Leader of the Pack (Andy Carpenter) (27 page)

Mafia chieftain, for all the power that the office provides, is not a safe occupation. If they call you “Don” something, and your first name isn’t Donald, you need to watch your back. If you’re a crime boss applying for life insurance, you should lie about your occupation, because otherwise the premiums themselves will kill you.

It’s quite likely that someone was getting revenge for Carmine, and maybe for Nicky Fats. Or it could be another coup in progress, with another boss moving in.

But what does surprise me is that the body was found at all. No jogger in the park stumbled across Jimmy Hoffa, and no one is about to find Carmine Desimone. Yet Ryerson was found in a place that made the discovery inevitable. Whoever did it wanted the world to know that it was done.

I have no way of knowing whether the killing means that whatever major operation Ryerson was working on has been completed. It’s likely that either it has, or he is no longer integral to its success.

It also makes me wonder on some level if what he was doing could have had something to do with the situation in Peru. Two things are true. One is that I do not believe in coincidences. The second is that I had gone years without hearing the word “Peru,” then I learned that Ryerson was going there, and now a disaster there is all over the news.

Having said that, I have no idea how a dam failing and destroying lives and property could benefit Ryerson financially. Of course, what I haven’t learned about him could fill books. For example, I know that he’s a businessman, and I know the breaking-news writers called him a prominent businessman, but I, and probably they, don’t have the slightest idea what his business is.

All we really know at this point is that he was “slain.”

Sam Willis calls with the news that his hacking efforts have alerted him to the fact that Tommy Iurato is flying to St. Louis tomorrow morning. He’s flying first class. “Don’t these people ever fly coach?” Sam asks.

“Crime pays, big guy.” The St. Louis trip is interesting to me, since we had earlier learned that Ryerson had made some trips there in the past year. But for my purposes, I don’t view this as a big deal; if there’s a connection between Iurato flying to St. Louis and Joey Desimone, I certainly can’t see it.

“You want me to follow him? I’ll be careful this time; I learned my lesson.”

“Sam, if you follow him, you’re fired from the team.”

“OK.”

“Sam…”

“I won’t, Andy. I promise.”

I’m satisfied with that, so I settle down to spend the rest of the day watching television and dreading a verdict phone call. I go even nuttier in the time between hearing that the jury has reached a verdict, and my actually hearing what that verdict is. It is the most helpless feeling imaginable, knowing that the boat has already sailed, but not knowing where it’s going to arrive.

CNN does a special at four o’clock on the disaster in Peru, focusing on the rescue effort. Apparently, they must have decided that constant normal coverage isn’t sufficient; they have to do some “special” coverage.

I decide to watch it for twelve minutes, until the Knicks game starts. For some television reason NBA games set to start on the hour always start twelve minutes after the hour.

It’s about eight minutes into the CNN special when I see the footage of planes landing in Peru with supplies, with the announcer talking over it about the huge amounts of money contributed to the rescue effort. And just like that, everything clicks into place.

Don’t you love when that happens?

I call Cindy Spodek on her cell, and dispense with the usual banter. I’m sure she can tell by my tone of voice, and certainly by my words, that this is important.

“Cindy, we need to have another meeting.”

“What for?”

“I know what’s being done, and I know who’s doing it.”

“Is this about trying to get something for your client?” she asks.

“Of course. But it goes way beyond that.”

“OK,” she says. “Who do you need there? Givens certainly, but I doubt Beall will come in from Washington. Maybe video him in? And I’ll video in as well.”

“Beall is a must; this most concerns him.” I think for a moment about whether I want Givens there, who annoyed me the last time with his mocking description of my session with Nicky Fats. Then with another jolt I realize what bugged me so much about it, and I say, “Givens needs to be there also. He’s going to make the trade I just thought of.”

“What trade?”

“You’ll know soon enough,” I say. “Noon?”

“Noon it is.”

With the fake mechanical problem miraculously fixed, the two planes took off from Guaranda.

They were completely loaded down with cargo, almost eleven hundred metric tons’ worth, which meant they were carrying far more weight than they brought in on their “relief” mission.

