The Gemini Contenders (32 page)

The lawyers at Justice wondered whether there was a connection between the strange group of officers who scoured the shipment manifests and corporations under contract to the Pentagon. Had the military gone that far? The conjecture was enough to send Jim Nevins to Saigon.

The Black attorney found what he was looking for. In a warehouse in the Tan Son Nhut cargo area. An officer was in the process of illegally transcribing security-related information on armaments supplies. Threatened with charges, the officer broke, and Eye Corps was revealed for everything it was. There were eight officers; the man caught knew the names of seven. The eighth was in Washington, that’s all he knew.

Andrew Fontine headed the fist of those identified.

Eye Corps. Nice fellows, thought Adrian. Just what the country needed; storm troopers out to save the nation.

Seven years ago in San Francisco his brother had not given him any warning before the action started, and the sirens came screaming into Haight-Ashbury. Adrian would be more considerate. He was going to give Andrew five days. There’d be no sirens, no riots … no eight-year sentences in the stockades. But the celebrated Major Andrew Fontine would be out of the army.

And although the work in Washington was nowhere near completed, Adrian would go back to Boston for a while. Back to Barbara.

He was tired. And sick with what faced him in an hour or so. The pain was real. Whatever else, Andrew was his brother.

The final guests had left. The orchestra was packing its instruments, and the caterers were cleaning up the lawn. The sky was growing darker, as much because of the threatening clouds over the water as by the approach of nightfall.

Adrian walked across the lawn to the flagstone steps and down to the boathouse. Andrew was waiting for him; he had told the soldier to be there.

“Happy birthday, counselor,” said Andrew as Adrian came through the boathouse door. The soldier leaned against the wall beyond the boat slip, his arms folded, smoking a cigarette.

“Same to you,” answered Adrian, stopping at the edge of the slip. “You staying tonight?”

“Are you?” asked Andrew.

“I thought I might. The old man looks pretty bad.”

“Then I won’t,” said the soldier politely.

Adrian paused; he knew he was expected to speak. He wasn’t quite sure how to begin, so instead he looked around the boathouse. “We had some good laughs down here.”

“Did you want to reminisce? Is that why you asked me to come down here?”

“No.… I wish it were that simple.”

The soldier flipped the cigarette into the water. “I hear you left Boston. You’re in Washington.”

“Yes. For a while. I keep thinking we’ll run into each other.”

“I doubt it,” said the major, smiling. “We don’t travel in the same circles. You working for a D.C. firm?”

“No. I guess you might say I’m a consultant.”

“That’s the best job in Washington.” Andrew’s voice was laced with quiet contempt. “Who are you counseling?”

“Some people who are very upset—”

“Oh, a consumer group; isn’t that nice.” It was an insulting statement. “Good for you!”

Adrian stared at his brother; the soldier returned the look. “Don’t dismiss me, Andy. You’re in no position to do that. You’re in trouble. I’m not here to help you, I can’t do that. I’m here to warn you.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” asked the major softly.

“A deposition was taken from an officer in Saigon by one of our people. We have a complete statement about the activities of a group of eight men who call themselves Eye Corps.”

Andrew bolted upright against the wall, his face pinched, his fingers stretched, curved, immobile. He seemed to freeze; he spoke barely above a whisper, spacing his words out. “Who is ‘we’?”

“You’ll know the origin soon enough. It’s on the subpoena.”

“Sub-poena?”

“Yes. The Justice Department, a specialist division.… I won’t tell you the individual attorneys, but I will tell you that your name heads the Eye Corps list. We know there are eight of you; seven have been identified, the eighth is at the Pentagon. In procurement. We’ll find him.”

Andrew held his position against the wall; everything about him remained immobile, except the muscles of his jaw, which moved slowly, steadily. Once again his voice was low, measured. “What have you done? What have you bastards
done?”

“Stopped you,” answered Adrian simply.

“What do you know? What have you been told?”

“The truth. We’ve no reason to doubt it.”

“You need proof for a subpoena!”

“You need probable cause. We have that.”

“One deposition!
Nothing!”

“Others’ll follow. What difference does it make? You’re finished.”

Andrew’s voice calmed. He spoke matter-of-factly. “Officers complain. Up and down the zones, officers complain every day—”

“Not this way. There’s no fine line between complaints and blackmail. It’s very defined, very distinct. You crossed over it.”

“Who have we blackmailed?”
asked Andrew swiftly. “No one!”

“Records were kept, evidence suppressed; the intent was clear. That’s in the deposition.”

“There
are
no records!”

“Oh, come on, they’re
somewhere,”
said Adrian wearily, “But I repeat, who gives a goddamn? You’re finished.”

The soldier moved. He breathed deeply and stood erect against the wall. “Listen to me,” he said quietly, his voice strained. “You don’t know what you’re doing. You say you’re a consultant to men who are upset. We both know what that means; we’re the Fontines. Who needs resources when they have us?”

“I don’t see it that way,” broke in Adrian.

