The Bannerman Solution (The Bannerman Series) (19 page)

She heard the grinding sound of the landing gear coming down and locking into place. “I haven't told
him about you, either. He worries about me, too. Except
he gets snoopy and you don't.”

Paul said nothing.

“I'm going to tell him about you on Wednesday. But
it will be time enough for you to meet him after we get
back from Europe. If you'd like to, that is.”

“You're not afraid he'll scare me off?”

“I'd like to see what could scare you,” she smiled.

At the Marriott Airport Hotel in Miami, Robert Lof
tus knocked on the door of a third-floor suite. A voice
said “Yes?” and he gave his name. The door opened. A
man named Burdick, in shirtsleeves, with a shoulder
holster, wavy blond hair and dead eyes let Loftus pass
and then checked the corridor behind him.

In the sitting room of the suite, two more men sat at a large coffee table that held several thick manila files.
One of the files lay open. A photograph of Paul Banner
man was clipped to the inside cover.

The older of the two men at the table, silver-haired,
neatly groomed, in a dark suit, in his late sixties, held out
his hand for the envelope Loftus carried. Loftus made
no move to surrender it. He waited.

“Well?” the older man asked. “Do you have it?”

“Yes, sir.” Still, Loftus made no move.

The older man understood. Using facial expressions
and gestures, he asked the other two men to wait in the
corridor until called. One of these, a prim, wooden-
faced little man named Whitlow, pursed his lips in pro
test but obeyed. Loftus waited until the door clicked
shut.

“You're not going to believe who the girl is.” Loftus pulled a freshly printed black-and-white photo from the envelope. An attractive young woman in a tennis dress.
The courts of the Windermere Island
Club were clearly
discernible in the background. “Her name is Susan
Lesko. Her father is Raymond Lesko.”

The older man stared blankly, then his brow knitted
as the name registered. “Not that New York police
man.”

“The one who killed two of Elena's people and one
of ours. Yes, sir.”

“And his daughter is now traveling with Paul Bannerman?”

“It gets worse. The girl's a reporter with the
New
York Post. ”

“For heaven's sake.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Do you suppose Bannerman knows that she's a re
porter?”

“Pending confirmation, sir, this seems to be the same
girl he's been seen with since early November at least.
He's got to know it.”

“What is his relationship with her?”

Loftus wasn't sure how to answer. “It seems to be
sexual in nature. They certainly shared a room at Win
dermere.”

“Yes, but how could such a relationship have devel
oped?”

“I don't know if I follow, sir.”

“Whatever else Bannerman is, he's a consummate
professional and a very deliberate man. Why would he
enter into a relationship with a newspaper reporter?
Could he be planning to go public about Westport? Per
haps to head off any action I might take against him?”

“In my opinion? Bannerman would never go public. It's not his style.” Nor, Loftus thought, does Bannerman
seem at all concerned about any
action
this old man
might take. He travels freely, never a bodyguard, al
most certainly unarmed, although he does avoid pre
dictable routines. Probably out of habit.

“I agree.” Palmer Reid rose to his feet and began
pacing thoughtfully. “Could she have discovered what's
happening in Westport on her own? And Bannerman is
merely trying to distract her?”

“It's really not a thing one could stumble onto, sir.
She'd have to have been told. If she were told, it would
take a lot more than sweet talk from Bannerman to
keep her from printing it.”

“Yes. Yes, I agree.” Palmer Reid paused at the sofa
and straightened two throw pillows that the man with
the shoulder holster had left askew. “Try this, then. The
fact that she's a reporter is irrelevant. Bannerman's real
involvement is with the father and his relationship with the girl is incidental to that. Perhaps he used the daugh
ter to reach the father.”

Loftus had nothing to offer.

“And if the linkage is from Bannerman to the daugh
ter, to the father, what might the next link be, Robert?”

“From Lesko to Elena, sir. But that doesn't seem
very likely.”

Palmer Reid ignored the last. “Then from Elena, to
her people, to our people, to us.”

“Yes, sir.” Loftus shrugged inwardly.

“For heaven's sake.”

“Yes, sir.”

“There's still another scenario.” The older man
turned, holding the fingers of one hand aloft. He used
them to count off the links. “Start with Bannerman, who
had been in Westport three years, to Lesko's daughter,
to Lesko himself, to Elena who has dropped from sight
for almost two years. What if it all goes full circle, Rob
ert?”

“Sir?”

“Could Elena be in Westport?” Palmer Reid's eyes were shining. “
C
ould she be living there right now un
der the protection of Bannerman and his killers?
Wouldn't a hole card such as
Elena go a long way toward
explaining the man's monumental arrogance? His defi
ance of the entire United States intelligence commu
nity? To say nothing,” his voice was rising, “of his inso
lent dismissal of my own attempts to reason with him?”

Loftus stood silent.

“Robert?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Your opinion.”

“I suppose that's possible, sir.”

“But you don't believe it.”

“Sir,” Loftus took a breath, his hands clasped behind
him. “In my opinion, Bannerman has all the hole cards
he needs right now. Secondly, we're almost sure that
except for one trip back to La Paz,
Elena has been holed
up in Europe. Third, Bannerman was never in a posi
tion to know anything about Elena, not even that she
exists. Fourth, even if he does know Lesko, it seems
extremely unlikely that he could connect with Elena
through him. Elena was lucky to live through her last
meeting with Lesko. She would hardly have kept in
touch with him after that.”

“But Lesko did have a prior business relationship
with Elena, did he not?”

“My opinion,
sir, that's just talk. The police didn't believe it, our informants insist there was no connec
tion, and our own people are convinced he didn't even
know who she was when he . . .
assuming
it
was
Lesko
. .
. shot up that barbershop.”

Palmer Reid glared at him. “So it's all one big coinci
dence then.”

“No, sir.”

“What then?”

“Sir,” L
o
ftus picked his words. “I think there's an
answer in all this somewhere. We just don't know
enough.”

“I want you in New York tomorrow, Robert.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Get a wire on Lesko's phone and on his daughter's
phone. I want surveillance teams on each and I want
you to get a third team into Westport. Whitlow will
coordinate. Burdick can head the Westport team.”

“Sir?” Loftus held up his hands.

“Yes, Robert.”

“We've lost two men dead and two disabled in
Westport already. I suggest we go in force or not at all and certainly not with a team headed by Tom Burdick.
The man's gun-happy.”

“I prefer to think of him as decisive.”

“Sir, please.” Loftus closed his eyes. “I can give you
the wires but I suggest we hold off on the surveillance
teams. For one thing, I think Lesko would spot his. And
Bannerman
would spot any team we put on the daugh
ter if he's with her. Why don't I just go up .and look things over myself?”