CHAPTER 8

Grantsville, Utah
February 22
10:15 hours

The United Airlines Boeing 737 began its gradual descent into Salt Lake City International Airport. In obedience to the tiny sign above his seat, Edward buckled up. He was hoping that by the time he got back to Grantsville, Larry would be ready to take over. All he wanted was to get back to his gently mind-numbing routine of baking croissants, eating, and sleeping. All this activity was causing him to think, and thinking meant remembering. And there were too many things he wanted to forget.

He could feel the dull pain he had lived with for so long creeping back into his chest. The kind of pain that comes from sadness, the kind you can only numb but never cure. It was almost like meeting an old confidant he had painstakingly managed to elude. The guilt that he normally kept so deeply buried was stabbing at him as sharply as ever. He would now have to start forgetting all over again, but he didn’t know how anymore. The last time he had tried, he hadn’t used any kind of system — he had just tossed himself into the wind, hoping never to land.

No matter what anybody said, he knew he was responsible for their deaths. It had started out as a simple enough operation that turned unexpectedly nasty. A drug kingpin who had enjoyed the luxury of the CIA’s pampering, in return for his contacts in the Eastern bloc, had become expendable. His arrogance and tenacity, which had previously made him an invaluable asset, had overnight turned him into an embarrassment. He was no longer of use to the Agency, so it was unilaterally decided to end the relationship. The man would be paid off not with the fulfillment of his expectations of refuge and glory, but rather with a few ounces of lead. It was Edward’s mission to deliver the lead to the awaiting target.

Edward and thirty other men disembarked from low-flying Black Hawk helicopters several miles from the man’s residence in the thick, mountainous jungle of Colombia. Several hours later, like a dark cloud in the small hours of the night, they descended on his residence and made their deadly delivery. His guards and cronies were so utterly surprised, the operation was as easy as a simulated exercise and extremely successful. They managed to liquidate the man and all his cronies, or so they believed. Almost a year later, Edward learned that two of the man’s brothers were still alive and out for vengeance. They managed to lure their brother’s CIA contact man in Bogota into a trap. After several days of intense torture, and just before they granted his final wish and killed him, they got him to give them a name. Not long after that, they caught up with one of Edward’s men, and as every man can be made to talk in the end, they got the names of the other unit members, including Edward. He was at Fort Bragg when they called him the first time. They made him listen to his man’s cries as they took their revenge upon him. Edward could remember standing there, unable to hang up, listening. After what seemed like eternity, the callers informed him the man was dead, and they said they would call back. Several weeks later they did, and then again and again.

It was all coming back: the sights, the sounds, the anger. He resigned from the service and spent the next ten months tracking them down. They had captured and tortured seven of his men before he finally caught up with them, ending their careers and their lives.

By then he was attached to his bottle and on a long fall into the darkness of self-blame and depression. His wife told him it was her or the bottle, and when he chose the latter, she walked out. For months he drifted aimlessly from one bar stool to another, until one night he found himself beaten, robbed, and lying facedown, almost drowning in a six-inch-deep puddle of water outside a roadside bar near Grantsville, Utah.

He could remember the gentle hands that helped him up, the look of worry on the faces that seemed to belong in a generation past. It was then that he realized there was still decency in the land of the free, and it was time to start over.

Grantsville was as good a place as any, and more remote than most, which suited him just fine. For the first few months he still had to drink himself to sleep, but as time went by and he slipped into the comfort of his routine, he began to calm down. He kept the past well buried inside him, putting off dealing with it as long as he could. Fortunately, the bistro gave him plenty of things to keep his mind occupied.

Now it all came back. For the first time since coming to in that puddle, he felt an overwhelming need, a need he knew could never be satisfied. He wanted a drink to dull the pain, to help him face the emptiness of his life.

It was midmorning when Edward arrived. Natalie was out shopping. Larry had borrowed some of Edward’s clothing and looked like a little boy wearing his father’s suit, but he was able to walk a few steps around the apartment. Edward suggested coffee and croissants, to which Larry consented gladly. They sat upstairs and munched in silence for a few minutes. Edward was a little disturbed to note that the croissants were as delicious as ever, even though it was not he but the burly short-order cook who had prepared them. Perhaps, Edward reflected ruefully, I’m not as indispensable to this place as I thought.