“It’s
true!”
shouted the soldier. And then he lowered his voice. “You don’t have to spell out what you’re doing, the Boston newspapers did that. You nail the big fellows, the vested interests, you call them. You’re good. Well, what the hell do you think
I’m
doing? We’re nailing them, too! You stop Eye Corps, you’re destroying the finest young senior officers in the field, men who want to rip out the garbage! Don’t
do
that, Adree!
Join
us! I mean that.”

“Join—” Adrian repeated the word in disbelief. Then he added quietly. “You’re out of your mind. What makes you think that’s remotely possible?”

Andrew took a step away from the wall; his eyes were steady on his brother. “Because we want the same thing.”

“No, we don’t.”

“Think
, for God’s sake! ‘Vested interests.’ You use that a lot, ‘vested interests.’ I read your summation in the Tesco case; you repeated it continuously.”

“It applied. One company owning many, setting a single policy when there should have been competition. What’s your point?”

“You use the term negatively because that’s the way you
find it. Okay, I’ll buy that. But I submit there’s another way to look at it. There can be
good
vested interests. Like us. Our interests isn’t ourselves; we don’t
need
anything. Our interests is the country and our resources are considerable. We’re in positions to
do
something. I’m doing it. For Christ’s sake, don’t
stop
me!”

Adrian turned away from his brother and walked aimlessly along the moist planks of the boathouse toward the huge opening that led to the open water. The waves slapped against the pilings. “You’re very glib, Andy. You were always very glib and sure and truly confident. But it’s not going to work.” He turned again and faced the soldier diagonally across the slip. “You say we don’t need anything. I think we do; we both need—want—something. And what you want frightens me because I’ve got an idea what your concept of finest is. Frankly, it scares the hell out of me. The thought of your ‘finest senior officers’ controlling the country’s hardware is enough to send me running to the library to reread the Constitution.”

“That’s arrogant horseshit! You don’t know them!”

“I know the way they operate, the way you operate. If it’ll make you feel better, you made some sense in San Francisco. I didn’t like it, but I recognized it.” Adrian walked back along the slip. “You’re not making sense now, which is why I’m warning you. Save what you can of your neck, I owe you that much. Get out as gracefully as you can.”

“You can’t force me,” said Andrew scathingly. “My record’s one of the best. Who the hell are
you?
One lousy statement from a disgruntled officer in a combat zone. Bullshit!”

“I’ll spell it out!” Adrian stopped by the boathouse doorway, raising his voice. “In five, days—next Friday, to be precise—a blanket subpoena will be served on the adjutant general of the Courts of Military Justice. He’ll have the weekend to negotiate his arrangements. Arrangements
can
be negotiated, but there’s one irrevocable condition. You’re
out
. All of you.”

The soldier started forward, then stopped, his foot on the edge of the slip, as if he were about to spring across, lunging at his enemy. He held himself in check; waves of nausea and fury seemed to pass over him and through him. “I
could … kill you,” he whispered. “You’re everything I despise.”

“I guess I am,” said Adrian, closing his eyes briefly, rubbing them in weariness. “You’d better get to the airport,” he continued, now looking at his brother. “You’ve got a lot to do. I suggest you start with this so-called evidence you’ve been sitting on. We understand you’ve been collecting it for damn near three years. Get it to the proper authorities.”

In angry silence the soldier lurched in rapid strides around the slip, past Adrian, and out to the boathouse steps. He began climbing, taking the flatstone stairs two at a time.

Adrian moved swiftly to the door and called out, halting his brother on the border of the lawn.

“Andy!”

The soldier stood motionless. But he did not turn around, or speak. So the lawyer continued.

“I admire your strength, I always have. Just as I admire father’s. You’re part of him, but you’re not all of him. You missed something, so let’s understand each other. You’re everything I consider dangerous. I guess that means you’re everything I despise.”

“We understand each other,” said Andrew, repeating the words in a monotone. He started up across the lawn toward the house.

The orchestra and the caterers left. Andrew was driven to LaGuardia Airport. There was a nine o’clock plane to Washington.

Adrian remained on the beach by himself for nearly thirty minutes after his brother left. Finally he wandered up to the house to talk to his parents. He told them he had
intended to stay the night but now thought he should leave. He had to get back to Washington.

“You should have gone with your brother,” said Jane at the front door.

“Yes, I should have,” said Adrian softly. “I didn’t think.” He said his good-byes.

When he left, Jane walked out to the terrace, carrying the letter brought by the priest. She held it out for her husband, unable to conceal her fear. “A man brought this. About three hours ago. He was a priest. He said he was from Rome.”

Victor looked up at his wife. There was no comment in his eyes, and by the lack of it, there was. “Why did you wait?”

“Because it was your sons’ birthday.”

“They’re strangers to each other,” said Fontine, taking the envelope. “They’re both our children, but they’re very far apart.”

“It won’t last. It’s the war.”

“I hope you’re right,” said Victor, opening the envelope and taking out the letter. It ran several pages, the handwriting small but precise. “Do we know a man named Aldobrini?”

“Who?”

“Guido Aldobrini. That’s the signature.” Fontine held up the last page.

“I don’t think so,” answered Jane, sitting down in the nearest chair, her eyes on the threatening sky. “Can you see in this light? It’s getting darker.”

“It is sufficient.” Victor put the pages in sequence and began to read.