Tommy Iurato was on an American Airlines flight to St. Louis. He had the option of taking a private jet, but preferred the safety of a commercial aircraft.

Iurato was no fool; he understood that betrayal and murder represented business as usual in this operation. He knew it especially well since he had frequently been the instrument of that betrayal and murder.

Iurato was not exactly sure how he was going to play it, but he would not be the next victim, of that much he was certain. He would likely take the promised payoff and disappear forever, but if he didn’t get what was due him, he would make sure that others were the ones who disappeared forever.

“It’s about drugs coming into the country. That’s what Ryerson was doing,” I say. There’s something surreal about the meeting. I’m talking to three people, but Agent Givens is the only person in the room with me. There is a large-screen TV taking up almost an entire wall, and it is divided into two panels. Cindy Spodek is in one, from her Boston office, and Agent Beall is in the other, from Washington.

“Ryerson is dead,” Beall says.

“Doesn’t matter. He wasn’t the key guy.”

“And you know who the key guy is?” He sounds rather skeptical, probably thinking that I’m trying to maneuver to serve my own self-interest. He’s right, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have news that he needs.

“I know who he is, I know where the drugs are coming from, I know how they’re getting here, and I know where they’re going.”

“So you called the meeting,” Beall says. “Tell us.”

“First I want to hear what you know. Or more accurately, what Agent Givens knows.”

“What are you talking about?” Givens asks.

“The last time I was here, you were acting like an asshole, which I suppose in and of itself is not that unusual an occurrence. You said something that bugged me, but I didn’t know until this morning why it did.”

“I’m waiting,” he says.

“You asked me if Nicky Fats told me that Carmine’s death was his fault, or just Joey getting convicted for hitting Solarno.”

“So?”

“So I thought Cindy probably told you about my conversation with Nicky Fats, but she couldn’t have. Because I never told her that Nicky told me Joey’s conviction was his fault. I’ve never told anyone that.”

“Or maybe you did,” Given says.

I shake my head. “No, I didn’t remember it myself until this morning. It wasn’t the important part of what he said to me. What I focused on was that Solarno was a crook, and that Nicky knew it.”

“So?”

“So how did you know what he said about Joey?”

He thinks for a moment. “I’m not at liberty to say.”

“Well, you’d better get at liberty in a hurry, or I’ve got nothing to say about anything else. But you know what, I’ll get you started. Jerry McCaskill told me that one of the main reasons you guys have been able to get inside and break up the crime families is intensified surveillance.” I don’t have to tell him that McCaskill had his job six years ago; he would certainly know that.

“You coming to the point?” Givens asks.

“Yeah. I think you knew what Nicky said to me because you heard every word of it. I think you had his room bugged.”

“What if we did?”

“Then I want the tapes from six years ago, as well as the notes agents took from those tapes. I want to know if there’s something on there that clears Joey Desimone.”

Even as I say it, I am experiencing a terrible realization, one which makes me want to get out of that office as soon as possible.

“I don’t know if they exist,” says Beall, taking over. “But if they do, they’re yours. Now tell me about the drugs.”

“I have your word?”

“You have my word,” Beall says. “I’ll get people started on it immediately.”

“Cindy?”

She nods from the screen. “His word is good, as is mine. And you have them both.”

I nod. “There’s an air cargo company called Coastal Cargo. They flew at least two planes into Peru with relief supplies; I saw them on television.”

“So?”

“So they’re flying back loaded with drugs. It can’t be arms; there couldn’t be enough to make all of this worth it. I googled it, and each of those planes can carry six hundred metric tons. I don’t know what the hell a metric ton is, but it’s got to be heavy. Twelve hundred metric tons of drugs would be worth an absolute fortune, even if the drug was aspirin.

“Carolyn Greenwell told me that drug trafficking has been way down for a year; she thought it was due to government efforts. But it’s because they were waiting for this, so it could all be done at once.”

If Beall is skeptical about this, he’s hiding it well. “Who’s behind it, and where is it going?”