Having satisfied his hunger, Edward briefed Larry on what he had learned on his visit to the Big Apple. He tried to sound uninterested, as if none of this really had anything to do with him. When he had finished, he handed Larry his notes.

“The details are here,” he said, “as much as Donoven claimed to know.”

Larry looked the documents over. “You still write the best goddamn reports I ever read. I guess you don’t much like Donoven, do you?”

“Not really.”

“Well, I guess we have us a situation here.”

“You mean you have a situation.”

Ignoring this remark, Larry continued his thoughtful perusal of the report. “So they mobilize their special units under the veil of a general state of alert as a result of the increased numbers of terrorist attacks. Then, once in position and with the communication array active, they take over. The perfect coup d’état. We’ve seen that happen before, in Weimar — a fledgling democracy falling prey to a nationalistic, militaristic, lunatic fringe. Except this time the fringe is everywhere. Too bad we don’t have any idea of the timetable.”

“Well, that is what Donoven’s supposed to get for you when he gets back to London. My feeling is that things could start happening very soon.”

“I guess you’re right.”

“Time for you to call your boss again, Larry.” Edward shrugged. “Good luck.”

“Edward…” Larry hesitated. “I’m going to need your help on this one.”

“No way. I did what I could. Now it’s back to you.”

“Edward, you’ve got to understand… I cannot afford a mistake at this point. There’s too much at stake. I have no one I can trust but you. I’m out of the CIA — and who knows which side they’re on in this, anyway? My own boss is probably the one who set me up, or someone close to him. Then there’s those spooks you saw the other day. They sure weren’t going to inquire after my health. They probably think I’m public enemy number one. I’m on my own, Edward. I can’t stop this thing alone. I need you.”

“Larry,” Edward said in a soothing voice. “I think the antibiotics got to you. Look at the big picture, my friend. It doesn’t make any sense. Why would anyone in the United States want to help a coup in Russia that could very well bring back the Cold War? Maybe this time it might not be that cold, either.”

“Don’t you see?” said Larry, looking strained. “The military industry is dying off with this peace. The metal-eaters survive on conflict. As far as they can see, conflict is good for the economy — it stops unwanted immigration, it creates a lot of new jobs, and stops the strain on the financial markets due to the endless aid packages the Eastern bloc countries are receiving. They want the old world order, when you knew who your enemy was and could buy your friends.”

“Come to think of it, old buddy, it doesn’t sound that bad.”

“It’s not funny, Edward. This could turn the whole world into one big Bosnia.”

There was silence. Edward began to think of various lines of argument as to why he could not possibly get involved, but deep down he knew he was licked.

“All right, but only until you can get your act together.”

“Agreed,” said Larry. He shakily went back to bed. Edward took his report and sat behind a small desk in the corner of the bedroom to go over it again.

The door opened and Natalie came in. She seemed pleased to see Edward. Bending to him, she gave him a kiss on the cheek. Edward wanted to hold on to her. It was a nice welcome back from the cold, hard city.

Natalie opened her packages on the bed, showing them what she had bought. An innocent smile on her face, she was like a little girl showing off her toys. She had bought some new clothes for Larry “so he can get out of that circus tent he’s wearing.” Turning to Edward again, she asked, “So what’s new?”

“Edward’s agreed to help us,” said Larry. She smiled, clearly happy with the news.

Edward didn’t say anything, but her closeness and her sweet scent squeezed the knot in his stomach.

Downstairs, he closed himself in his office and again went over the information Donoven had given him. He needed to understand it better. Now he was no longer just a messenger, but an active player.

After some hours of doodling and drawing up little charts, he had a plan. He knew it was a crazy plan that could probably never be pulled off. But in this situation, he knew if anything could work, it would have to be crazy. The odds dictated that. He went back to talk it over with Larry.

