I hate, ifs pushy admirals," he snarled.

Gault's eyes widened.

"Present company excluded," Smitty added.

Bloch's house was a four-story Victorian mansion in the most fashionable section of Georgetown. The palace occupied a corner lot and dominated everything around it. Floodlights blazed against the façade. The circular drive was awash with Cadillacs; diplomatic license plates abounded. It was obvious that Bloch moved in very high circles. Hammond adjusted his uncomfortable dress uniform and followed the others into the house. Gault stopped Smitty and pointed to a flock of Lincolns with Arab plates.

"Does Bloch deal with the oil cartel?"

Smitty shrugged. "Nowadays, the Arabs show up at every party."

The foyer was enormous, with stairs opening onto two landings above. The floor was marble, the walls pale blue and hung with priceless oil paintings. Carved oak doors opened onto a ballroom on the left, where most of the party seemed to be gathering.

As servants appeared to take their coats, Hammond swept the room with a searching gaze. He spotted a small knot of Arabs watching a group of Americans move down a side hallway. Smitty nudged him and indicated the men disappearing down the hall.

"Big-shots from the oil companies," he said.

The door was gently closed by a butler. Hammond glanced back at the Arabs—their eyes were riveted on that closed door.

"That's a hell of an odd tableau," he whispered to Smitty.

Hammond led Jan into the mass of people who made up the Washington social scene, pointing out several senators and congressmen. He was enjoying her excitement when he caught sight of a beefy face regarding him coldly from across the room.

It was Joe Coogan.

Hammond introduced Jan to a senator from Iowa and left with a promise to return with drinks. He walked directly over to Coogan, who greeted him with a big smile.

"Thought you never traveled," chided Hammond.

"Special occasion. I got called."

"Really? I don't see your boss anywhere."

Coogan laid a hand on Hammond's shoulder, then hurried off to someone else he knew.

Hammond let out his breath, surprised to find how nervous he was. He didn't really believe Coogan would try to kill him here.

He wandered back to the open oak doors, first checking to see that Jan was occupied in conversation. No problem: she was flirting with
two
senators now.

He positioned himself in the foyer, covered by a group of new arrivals, and glued his eye to that side hallway and the closed door. Smitty came over and Hammond asked if he would get Jan a drink and keep an eye on her.