The Scorpio Illusion Part 57

"Thats an odd thing to say," interrupted Tyrell. "I dont know too many people from your part of town who open their portfolios for their neighbors."

"Of course not, but fundamental origins are generally known. A man invents something or provides something the marketplace doesnt have, filling a gap; or he starts a bank at the right time, or develops real estate; these are the springboards to the portfolios you speak of. In my case, before my ascension to the Court, I was the founder and senior partner of an immensely lucrative law firm with offices both in Washington and New York. I could easily afford the honor of the Court."

"Yes, you could," Hawthorne said, recalling the dossier on David Ingersol which included copious data on the father. The one missing piece was the real reason Richard Ingersol had resigned. Suddenly, Hawthorne knew he was about to hold the missing piece in his hands.

"Neptune," Ingersol said as if reading Tyes thoughts. He sat down on a white wrought-iron bench at the far end of the isolated garden. "Its part of the story, a rather seedy part and unnecessarily brutal. One night on the yacht club veranda, overlooking a moonlit Mediterranean, Van Nostrand, ever observant, said, 'You find something strange about me, dont you, Mr. Justice? I replied that I a.s.sumed he was a h.o.m.os.e.xual, but that was nothing new. The international set was rife with them. Then, with the most diabolical thin smile Ive ever seen, he said to me, 'Im the man who ruined you, the man who rules the future of your son. Im Neptune. "

"Jesus Christ! He came right out with it?"

"I was shocked, of course, and asked him why he wanted me to know at this late date. What cruel and perverse satisfaction could he derive? I was eighty-one years of age and hardly in a position to challenge him, much less kill him. My wife had died and I was alone, frankly wondering each night when I went to bed whether Id wake up in the morning. 'Why, Nils? I asked him again. 'Why did you do it, and why tell me now? "

"Did he have an answer?"

"Yes, Mr. Hawthorne, he had an answer. Its why I came back.... My son was not killed by an itinerant drug addict; he was methodically murdered by the people who 'ruined me and 'ruled him, to use Van Nostrands words. Im eighty-six now, and the way I live means Im living on stolen time, utterly confusing my doctors. But one day soon I wont wake up to greet the sun, I accept that. What I cannot accept is that Ill carry to that ostentatious grave of mine the secret that turned a dishonorable life into one of utter disgrace, and in the doing killed my son."

"Neptunes answer?" Tyrell pressed.

"Delivered with that same malicious smile and the ice-cold eyes that held such fire behind them. I remember the words precisely, theyre burned into my mind.... 'Because we proved we could do it, d.i.c.kie old sport-over two generations. Given time, we can run the United States government-Mars and Neptune. I wanted you to see it, know it, and realize that you can do nothing.... That was his satisfaction, throwing it in my face, in the face of a helpless old man whose reborn wealth was built on corruption. But when they killed my son, I knew it was time to come out from the luxurious heaven of my h.e.l.l and find someone to whom I could tell the truth. I wasnt sure where to begin, for there are some things that can never be told. I have a fine grandson to protect-potentially far better than his father and grandfather-but the rest must be told. Then I heard you in the study, Mr. Hawthorne, and turned the chair around and studied you. Youre elected, young man; theres something about you that gives rise to cautious confidence." Ingersols eyes bored into Hawthornes. "Youre not simply doing a job," he said. "Youre committed to it; that probably accounts for your excessively forceful appearance on our stage here."

"Im not an actor, Ingersol."

"Were all actors, Hawthorne, we who move in and out of other peoples lives, either for self-preservation, self-enhancement, or settling scores."

"Who does that leave out?"

"As I said, were all actors.... Now, to my unwritten contract-"

"What contract?"

"Im prepared to give you certain information as long as its understood that my ident.i.ty is never revealed. Im your unknown 'source, our communications must be private, beyond scrutiny."

"Thats out of bounds. I need confirmation."

"Then after the funeral I shall return to the Costa del Sol; and if Van Nostrand shows up, my last act will be to take a small revolver from my pocket, shoot him in the head, and throw myself at the mercy of the Spanish court. An act of personal honor without elaboration; its not unknown."