“It’s gonna take a lot of money,” said Edward.

“Money is no problem.”

“And I’m going to need some help.”

“All I can offer you is myself and Natalie.”

Edward could hear the shower running, which gave away Natalie’s whereabouts. “Could you ask her to meet me downstairs when she’s through?” he said. “I have something for her to do.”

“You got it.”

Edward went across the street to the convenience store, where he picked up a copy of Real Estate Weekly, a bulky tabloid-format newspaper with nationwide listings. Sitting at his table in the bistro, he thumbed through it until he found the pages for Long Island. While he searched the columns of print and the small photos, Natalie came in and sat opposite him. He looked up and smiled. Then he circled a couple of property listings for sale or rent in Bay Shore, outside New York. Both were for large suburban properties in their own grounds, with adequate shelter and privacy afforded by trees and fences.

“Here,” he said. “I need you to go to New York and rent one of these places. Fit it up to house at least fifteen people.” She noticed the change in his tone of voice; he clearly knew what he wanted and was taking charge. “Get furnishings, food, linen, everything. We want our guests to be comfortable. We’ll also need a couple of small cars and a pickup truck — rented, ready, and waiting. If anybody asks, you’re setting it up for a wealthy couple that likes to party.”

“Where’s the money coming from?”

“Larry will arrange that, as much as you need. It’s not the expense that matters, it’s the time. How soon do you think you can get it set up?”

Natalie pushed out her lips in thought. “Four, five days should cover it.”

“Good.” Edward appreciated her businesslike manner. “How soon can you leave?”

Natalie shrugged. “Ten minutes?”

“I’ll drive you to the airport.”

After he had dropped off Natalie, Edward drove back to Grantsville, thinking what else and who else he would need if his plan was to have a prayer. The list was long and getting longer with every passing minute.

Back at the apartment, while Larry slept, Edward dialed the number he had used when Larry had first been wounded.

The ringer tone sounded four, five times. Come on, Joe, where are you? Normally, he knew, Joe had a phone within reach all the time.

At last the ringing stopped and a voice answered. “Joe Falco.”

“Joe? It’s Edward.”

“Edward! Sorry to keep you, I was in the can.” Joe laughed cheerfully. Impatient though Edward was, he forgave him. Ever since he had stepped on a mine while on patrol with the Fifth Marines in Hue during the Tet Offensive in 1968, Joe had been in a wheelchair. He had a veteran’s pension and a disability pension, and his father had left him some money. Joe spent his days in a modest bungalow in New Jersey, surrounded by computers, radios, televisions, telephones, and the best hi-fi system money could buy. He spent hours at the computer, surfing the Internet, keeping in touch with other veterans and anyone whom, for whatever reason, he found interesting.

“How did that medic I sent you work out?” Joe asked.

“Fine. He did a very professional job.”

“Hey, would I send you an amateur?”

“Joe, I got another little problem, and it’s going to take more than a medic to fix. I have a few other requirements here, if you know what I mean.”

“Fire away.”

“I need some grunts for a dirty job.” There was no point in trying to paint a pretty picture; honesty was mostly what veterans had left between them. “I have no idea how long this may take, although something tells me it won’t take very long.”

“Okay. Who do you need?”

“I need about fifteen to twenty combat vets — you know, Green Berets, SAS, whoever you can get your hands on and trust.”

“Sounds interesting.”

“Joe, I need the best.”

“Relax, Edward. It’s understood.”

“Okay. I also need two pilots, fixed wing, not choppers. I also need a communications expert, someone who can remember every goddamn radio frequency there ever was, and what played on it. Someone who can look at any piece of telecommunications equipment, old or new, and tell me exactly what it can and can’t do. Someone who also knows computers inside out. You read me?”

“I read you,” Joe said slowly. “I know a guy in Philly, but I think he’s out of the country. I’ll look into it.”

“What ever happened to Monty?”

“Who?”

“Used to be a Sparky on the carriers. Guy’s a genius, got a photographic memory. He was in my unit for a short time just before I left. Hell, the guy practically had radio antennas coming out his ears.”

