Swimming to Catalina

60

Stone was shaken awake by Rick Grant. He was laying fully dressed on a bed in one of the two bedrooms of Rick’s secure hotel suite.

“Come on into the living room,” Rick said.

Stone looked at his watch; it was seven-thirty in the morning. He followed Rick into the living room, where two video cameras, two tape recorders, and some lights had been set up. “Where’s O’Hara?” Stone asked.

“We let him get some sleep,” Rick said. “Hank and John have pretty much bled him dry, and it’s all on video and audio. They want to talk to you.”

Stone sat down and poured himself some coffee from a thermos. “How’d it go, gentlemen?”

“It went very well,” Hank Cable said, “but he may not be all we need.”

Stone didn’t like the sound of that. “Why not?”

“He’ll be a good witness, but a defense lawyer of the quality that Ippolito and Sturmack will hire will give him a very hard time on the stand.”

“So?”

“Sturmack and Ippolito will take the stand and say that sure, they hired him to help in acquiring the Centurion stock, but that was all. They’ll blame any of his confessed illegal activity on O’Hara himself, and their lawyer will make much of O’Hara’s accepting bribes from organized crime and his involvement in murder.”

“So what are you saying?” Stone asked.

“I’m saying that as good as O’Hara is, he may not be enough. If we could persuade Vance Calder to testify, that would help, of course, but…”

“But Vance is not going to do it,” Stone said. “You can’t count on that for a minute.”

“If we want to button this thing up, we’re going to need more,” Cable said.

“What about your wiretaps? Surely O’Hara’s testimony will get you extensions on your search warrants and some new warrants, too.”

“That will take time,” Rick Grant said. “Sturmack will hear that Regenstein has fired O’Hara, and Ippolito’s people are going to notice that O’Hara has vanished off the face of the earth. When they do, they could shut down Barone’s operation, leaving us high and dry. They could even cut and run, if they’re nervous enough. I just don’t think we have weeks or months to sit and listen to wiretaps and try to decipher them.”

“Have you arrested Barone yet? He knows where the bodies are buried, and I’ll bet he could be broken.”

“Maybe, but he’ll more than likely lawyer up, get out on bail, and disappear. We don’t want to take him until our case is solid.”

“Anybody got any ideas?” Stone asked.

There followed a long silence on the part of everybody.

Finally Hank Cable said, “We were hoping that you might have an idea. You’ve been pretty good so far.”

It was Stone’s turn to be silent. “Ippolito doesn’t know that I’m alive,” he said at last.

“We’re not absolutely certain of that,” Rick said. “Remember, Ippolito’s yacht captain knows you by sight.”

“But not by name. O’Hara doesn’t think Ippolito knows I’m alive.”

“Okay, maybe he doesn’t know,” Rick agreed.

“Why don’t I pay him a visit? Have a talk with him? You could wire me.”

Rick was shaking his head. “You heard O’Hara say yesterday that when he went to Ippolito’s office he was searched for weapons and a wire.”

“Good point,” Stone said.

Cable spoke up. “What size shoe do you wear, Stone?”

“A 10 D,” Stone replied. “Why?”

“Maybe there’s a way. Tell you what: you go back to your hotel, get some breakfast, a shower, and a change of clothes, and I’ll meet you there in a couple of hours.”

Stone arrived back at the Bel-Air to find Dino still sound asleep. He got undressed, shaved, and got into the shower. When he came out, Dino was up.

“Where the hell have you been all night?” Dino asked. “I was worried.”

“Sorry I didn’t call home, Mom; I was at an all-night interrogation.”

“Of who?”

Stone brought him up to date while he got dressed.

“What’s this about shoes?” Dino asked.

“Beats me,” Stone said. “Let’s get some breakfast.”

They had just finished eating when Hank Cable and Rick Grant arrived. Cable had a shoebox under his arm.

“Take off your shoes and pants,” Cable said. “Your underwear, too.”

Stone followed his instructions. “No pictures,” he said.

Cable opened the shoebox and took out a pair of wingtips. “They’re 9½ C’s,” he said. “It was the best I could do.”

