Rage of Angels (31 page)

It was their last day in Acapulco, a perfect morning with warm, soft breezes playing melodies through the palm trees. The beach at La Concha was crowded with tourists greedily soaking up the sun before returning to the routine of their everyday lives.

Joshua came running up to the breakfast table wearing a bathing suit, his athletic little body fit and tan. Mrs. Mackey lumbered along behind him.

Joshua said, “I’ve had plenty of sufficient time to digest my food, Mom. Can I go water skiing now?”

“Joshua, you just finished eating.”

“I have a very high metabolism rate,” he explained earnestly. “I digest food fast.”

Jennifer laughed. “All right. Have a good time.”

“I will. Watch me, huh?”

Jennifer watched as Joshua raced along the pier to a waiting speedboat. She saw him engage the driver in earnest conversation,
and then they both turned to look at Jennifer. She signaled an okay, and the driver nodded and Joshua began to put on water skis.

The motor boat roared into life and Jennifer looked up to see Joshua beginning to rise on his water skis.

Mrs. Mackey said proudly, “He’s a natural athlete, isn’t he?”

At that moment, Joshua turned to wave at Jennifer and lost his balance, falling against the pilings. Jennifer leaped to her feet and began racing toward the pier. An instant later, she saw Joshua’s head appear above the surface of the water and he looked at her, grinning.

Jennifer stood there, her heart beating fast, and watched as Joshua put the water skis back on. As the boat circled and began to move forward again, it gained enough momentum to pull Joshua to his feet. He turned once to wave at Jennifer and then was racing away on top of the waves. She stood there watching, her heart still pounding from fright. If anything happened to him…She wondered whether other mothers loved their children as much as she loved her son, but it did not seem possible. She would have died for Joshua, killed for him.
I have killed for him
, she thought,
with the hand of Michael Moretti.

Mrs. Mackey was saying, “That could have been a nasty fall.”

“Thank God it wasn’t.”

Joshua was out on the water for an hour. When the boat pulled back into the slip, he let go of the tow rope and gracefully skied up onto the sand.

He ran over to Jennifer, filled with excitement. “You should have seen the accident, Mom. It was incredible! A big sailboat tipped over and we stopped and saved their lives.”

“That’s wonderful, son. How many lives did you save?”

“There were six of them.”

“And you pulled them out of the water?”

Joshua hesitated. “Well, we didn’t exactly pull them out of the water. They were kinda sittin’ on the side of their boat. But they probably would have starved to death if we hadn’t come along.”

Jennifer bit her lip to keep from smiling. “I see. They were very lucky you came along, weren’t they?”

“I’ll say.”

“Did you hurt yourself when you fell, darling?”

“Course not.” He felt the back of his head. “I got a little bump.”

“Let me feel it.”

“What for? You know what a bump feels like.”

Jennifer reached down and gently ran her hand along the back of Joshua’s head.

Her fingers found a large lump. “It’s as big as an egg, Joshua.”

“It’s nothing.”

Jennifer rose to her feet. “I think we’d better get started back to the hotel.”

“Can’t we stay a little while longer?”

“I’m afraid not. We have to pack. You don’t want to miss your ball game Saturday, do you?”

He sighed. “No. Old Terry Waters is just waitin’ to take my place.”

“No chance. He pitches like a girl.”

Joshua nodded smugly. “He does, doesn’t he?”

When they returned to Las Brisas, Jennifer telephoned the manager and asked him to send a doctor to the room. The doctor arrived thirty minutes later, a portly, middle-aged Mexican dressed in an old-fashioned white suit. Jennifer admitted him into the bungalow.

“How may I serve you?” Dr. Raul Mendoza asked.

“My son had a fall this morning. He has a nasty bump on his head. I want to make sure he’s all right.”

Jennifer led him into Joshua’s bedroom, where he was packing a suitcase.

“Joshua, this is Doctor Mendoza.”

Joshua looked up and asked, “Is somebody sick?”

“No. No one’s sick, my lad. I just wanted the doctor to take a look at your head.”

“Oh, for Pete’s sake, Mom! What’s the matter with my head?”

“Nothing. I would just feel better if Doctor Mendoza checked it over. Humor me, will you?”