“You mean Montgomery Houston?”

“Yah, that’s the one.”

Joe chuckled. “I had a feeling his name would come up. But Edward, there’s a problem. I can’t reach him.”

“How come?”

“He ain’t on the phone, he has no street address or post office box, and he doesn’t keep homing pigeons.”

“Where the hell is he? The North Pole?”

“Nope. He’s in New York. But you’ll never find him.”

“Why not?”

“Seems like Houston always had a problem, you know, upstairs? He was never quite all there. I guess there’s a name for that.”

“Yeah: human.”

“Well, some of these people who are, you know, that way, if anything bad happens to them, they get worse?”

“And is that what happened to Houston?”

“I don’t know what happened exactly. Just that he couldn’t keep his act together. He kept saying everybody was out to kill him. He wound up on the street, panhandling, hustling, whatever. He could be dead by now.”

“Damn!”

“Last I heard, someone saw him asleep in a doorway in the Village. That was about six months ago.”

“Where was the doorway?”

“Hey, you ain’t planning to go look for him, are you?”

“I might.”

Joe laughed. “Still the same old Edward. Okay, I’ll try to find out. What else?”

“I guess that’s it for now.”

“What do you want me to tell these people?”

“Tell them I need them. It’s a big job. Anybody who owes me one, I’m calling the debt in now, and we’ll be even. But they have to come through for me. It’s a once in a lifetime thing.”

“What is this, a heist or something?”

“No, it’s legitimate business. But we could all get into deep shit because of it.”

“So why go through with it?”

“Because we’ll be in deeper shit if we don’t.”

“What the hell is it?”

“Trust me, Joe, I’ll tell you as soon as I can. It’s just I don’t want anyone who isn’t in to know anything about it. You read me?”

“I hate when people ask me to trust them, whatever. Give me a couple of days. I’ll get back to you. Okay?”

“Okay. See ya, Joey.”

It was nail-biting time again, nothing to do but wait and think. Two days later, Natalie reported in. She had rented the safe house and was in the process of fitting it out. She already had the phone hooked up — she was in the living room when she called — and the furniture was on its way. That afternoon, she was taking the rented pickup to Wal-Mart to fill it with food.

“What kind of food do you eat?” she asked Edward.

“A lot,” he replied.

“A lot of what?” she murmured.

“Everything,” said Edward, “just get lots of everything.”

Later that day, Joe Falco called back. He had identified players for all the roles on Edward’s list. They all were ready, willing, and able to hear what Edward had to offer them. All he had to do was say where and when. Edward gave Joe the address and phone number in Long Island.

“Tell them to call me there or just show up the day after tomorrow.”

“Okay. Listen, I found out some more about Montgomery Houston. Apparently it was his wife, woman named Hannah. He was already pretty shaky when he got out of the Navy, found her in bed with his best friend. That’s what did it to him. Funny thing is, she was killed in a car crash couple of months ago. Houston probably doesn’t even know it. He was last seen wandering around the Lower East Side of New York. I figured he’s out of the picture so I found someone else — the guy in Philly.”

“Is he as good as Houston?”

“No, but still good.”

“Bring him in.”

“Okay,” said Joe. “Say, Edward, is this deal something I could help you with too? I mean, I don’t get around much, but this sounds like something I’d like to get involved in.”

“You’re involved already, Joe. I need you right where you are. You’re my gatekeeper.”

“Thanks, Edward.”

“Thank you, Joe.”

Edward still had an important detail to get straight: the bistro. He had a long talk with Kelly in the back office, explaining that he had some family problems he must attend to.

“I didn’t know you had a family,” she said.

“There’s a lot you don’t know.” He told her he was going to take a few weeks to handle the situation. Meanwhile, could she look after things here? No problema, she told him. Edward also explained that his friend upstairs would be sticking around and would handle any personal calls. He’d just had an operation, Edward explained, so his staying in the apartment while Edward was gone suited everybody.

The next morning, Edward packed a few belongings into a suitcase and took a flight to New York.

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