“It’s going to St. Louis, as is Tommy Iurato.”

“Who is behind it?” Beall asks.

“That I’m not yet ready to tell you.” The truth is that I’m not positive that I’m even right, but I’d bet on it. Actually, I am betting a lot on it.

He gets angry; I can’t say I blame him. “This is bullshit.”

I nod. “Call it what you want, but we’re doing this my way.”

There’s a lot to learn, and little time to learn it.

I call Jerry McCaskill and ask if he’ll be free to meet me in two hours. He says that he won’t be in his office by then, but can meet me for a cup of coffee if I’d like. We agree to meet at a diner on Route 4, about ten minutes from the George Washington Bridge, and another fifteen from Alpine, which is where I’m going first.

Edward Young has also agreed to meet with me right away. He’s at his house, and certainly didn’t sound thrilled to hear from me. It’s a reluctance he’s had ever since his car got shot up and his driver killed.

His house is certainly impressive, a sprawling ranch style, with large, endless manicured lawns on rolling hills, as well as a tennis court and swimming pool.

Edward lets me in himself, though I see two bodyguards watching him do so. I have no idea if he’s added the bodyguards since the shooting, or if his wealth caused him to have them before, and right now it really doesn’t matter.

We head toward a den in the back of the house, though the bodyguards stay in the living room, near the front.

Once we get there, he says, “I thought we had an agreement.” He’s referring to his giving me the documents showing Solarno was involved in criminal activities, with him getting in return my promise not to call him to testify.

“We did, and I stuck to it,” I say. “The trial’s over, and I didn’t call you.”

He nods. “True enough. Have you gotten a verdict yet?”

“No, anytime now.”

“So what can I do for you?”

“Another trade,” I say.

He seems puzzled. “I’ve got nothing to offer you, and I can’t think of anything you have that I want.”

“I definitely have something you don’t want.”

“What might that be?”

“I have the knowledge that you are in the process of executing the largest drug deal in history.” I have no idea if that’s true, but it’s got to be close. “And amazing as it seems, that’s just the beginning.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about you probably causing the dam in Peru to collapse, making you a mass murderer. I’m talking about you taking twelve hundred metric tons of drugs out of that country, whatever a metric ton is, and flying them to St. Louis. I’m talking about you having Carmine Desimone, Simon Ryerson, and a bunch of other people, including your driver, killed. I’m talking about you giving new meaning to the word ‘shithead.’”

If he’s worried, he’s hiding it well. He’s just learned that the most important secret of his life, one he has literally killed thousands to protect, is not a secret anymore. But he is a man used to getting what he wants, and I can tell that he thinks this will be more of the same.

It turns out that he gives new meaning to the word “unflappable.” “That’s quite a speech,” he says. “And what do you want from me?”

“Information on who killed Richard and Karen Solarno.”

“I have no idea who killed them.”

“I think you do,” I say, though I really don’t think that at all. Basically, this is a shot in the dark, and it’s not going well.

“You’re wrong,” he says. “But maybe I can trade something else.”

“You mean money?”

“I mean more money than you’ve ever dreamed of. I mean one hundred million dollars.”

“I dream in euros,” I say. “Sometimes shekels.”

“You’re mocking me?” he asks, showing a flash of anger.

“I’m telling you I want information that clears my client.”

“How do I know you haven’t spoken to the authorities about this?”

“You don’t, but I haven’t,” I lie. “All I want is information, and then we can go on with our respective lives.”

He reaches under his desk, and seems to press a button. Then he walks toward the closed door, and says, “I’m afraid your respective life is about to be shortened.”

He opens the door. His back is to me when he does, so I can’t see his face, but I wish I could.

Because standing there is Marcus Clark.

I’m wearing a wire, so I tell the agents it’s okay to approach the house. They had not been happy with the arrangement, but they would have come in with such force that they’d have been seen, and I never would have had the chance to question Edward about the Solarno murders.

Marcus had assured me that if he hid in the backseat, and we parked close enough to the house, he could ensure my safety. As insurers go, Marcus makes Allstate look like a mom-and-pop operation.