“Women!” Joshua said. He looked at the doctor suspiciously. “You’re not going to stick any needles in me or anything, are you?”

“No, senor, I am a very painless doctor.”

“That’s the kind I like.”

“Please sit down.”

Joshua sat on the edge of the bed and Dr. Mendoza ran his fingers over the back of Joshua’s head. Joshua winced with pain but he did not cry out. The doctor opened his medical bag and took out an ophthalmoscope. “Open your eyes wide, please.”

Joshua obeyed. Dr. Mendoza stared through the instrument.

“You see any naked dancin’ girls in there?”

“Joshua!”

“I was just askin’.”

Dr. Mendoza examined Joshua’s other eye. “You are fit as a fiddle. That is the American slang expression, no?” He rose to his feet and closed his medical bag. “I would put some ice on that,” he told Jennifer. “Tomorrow the boy will be fine.”

It was as though a heavy load had been lifted from Jennifer’s heart. “Thank you,” she said.

“I will arrange the bill with the hotel cashier, senora. Good-bye, young man.”

“Good-bye, Doctor Mendoza.”

When the doctor had gone, Joshua turned to his mother. “You sure like to throw your money away, Mom.”

“I know. I like to waste it on things like food, your health—”

“I’m the healthiest man on the whole team.”

“Stay that way.”

He grinned. “I promise.”

They boarded the six o’clock plane to New York and were back in Sands Point late that night. Joshua slept all the way home.

The room was crowded with ghosts. Adam Warner was in his study, preparing a major television campaign speech, but it was impossible to concentrate. His mind was filled with Jennifer. He had been able to think of nothing else since he had returned from Acapulco. Seeing her had only confirmed what Adam had known from the beginning. He had made the wrong choice. He should never have given up Jennifer. Being with her again was a reminder of all that he had had, and thrown away, and he could not bear the thought of it.

He was in an impossible situation. A
no-win
situation, Blair Roman would have called it.

There was a knock on the door and Chuck Morrison, Adam’s chief assistant, came in carrying a cassette. “Can I talk to you a minute, Adam?”

“Can it wait, Chuck? I’m in the middle of—”

“I don’t think so.” There was excitement in Chuck Morrison’s voice.

“All right. What’s so urgent?”

Chuck Morrison moved closer to the desk. “I just got a telephone call. It could be some crazy, but if it’s not, then Christmas came early this year. Listen to this.”

He placed a cassette in the machine on Adam’s desk, pressed a switch and the tape began to play.

What did you say your name was?

It doesn’t matter. I won’t talk to anyone except Senator Warner.

The Senator is busy just now. Why don’t you drop him a note and I’ll see to—

No! Listen to me. This is very important. Tell Senator Warner I can deliver Michael Moretti to him. I’m taking my life in my hands making this phone call. Just give Senator Warner the message.

All right. Where are you?

I’m at the Capitol Motel on Thirty-second Street. Room Fourteen. Tell him not to come until after dark and to make sure he’s not followed. I know you’re taping this. If you play the tape for anyone but him, I’m a dead man.

There was a click and the tape ended.

Chuck Morrison said, “What do you think?”

Adam frowned. “The town is full of cranks. On the other hand, our boy sure knows what bait to use, doesn’t he? Michael—by God—Moretti!”

At ten o’clock that night, Adam Warner, accompanied by four secret service men, cautiously knocked at the door of Room 14 of the Capitol Motel. The door was opened a crack.

The moment Adam saw the face of the man inside, he turned to the men with him and said, “Stay outside. Don’t let anyone near this place.”

The door opened wider and Adam stepped into the room.

“Good evening, Senator Warner.”

“Good evening, Mr. Colfax.”

The two men stood there appraising each other.

Thomas Colfax looked older than when Adam had last seen him, but there was another difference, almost indefinable. And then Adam realized what it was. Fear. Thomas Colfax was frightened. He had always been a self-assured, almost arrogant man, and now that self-assurance had disappeared.

“Thank you for coming, Senator.” Colfax’s voice sounded strained and nervous.

“I understand you want to talk to me about Michael Moretti.”

“I can lay him in your lap.”

“You’re Moretti’s attorney. Why would you want to do that?”

