The Road to Omaha (44 page)

“Wrong part of town, Wolfie, the Brandenburg’s on the other side of the Wall before it came down. They were
all
Commies.” Cyrus M suddenly hauled the stunned Hitluh into the shadows of the pillar, and with one punch rendered the neo-Nazi unconscious.

“What zee hell did you do
that
for?” cried the bewildered blue-sashed Gypsy, following his prison mate into the darkened area.

“I can smell these mothers a mile away,” replied the large black chemist, holding the immobilized figure of Wolfgang against the stone and yanking the Nazi’s carry on out of his right hand. “Open it up and dump the stuff on the ground.”

Roman Z did so and the blood-red cover of
Mein Kampf
stood out like a rubied diadem. “Zeese is not a nice fellow,” said the Gypsy, bending down and picking up the book. “What do we do now, Cyrus?”

“I heard something on my cell radio yesterday and it kind of grabbed me. And would you believe, it happened right here in Boston?”

was compensated.

“You gimme an
answer
, you fancy-talking English cannoli!” yelled the red-wigged Vinnie the Bam-Bam into a pay telephone on Collins Avenue in Miami Beach, Florida. “What the fuck
happened
?”

“Vincenzo,
I
did not pick the lunatic,
you
did,” said the voice of Smythington-Fontini from his suite at New York’s Carlyle Hotel. “If you recall, I warned you against him.”

“He never got a chance to
do
anything! Those whackos can be programmed to put their bare asses in a muskrat hole, but he got short-circuited before he could find his ass!”

“What did you expect with a black man and a Gypsy in concert with a fanatical Hitlerite? I believe I mentioned that.”

“You also mentioned that those clowns didn’t give doodly-squat about anything but
cash
, right?”

“On that point, I must refine my thinking. On the other hand, I should give you the good news. Our two first choices have made contact with the general and are at this moment in the new compound and have taken up their posts.”

“How the hell do you know that?”

“Because Manpower Plus Plus called and so informed me. Operative Cyrus M reached them from a telephone in some place called Swampscott and said everything was under control. He also mentioned that he did not care to be made a field colonel by the general. Are you now satisfied, Vincenzo?”

“Goddamn it,
no
! Did you read what those fuckers at the Agency
said
about me? They said I could have made all these
arrangements
by myself without telling anybody! What kind of crap is
that
?”

“Nothing new, Vincenzo. Who better than a dead man to put the blame on—if there is any blame down the road?
And even if you rise from the dead in the out islands of the Dry Tortugas, some things haven’t changed. You
did
do it.”

“Only through
you
!”

“I’m invisible … Bam-Bam. From here on, if you care to leave the Dry Tortugas, you work only for me,
capisce
? You
sit
, Vincenzo, you do not stand.”

“I don’t
believe
this!”

“Why not? You said it yourself. I am my mother’s son.… Carry out your endeavors on Wall Street, my friend. I’ll make a megakilling, and you’ll make—well, we’ll decide that later.”

“
Mamma mia
!”

“Well put, old sport.”

The immense living room of the Birnbaum summer house looked out over the beach through a series of sliding glass doors that led to a large redwood deck running the length of the building. It was daybreak and the skies were overcast, the ocean below disturbed, churning in watery rebellion, the short, intense waves lurching onto the sand with an anger of their own, reluctantly receding but with promise of return.

“It’s going to be a rotten day, isn’t it?” said Sam Devereaux, walking out of the door to the kitchen, carrying a mug of coffee.

“It doesn’t look too promising,” replied the huge black man, introduced to all of them last evening as
Cyrus M
.

“Have you been up all night?”

“Habit, Counselor. I know Roman Z, but I don’t know the two Hispanic guys.
Desis
One and Two—come on, what kind of aliases are those?”

“What kind of name is Cyrus M?”

“Actually, it’s Cyril and the M stands for my mom, who told me how I could get out of a backwater patch in the Mississippi Delta. Books were part of it, but I assure you the emphasis was on tough.”

“You could have played in the NFL, I’d think.”

“Or swung a bat, or boxed, or been the Black Behemoth of wrestling?… Get with it, Mr. Lawyer, that’s meat, and unless you’re the best you end up with bruises and half a brain and nowhere to go. I can also assure you that I couldn’t have been the best. My soul wasn’t in it.”

“You sound like an educated man.”

“I’m schooled.”

“That’s all you’ll say?”

“Please get this straight, Counselor. I’m hired to protect you, not to give you my life story,” said Cyrus pleasantly.

“Okay. Sorry.… What’s your analysis of the current situation—since that’s what we’re paying you for?”

“I’ve checked out the grounds, from all points on the beach and up through the dunes on the bourn to the road. We’re vulnerable, but by noon we won’t be.”

