Overfall

Ten

In six hours Anna was out of Vancouver and on her way to New York.

After seeing her off in the studio’s Gulfstream IV, Sam climbed into a Hawker 700 for the trip to LA. The Hawker was an old workhorse business jet, worth maybe one-fifth as much as the plane that came for Anna. It was owned by Sam’s friend, who let him use it for a fee. Sam was a no-frills guy even when it came to his choice of jets.

At Sam’s request the pilots had been good enough to obtain some tobacco leaves and a humidor that originally came from a Cuban national who for years had supplied Sam.

Inside the jet things were posh and comfortable. The plane’s sidewalls were wood and, near the floor, carpet. On the ceiling and upper sidewalls it was two-tone, stitched leather. Sam settled into a seat with Atlas-sized armrests and watched the flight information display monitor for a couple of minutes before he cracked open his small tobacco box.

He could understand his friend’s wife not wanting their plane to smell like a cigar, even a good cigar, but there was no law against rolling one. Sam took a large unblemished tobacco leaf and rolled the smaller leaves and pieces inside it to make a loose facsimile of a real cigar. When he had it all carefully rolled, he stuffed it in a cigar tube and screwed on the lid. Sometime this week he would smoke it.

He picked up the sat phone built into the plane and called Paul.

“Hi,” Sam began.

“Well, well, well, you’re coming back to work. I heard you’ve got Jill back in the saddle. And Shohei called me.”

“It’s a particular assignment.”

“Hey, you know me. I’m in.”

Sam spent a solid forty minutes telling Paul the whole story.

“This could only happen to Sam the History Man,” Paul said when he was through asking questions. “Now let me get this straight. You’re telling me that Anna Wade doesn’t even know the rules?”

“No contract yet. I told her not to talk. She’s not fooling me. I figure she’ll go ask around about me. She’s a control freak.”

“From what you’ve told me she also has no sponsor.”

“We’ll fix that. Let’s see what she does.”

“From what you gleaned it sounds like she’s most likely to spill the beans to her ex or her boyfriend. We gonna need somebody in New York?”

“Oh, yeah. For protection, mainly, but also to keep the lid on any snooper stuff. Let’s impress her. We’ll find out a lot in the first few hours.”

They talked over the details of what they would need to do in the next twenty-four hours. It was a long list.

“Have Farris get the ESN number and the phone number on Anna’s cell. They’ve got the contacts, probably cost a few grand.”

“Use an oscillator?”

“Yeah. Record every word.”

“You’re gonna feel like a shit.”

“I know. Do you think I should call Typhony?” Sam asked, now satisfied that Paul understood.

“She’s one of the best researchers we ever had. She can make Big Brain sing songs and tell secrets. You already got one ex-lover back in the biz, why not two?”

“You think her boyfriend will be all right with it?” Sam said.

“Fiance, you mean. Yeah, I do. He’s a good guy.”

“There’s an undertone there.”

“No undertone. I just never figured out why you and she didn’t stay connected.”

“One of those mysteries.”

“Truth’s truth, Sam. Commitment bores you. That was Jill and that was Typhony. So you gonna call Typhony or am I?”

“She’s got another job, doesn’t she?”

David Dun

Overfall

“Sam, she’ll be crushed if you don’t even call and ask. She’s an executive assistant for some stuffed shirt. And you never know what she’ll do till you ask.”

“But for one assignment?”

“Hey, nobody believes that retirement crap. You want me to call?”

“I’ll call.” Sam now knew exactly how Paul’s conversation with Typhony had gone. But it was necessary to play it out. It might be as long as twenty-four hours before she was back in the office.

Sam’s finger was poised over the button. Once he dialed there was no turning back. The choice was still his until he dialed the number. It was about as awkward as a man finding his sister making love to his wife, but other than that the call was a breeze. After Typhony finished the verbal torture, Sam got down to the big question, and after appropriate hesitation and more than the usual verbal sparring she took the job.

