Recoil. Part 28

"Normally the ident.i.ties of CIs aren't put in writing. The ident.i.ty of the informant usually is a private matter between him and his contact. Now and then in an excess of bureaucratic zeal the government agent makes the mistake of reporting not only the information but its source."

"I'm losing patience fast, Mr. Zeck."

"I doubt that.' I've got you over a barrel."

Gillespie's laugh was a cruel snort.

Mathieson kept his voice pitched high. "A few months ago you extorted information from a secretary in the Witness Security office. She gave you the current names and addresses of four men-Merle, Benson, Fusco and Draper. You pa.s.sed that information on to your clients, Frank Pastor and Ezio Martin."

"You're out of your mind."

"The Witness Security office discovered the leak. The secretary was taken into custody and persuaded to talk. Naturally she gave them your name."

"She lied, then."

"Why? Because you'd never told her your real name? It happens she took the precaution of noting down the license number of that red Thunderbird of yours. Then she identified your photograph. You know we'd get this done a lot faster if you'd stop interrupting me with pointless denials."

"Say what you came to say."

"The next step is an a.s.sumption, I admit. I can't prove it but I a.s.sume you must have realized how risky your situation was. As soon as you got the information from the secretary and pa.s.sed it on to your clients, you became a member of a conspiracy. An accessory to attempted murder."

"That's a crock. I never--"

"Well you may have had some other reason, I admit that. If so, I don't know what it was. In any case I do know what happened. You had to protect yourself in case anything went wrong. Something did go wrong, of course-the secretary was arrested and she incriminated you. But you'd already prepared for that. You'd already made a clandestine contact with government agents."

"I what?"

"It's all on the computer printout, Mr. Gillespie. You made a deal with the government-you talked. Information in return for your own immunity. That explains why you haven't been arrested, of course."

"You're out of your mind." Gillespie's voice climbed.

"You said that before." Mathieson smiled imperturbably. Inside he felt a chilled satisfaction: It was working. Gillespie had taken the hook. "The state of my sanity is beside the point."

"You're not going to--"

"I'm going to talk and you're going to listen. You gave information to the government. Tipped off by you, the government was able to hide three of the four intended victims before Frank Pastor's killers could reach them. How else could the government have acted so fast, if you hadn't given them advance warning? They didn't even arrest the secretary until several days later. The information couldn't have come from her. It came from you."

"The h.e.l.l it did. There was an attack on Benson and they put two and two together, that's all. n.o.body tipped them to anything."

"I see where you'd have to take that position. But it won't hold up."

"I've never contacted anybody in that office. I never gave information about anything to anybody. I don't know where you got--"

"Your information was too late to protect Benson but it gave them time to hide the other three men. Now the field agents file weekly reports on these cases. One of those reports drew my attention. I happened to retrieve it in a batch of printouts that had to do with a computer audit. I saw the report and the significance of it was obvious. It states that you came forward privately to a government agent and told him the whole story. You're pinned like a b.u.t.terfly, you know."

"You're stark raving bananas."

"Look at it this way. If that report should ever be shown to Frank Pastor or Ezio Martin, what do you suppose would happen to you?"

"Wait a minute. There's no such report and you know it."

"Not now there isn't. I agree. I erased your name from the memory bank of the computer. I subst.i.tuted the phrase 'confidential informant' wherever your name appeared in the printout of that report. Do you understand now?"

"I understand that you're a--"

"I've still got two tapes of the original printout. One copy is in my possession. I don't have it here with me but I can lay my hands on it. The second copy is in a sealed envelope in the custody of a disinterested party. He has instructions to mail the tape to Frank Pastor if anything should happen to me."

"What kind of slimy game is this? What are you--"

"To put it simply, blackmail."

"You b.a.s.t.a.r.d."

"I've got evidence that can destroy you, Gillespie. If I put it in Pastor's hands you're a dead man. I'm willing to sell you the evidence. It's a simple straightforward proposition."

"It's a f.u.c.king lie. I never informed on--"

"The computer says you did. Computers don't lie. Now shall we discuss terms?"

"I'm not discussing anything."

"That's shortsighted."

"The whole thing's a f.u.c.king lie."

"Why should the agency lie about it?"

Gillespie squinted shrewdly at him. "You're one of them."

"One of what?"

"Corcoran and Bradleigh. One of that outfit."

"The Witness Security Program? No, I'm afraid not. Not my department at all."

"Sure you are. They sent you up here with this load of s.h.i.t. It was supposed to scare me into spilling my guts."