“What do you mean?”

“I called my firm, the firm that hires me, and told them to shoot up six lithium battery-operated, trip-wire machines with waist-high antennae—they’ll blend in with the high grass and cover the waterfront.”

“What the hell does
that
mean?”

“It means that any moving object over a density weight of fifty pounds crossing through those beams will set off alarms heard at least five miles away.”

“You know your business, Cyrus M.”

“I hope you know yours,” mumbled the guard, bringing a pair of binoculars to his eyes and scanning the grounds outside.

“That’s an odd remark.”

“I think you mean impertinent.” Cyrus’s grin could be seen below the field glasses.

“Yeah, I suppose you could say that, but it’s still an odd remark. Would you mind explaining it?”

“I’m probably older than you think, Mr. D., and I’ve got a pretty good memory.” Cyrus adjusted the focus in his binoculars and continued quietly, casually. “When we were introduced last night—by our
noms de guerre
, of course—and given our instructions by the general, my mind went back a few years.… Having spent some time over there, newspaper stories about the Far East usually catch my attention.…
Your general’s the same one who got thrown out of China for desecrating some kind of national monument in Beijing, isn’t he? As a matter of fact, I even remember the name—General MacKenzie Hawkins—which fits neatly with ‘Commander H,’ except that all of you kept calling him ‘General,’ so his rank was fairly obvious.… He’s the man all right, the same general who had Washington spinning yo-yos into their toilet bowls over his Chinese trial.”

“Without acknowledging a word of truth in your ludicrous conjecture, what’s your point?”

“Well, it’s related to the method of my recruitment for this particular job.” Cyrus swung the binoculars slowly back and forth, his large head and shoulders moving like the animated upper torso of an impressive statue, no less menacing for its sculpted lines. “You see, I’ve worked for this outfit off and on for a number of years, a lot more in the early days, frankly, but I know them and the rules don’t change. On any normal job we’re given a brief but in-depth rundown on the assignment—”

“What exactly does that mean?” asked Sam.

“Names, backgrounds, quick verbal brush strokes describing the nature of the job—”

“Why?” interrupted Devereaux.

“Hey, Counselor,” said Cyrus softly, lowering the field glasses and looking at Sam. “You’re really playing lawyer now, aren’t you?”

“Since you obviously know that I am one, what do you expect?… How
did
you know, by the way?”

“You cats are all alike,” replied the guard, chuckling. “You couldn’t hide it if you were mute—your hands would fly off your wrists arguing in sign language.”

“You
heard
me?”

“I heard the three of you—the old guy, the tan-skinned lady who doesn’t need the sun to get that way, and you. If you remember, I was ordered by the general to walk around this place for a couple of hours last night checking every point of entry. The three of you stayed up after your mother—at least I think she’s your mother—and ‘Commander H,’ who might actually be
Preparation H
, went to
bed. Let’s say I’ve been in and around the law a few times in my adult life so I know when I hear lawyers talking.”

“All right,” conceded Devereaux. “To my first question: Why are you merely hired guards given rundowns on your jobs?”

“Because we’re not merely guards, we’re mercenaries—”

“You’re
what
?” screamed Sam.

“Combat soldiers for hire, and
keep
your voice down.”

“Oh, my
God
!” Unfortunately, with that misdirected prayer, Devereaux spilled the mug of coffee all over the front of his slacks. “
Jesus
, it’s
hot
!”

“Good coffee usually is.”

“Shut your face!” cried Sam, bending over and billowing his trousers in futility. “
Mercenaries
?”

“You heard me, and that should lead to the answer to your first question, namely, why are we given rundowns on our assignments. I’ll tell you.… The conventional wisdom is that mercenaries will accept any assignment for the almighty dollar, but it isn’t true. I’ve swung on both sides when it didn’t matter, but I won’t when it does. I just won’t take the job.… I also won’t take it if I don’t feel comfortable with those who do—which is why you’re lacking a third ‘guard.’ ”

“There was supposed to be someone else?”

“He’s not here, so there’s no point going into it.”

“Okay,
okay
!” Devereaux straightened up and continued with what dignity he could summon. “Which leads me to my second question, which was—what the hell
was
it?”

“You didn’t pose it, Counselor, I left it open.”

“Clarify, if you please.”

“Why
weren’t
we given a more complete rundown on this assignment?… And from long experience, I’ll try to give you a reasonable answer.”

“Please do.”

“All we were told was that there were seven of you, three military, and that second fact was to sweeten the job. No circumstances, no description of potential enemies, not a shred of politics—politics in the broader sense, like in the legality or illegality of a cause—in essence, nothing
except numbers which could be meaningless. Does that tell you anything?”