“Talk to Paul, of course,” Sam told her, “and get the full story from him. But do a complete search on Dr. Kenneth Galbraith, psychiatrist. Where he went to school, all the doctors in his class; any publications; every mention of him in the press; credit check; all the usual. And start having someone go through his garbage immediately. No doubt he’ll have a cell. Figure it out, get the ESN, the whole nine yards, and get one of our contract guys listening to his calls. If we get anything at all we’ll arrange more groundwork. If he lives remotely, use the drone, get blowups; otherwise drive-bys are okay. Then in the morning begin interviews immediately. Use Royce and associates. When you’ve got Royce going, help Paul on Grace Technologies: one Roberto Fresco, its vice president; DuShane Chellis, the president. I forgot to mention to Paul I think we should call our friends in Brussels and have them work on the France end. I’d like that outfit Discretion.”

“I don’t know how you end up with the most famous and the most troubled,” she said. “But that’s okay,” she added before he could respond. “We knew you’d come back, and I guess Anna Wade is as good an excuse as any.”

Devan Gaudet was looking forward to seeing the offices of Grace Technologies without its master ushering him around. Although he had been in the building a number of times as the need for his services increased, his movements were always controlled. Headquarters stood on the Rue de l’Arrivee, a block from the Luxembourg Gardens, where Chellis reportedly paced when in the throes of a deal.

For a Paris office, Grace’s was expensive, which meant that by the standards of most of the world’s cities it was exorbitant. Devan Gaudet looked up at the building from the small entry plaza just outside the main doors. Even he had to admit that Chellis had come a long way from Omaha, Nebraska. But the man still had the petty mind of an American.

The main doors led to a spacious atrium and waiting area that looked like a men’s luncheon club. Large windows, painfully tasteful brown leather, and subdued plaids on the furnishings made one think of cigars and chess. According to Benoit, people congregated here to talk sometimes about business and usually when Chellis was out of the office. This was the policy center of the holding company, where business strategy at the highest levels took place.

Chellis’s personal offices were through a second set of double doors off the atrium and down a long hall lined with other offices, making the path to his suite a little like an obstacle course for unwanted visitors. Chellis did not care for confrontation unless he had arranged for one of his rages, and then he sought it.

Gaudet used a pass provided by Benoit. He had arrived early deliberately; he wanted to get the feel of the place. Benoit had explained the sorts who hung out at the main office and she certainly had it pegged. Largely the working technical fellows would be found at the company’s regional centers. Here scientists who no longer did science came to spend their last few years with the businessmen and MBAs and occasionally with the boss himself.

Gaudet made his way into the inner office without drawing a glance; he tried out Chellis’s chair and used his phone for fifteen minutes before Chellis and Benoit arrived, fresh from the flight in from Kuching. He heard Chellis well before he saw him.

“So they can screw themselves and go straight to hell and I want you to tell them that,” he said. When he walked in the door he was pocketing a cell phone.

“Soon it will be time for your brunch,” Benoit said as she put her purse down on Chellis’s table. It irritated Gaudet that she occupied the man’s space so casually.

“Why hasn’t Roberto called back? What in the hell are they doing? Do I have to wipe his ass?”

At that moment they both saw Gaudet standing behind the desk.

Without smiling or offering a greeting, Gaudet walked to the sitting area toward the front of the office. He knew that when his clients needed him they had no alternative, so unlike in most personal service businesses the niceties could be ignored. When they were seated, each with a cup of coffee, Gaudet looked longer at Benoit than at Chellis.

“Your mistress is very beautiful. Like your wife.”

“She is my assistant.”

“Tell me the problem, then. But be more truthful about the problem than you are about your love life.”

“You show respect or we have no deal.”

“Relax. She is not ashamed of you. Why are you ashamed of her?”

“Get out.”

Gaudet rose to leave.

“Wait. Just wait,” Benoit said. “DuShane is not ashamed of me. He is protecting someone I love. Marie, his wife, is my sister. There is no disrespect. So why can’t we all sit down and do our business?”

Gaudet hesitated.

“Sit down. I have always paid you. That should mean something,” Chellis said. “We know you are the best. There are others, but everyone tells me none as good as Gaudet.”

Gaudet sat. “As I said before, I no longer work merely for cash.”

“I’d heard. What do you want?”