"If you doubt the tape exists I'll be happy to make a copy of it and send it to you."

"If there's a tape it's a phony. It doesn't prove a thing."

"Let's go over this again. First, if you didn't inform, then how did the government know Merle and Fusco and Draper were in danger? Second, since the secretary implicated you months ago, why weren't you arrested? Your freedom alone is persuasive evidence that the tape isn't a fake."

"It's a f.u.c.king frame. I don't know whose idea this was, but by G.o.d--"

"The tapes will cost you one hundred thousand dollars. In cash. Small unmarked untraceable currency. Random serial numbers. When the money's in my hands I'll deliver both copies of the tape to you. Otherwise I send one copy to Frank Pastor and one copy to Ezio Martin."

Mathieson stood up. He moved quickly to the door.

Gillespie slowly rose from his chair. He stared at Mathieson with no expression at all on his sharp features. Mathieson turned brightly, pressing his foot against the switch, activating Bradleigh's microphone. "I'll be in touch in a day or two. Think it over and let me know how you want to proceed. It's up to you. I have every confidence you'll do the right thing."

Gillespie didn't say a word. Mathieson opened the door, went through it and pulled it shut behind him.

By the time he reached the elevator he was shaking badly and the sweat burst from his pores, but he had a savage sense of triumph.

CHAPTER TWENTY.

Washington, D.C.: 4 October

1.

GlLLESPIE STEWED FOR HALF AN HOUR. THE RECEPTIONIST announced the arrival of a client; Gillespie said, "I've got to make a call. You'll have to ask him to wait." Then he picked up the private line. He put the coded card into the phone and let it dial for him.

"Bellamy Security, may I help you?"

"C. K. Gillespie. Let me talk to Ernie."

"I'll see if he's in, Mr. Gillespie."

"You do that. It's important, honey."

"Yes, sir. Hold on a minute please."

In a moment she was back: "I have Mr. Guffin for you now."

Ernie's voice was coa.r.s.e; you kept wishing he'd clear his throat. "Get off the line, Mary Lou." Gillespie heard the click. "What can I do for you, counselor?"

"There was a man in my office about thirty-five minutes ago. Gave his name as Robert Zeck. Some kind of government computer technician-says he does audits on computerized files."

"What do you want about him?"

"Robert Zeck's a phony name. I want to find out who he is."

"Anything to go on?"

"Blond hair. Blond moustache, no beard. Maybe five feet eleven but he's stooped, he might be six one if he stood up straight. A hundred and ninety, two hundred pounds. Wears gla.s.ses with black frames and big rings on most of his fingers."

"What was he wearing?"

"Gray suit, pinstripe. Not expensive. Off the peg. Desk type-junior-grade bureaucrat. He may be a f.a.g, the way he talks."

"Computer auditor. They're a fairly rare breed, counselor. Shouldn't take too long."

"I've got his voice on tape if you want it."

"First we'll try the physical description. If we have to trot around with a ca.s.sette asking people do they recognize this voice, it could take forever."

"Anyway I'd have to edit the tape before you used it."

"Yeah. What's your beef with him?"

"Just find him, all right?"

"Do my best, counselor."

"Do it fast. Spend all the money you have to."

"OK. You want daily reports?"

"Daily reports s.h.i.t, Ernie, I want him turned up this afternoon."

"Sure you do. I'll call you when I get something. It may be today, it may be next week. You know how these things go."

"Push it, Ernie."

He cradled the phone and ran fingers back through his hair. "s.h.i.t."

Then he reached for the intercom. "Send him in now."

The rest of the morning was h.e.l.l. His temper kept rising; he couldn't concentrate on the work. At lunchtime he stayed in the office in case Ernie should call back. By two o'clock he was pacing the office. He went to the interphone: "That four o'clock appointment. Call him and cancel it if you can-make it Monday."

"You're going out?"

"No." He switched it off.

He rewound the tape and played it back. It didn't tell him anything new. He took the spool off and put a fresh one on the machine; he put the tape in his pocket. This thing could be dynamite.

At three he couldn't stand it. He rang Bellamy's. "Where the h.e.l.l's Ernie Guffin?"

"Why he's in his office, Mr. Gillespie. I'll connect you right away."

"Counselor?"

"Ernie, where the h.e.l.l are you? I give you a dead-simple job and I don't hear a--"

"He's not an auditor, counselor. We got that in two hours flat. He might be a computer technician, service type, programmer, anything. We've had to widen the thing and it's likely to take a while. I'm sorry but that's the way it is. All I can tell you, I'll call you the minute we turn up anything."