“I have my reasons.”

“Let’s say I decided to go along with you. What would you expect in return?”

“First, complete immunity. Second, I want to get out of the country. I’ll need a passport and papers—a new identity.”

So Michael Moretti had put out a contract on Thomas Colfax. It was the only explanation for what was happening. Adam could hardly believe his good fortune. It was the best possible break he could have had.

“If I get immunity for you,” Adam said, “—and I’m not promising you anything yet—you understand that I would expect you to go into court and testify fully. I would want everything you’ve got.”

“You’ll have it.”

“Does Moretti know where you are now?”

“He thinks I’m dead.” Thomas Colfax smiled nervously. “If he finds me, I will be.”

“He won’t find you. Not if we make a deal.”

“I’m putting my life in your hands, Senator.”

“Frankly,” Adam informed him, “I don’t give a damn about you. I want Moretti. Let’s lay down the ground rules.
If we come to an agreement, you’ll get all the protection the government can give you. If I’m satisfied with your testimony, we’ll provide you with enough money to live in any country you choose under an assumed identity. In return for that, you’ll have to agree to the following: I’ll want full testimony from you regarding Moretti’s activities. You’ll have to testify before a grand jury, and when we bring Moretti to trial, I’ll expect you to be a witness for the government. Agreed?”

Thomas Colfax looked away. Finally he said, “Tony Granelli must be turning over in his grave. What happens to people? Whatever happened to honor?”

Adam had no answer. This was a man who had cheated the law a hundred times, who had gotten paid killers off scot-free, who had helped mastermind the activities of the most vicious crime organization the civilized world had ever known. And he was asking what had happened to honor.

Thomas Colfax turned to Adam. “We have a deal. I want it in writing, and I want it signed by the Attorney General.”

“You’ll have it.” Adam looked around the shabby motel room. “Let’s get out of this place.”

“I won’t go to a hotel. Moretti’s got ears everywhere.”

“Not where you’re going.”

At ten minutes past midnight a military truck and two jeeps, manned by armed marines, rolled up in front of Room 14. Four military police went into the room and came out a few moments later, closely escorting Thomas Colfax into the back of the truck. The procession pulled away from the motel with one jeep in front of the truck and the second jeep following in the rear, headed for Quantico, Virginia, thirty-five miles south of Washington. The three-car caravan proceeded at high speed, and forty minutes later arrived at the United States Marine Corps base at Quantico.

The commandant of the base, Major General Roy Wallace, and a detail of armed marines were waiting at the gate. As
the caravan came to a stop, General Wallace said to the captain in charge of the detail, “The prisoner is to be taken directly to the stockade. There is to be no conversation with him.”

Major General Wallace watched as the procession entered the compound. He would have given a month’s pay to know the identity of the man in the truck. The general’s command consisted of a 310-acre Marine Corps air station and part of the FBI’s Academy, and was the principal center for training officers of the United States Marine Corps. He had never before been asked to house a civilian prisoner. It was totally outside regulations.

Two hours earlier, he had received a telephone call from the commandant of the Marine Corps himself. “There’s a man on his way to your base, Roy. I want you to clear out the stockade and keep him in there until further orders.”

General Wallace thought he had heard wrong. “Did you say
clear out the stockade,
sir?”

“That’s right. I want this man in there by himself. No one is to be allowed near him. I want you to double the stockade guard. Understood?”

“Yes, General.”

“One more thing, Roy. If anything happens to that man while he’s in your custody, I’m going to have roasted ass for breakfast.”

And the commandant had hung up.

General Wallace watched the truck lumber toward the stockade, then returned to his office and rang for his aide, Captain Alvin Giles.

“About the man we’re putting in the stockade—” General Wallace said.

“Yes, General?”

“Our primary objective is his safety. I want you to handpick the guards yourself. No one else is to go near him. No visitors, no mail, no packages. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I want you personally to be in the kitchen when his food is being prepared.”

“Yes, General.”

“If anyone shows any undue curiosity about him, I want that reported to me immediately. Any questions?”

“No, sir.”

“Very good, Al. Stay on top of it. If anything goes wrong, I’ll have roasted ass for breakfast.”