“A piece of something. Part of a venture. I think you need me in the arms part of your business. Ten percent. I want ten percent You’ve been holding out on me.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Is it? Think of the future. In that line of business you may need a scapegoat who can disappear into thin air. Think of the advantages.”

The men wrangled for fifteen minutes over their egos and their money.

“Five percent,” Chellis finally said. “And that is asinine. You didn’t build this business.”

“I’m about to save your skin.”

“And you have to take care of things without additional fees since you’d be a partner.”

“Five percent will do, but I get full audit privileges. My people look at anything and everything any time they want. And of course I will still receive basic cash fees in addition.”

“You’re not being rational.”

“To the contrary. The business of killing people is a precise science. You clearly need someone dead. Take it or leave it.”

“My attorneys will make a draft of the assignment documents.”

“My attorneys will make the first draft after conferring with your lawyers on the subject of the involved entities.”

“It’s only the weapons stuff.”

“That’s right. Samir’s side,” Gaudet said. “So let’s start with the facts of the problem.”

Chellis began telling the story, and when he was nearly through the phone rang.

“It’s Roberto,” Benoit said, looking at the name flashing.

“You’ll want to hear this,” Chellis said.

Gaudet nodded. They turned on the speakerphone.

“What’s the status?”

“They are afraid of Jason being arrested for the rocket launcher so they’re saying nothing. They acted like a couple of rich tourists that lost another yacht. No big deal.”

“Did you get the picture of the man?”

“No. He’s smart and tough.”

“For that you deserve a gravestone.”

“We did the best we could. Oh, and we heard her call him ‘Sam.’ ”

“So exactly what did happen?”

Roberto told them the whole story and Chellis vented his anger by hanging up abruptly.

“Can you tell me in a few words why this Jason is worth the dough?” Gaudet asked.

“All you need to know is that he’s valuable.”

“Why is he crazy?”

“I don’t know. Paranoid schizophrenia. Rare form.”

“What about this man that is with Anna?”

“He just picked her up in his boat. Had to be a coincidence. How bad can that be?”

“Usually it is a coincidence that kills people like you and me. You don’t know the name of the boat?”

“They never got it. Roberto couldn’t see the stern when it picked her up.”

“You need Jason all to yourself, the CD returned, and you need Anna Wade to forget about it.”

“And her new friend or whatever he is. Someone took a rocket launcher to his boat. How would you respond? Plus we have one more problem.”

“Another problem?”

“Jason has a daughter. Grady. She’s a well-paid stripper. We have a handle on her, and we know she hates her father. Likewise her Aunt Anna. But if she turned and joined forces with Anna, a French court might give custody of Jason’s person and estate to Anna or the daughter. It’s not likely, but I can’t risk it.”

Chellis went on to give Gaudet everything they had on the girl.

“All right, the five percent interest will do. As for the fee, one million if it requires wet work. And if this man with the boat has to be killed, that’s another million. Another half million if I have to kill Grady Wade.”

“That’s outrageous,” Chellis said.

“Those are my terms.”

“How hard can it be to kill some sailor?”

“You want to kill him, you go ahead. I do it as part of this package and it’s a million dollars U.S. Period. Any other incidental kills are covered by the five percent; plus you get one unrelated noncelebrity kill.”

“Fine. Fine. Maybe Anna will buy off the yachtie to protect her brother. Or charm him. Or something.”

“I have a feeling about this. It isn’t a good feeling. But I will take care of it. Tell Roberto and all your men that they will be contacted by Trotsky for instructions.”

“We’ll tell them.”

“I will need men this time. Many of them. How many do you have over there?”

“Five or six. More on the way.”

“Trotsky will coordinate your men. Now they are my men.”

“Okay.”

Gaudet rose and didn’t shake hands or say goodbye, but simply turned and walked out.

On the street he called his right-hand man, Trotsky, on his cell phone.

“You have to get me guns in the States and in Canada. Mac Tens. At least six. Some sniper stuff. Three of those. I’ll need three good Frenchmen with passports and no history.”

“Expensive.”

“When was that a problem? Then I need information and fast. Everything you can get on Anna Wade-the actress. You got a notepad? I’m gonna tell you about a guy who calls himself Sam.”