“I take it these are some sort of federal high-tech wingtips,” Stone said.

“Good guess. Put them on.”

Stone put on the shoes. “They’re tight,” he said.

“You’ll live,” Cable replied. He took some wires and a roll of tape out of the shoebox. “Here’s how it works,” he said. “In the heel of one shoe is a tape recorder; in the heel of the other shoe is a transmitter.” He plugged a very slim wire into a tiny receptacle at the top rear of each shoe. “Turn around.”

Stone turned around.

Cable began running a wire up the back of Stone’s right leg, taping it in place, then he followed with the left leg. “Okay, now put your shorts and your pants on.”

Stone got dressed.

“Now we tape the wires running around your waist to the front,” Cable said, “and we attach these two little microphones to the two wires.” He did so, then he taped the tiny microphones to Stone’s belly. They were nestled in his navel.

“Now you can stick your shirttail in and buckle your belt.”

Stone did as he was told.

“Now,” Cable said, “if they frisk you for a wire they’ll be looking for a small transmitter taped to your chest or in the small of your back, or maybe even in your crotch. They won’t be looking at the heels of your shoes. Even if they pat you down very thoroughly, the wires are too thin to feel through the fabric of your suit.”

“I see,” Stone said. “That’s pretty good; I might just get away with it.”

“I’d be willing to bet that you will,” Cable said.

“How do I turn on the transmitter and the tape recorder?” Stone asked.

“All you do is stamp each heel firmly on a hard surface, like concrete. It might not work on carpet. The transmitter we can pick up from as much as ten miles away; the tape in the recorder will last for two hours.”

“I don’t understand about the recorder,” Stone said. “Why don’t you just record it at the receiving end?”

“Oh, we will, but we need a backup, in case there’s any interference that screws up some part of the transmission.”

“Here’s what we do,” Rick said. “You go down to the headquarters building of the Safe Harbor Bank and take the elevator up to the top floor, where Ippolito’s office is. Tell the receptionist or secretary who you are and ask to see Ippolito.”

“Suppose he won’t see me?”

“Don`t take no for an answer. I’m betting that his curiosity will be too much for him, especially if he still thinks you’re dead. He’ll see you, I’ll give you odds.”

“Then what?”

“Engage him in conversation; get him to incriminate himself.”

“How the hell am I supposed to do that?”

“You’re a good talker, Stone; you’ll figure a way. Just get him talking and keep him talking for as long as possible.”

“And where will you guys be all this time?”

“We’ll be all over that building, just an elevator ride from you. If he cuts and runs, there’s no way he can get past us and out of the building.”

“Suppose he just takes a gun out of his desk drawer and shoots me?” Stone asked.

“Come on, he’s not going to commit murder in his own office, for Christ’s sake.”

Cable spoke up again; he held up a Mont Blanc fountain pen, the fat model. “More goodies; this little beauty fires one twenty-two-caliber hollowpoint cartridge. You’ll be able to hit somebody at arm’s length-any farther away than that, no guarantees. I’d go for the head, if I were you.” He held up another pen. “Here’s a second one; put them in your inside coat pocket, where a man would normally carry a pen.” He unscrewed the cap and revealed a pen point. “It will actually write,” he said; then he screwed the cap back on. “To fire it, you point it and press down hard on the tip of the gold clip, see?” He demonstrated without actually firing the weapon.

“I don’t see a barrel.”

“That’s concealed under the plastic tip. The bullet will blow the end off the pen when it’s fired.”

Stone took the pens and put them in his inside coat pocket.

“Now,” Rick said, “after you’ve gotten him to incriminate himself, or if anything should go wrong, just say the word ‘police’ in any sentence. If you say ‘cops’ or ‘FBI’ or ‘IRS’or anything except ‘police,’ we won’t move. But the minute we hear that word from you, we’re on our way with SWAT teams. We’ll have the elevator keys, and we can be with you in no more than a minute, a minute and a half at the outside.”

“And if I’m in trouble, what am I supposed to do for those ninety seconds?”

“That’s what the pens are for,” Cable said.

“Okay,” Stone said, “I’ll do it.”