"Van Nostrand wont show up. Hes dead."

The old man stared at Tyrell. "Theres been no news, no reports of his death-"

"Youre one of the privileged few. Its been silenced."

"For what purpose?"

"To confuse the enemy is as good an answer as any."

"The 'enemy? Then you know theres a structured organization."

"We do."

"Recruited, as my son was recruited. Extortion, blackmail, and guaranteed destruction if the candidates dont comply; guaranteed compensation if they do."

"Except for the few we found or think we found-all dead-we dont know who they are or where they are. Can you help us?"

"I think you mean can I help you."

"Friends of mine were killed, one probably crippled for life, lets leave it at that."

"Again, I accept your reply.... Theyre called the Scorpios, One through Twenty-five, the first five above the rest insofar as they transmit the orders from, shall we say, the board of directors."

"What board of directors?"

"Theyre known, aptly enough, as the Providers."

"Who are they?"

"Is my contract accepted? With you?"

"How can you ask me to keep my mouth shut? You have no idea whats involved."

"I know that I will not involve my grandson. Todd has his whole lifetime in front of him, and I refuse to have him stigmatized as the offspring of corrupt men."

"You realize I could lie to you."

"Youll think about it, but I dont believe you will, not if you give me your word. Its a risk Ill take.... Your word?"

Tyrell took several angry steps to Ingersols right, gazed briefly at the pale moon, then turned back and looked down into the old mans sad but steady eyes. "Youre asking me to relay information based on an unknown source? Its crazy!"

"I dont think so. There was a Deep Throat, remember, and the integrity of a newspaper that followed his leads."

"Can you furnish me with concrete information?"

"I can furnish you with leads I believe are substantial; the rest is for you to establish."

"Then you have my word," said Hawthorne finally, softly. "And Im not lying.... Go ahead."

"Van Nostrand had one of those small but very expensive villas, the sort designed for single people who dont care to have overnight guests, except for lovers, of course. After he told me who he was and what he had done, I had that villa under what the intelligence branches call a microscope. I bribed his help, as well as the local telephone office and the switchboards at our clubs. I knew I couldnt kill the man without facing consequences I didnt care to face, but if I could learn everything there was to learn about the b.a.s.t.a.r.d, perhaps I might reverse the hold he had on my son and me."

"By using his own technique?" interrupted Tyrell. "Extortion? Threatening to expose what you learned?"

"Precisely ... in conjunction with what my son told me. We had to be extraordinarily cautious, you understand. No letters, no telephone calls, nothing like that.... David traveled a great deal, oddly enough at times reporting to the Central Intelligence Agency on matters they asked him to look into-"

"I was told that," Hawthorne broke in again. "When I first broached his name, the head of naval intelligence said I was an idiot. Your son was so clean he was a CIA a.s.set when they wanted him."

"Its all so ironic, isnt it?... Nevertheless, we would meet secretly, taking every precaution not to be seen together. In the crowds of Trafalgar Square, or in boisterous cafes on the Rive Gauche, or in out-of-the-way country inns. David gave me the telephone codes-theyre satellite transmissions, incidentally-"

"We know that-"

"Youve made progress."

"Not enough. Go on."

"He knew Van Nostrand socially, that was unavoidable within the Washington circles they traveled, although they rarely spoke to each other in public. Then, due to an emergency that required immediate action-an urgent a.n.a.lytical revision at the CIA-Van Nostrand instructed my son to carry the revised information to Scorpio Two."

"Scorpio Two ...? ORyan?"

"Yes. You see, David was Scorpio Three."

"He was one of the top five, then."

"With the utmost reluctance, I a.s.sure you. As to why, that is not part of the information I will give you."

"Who are the other two? Of the five highest Scorpios, I mean."

"He never specifically learned, but he a.s.sumed that one was a senator because Van Nostrand once told him that the Senate Intelligence Committee was an excellent source of information. As to the fifth man, David said ORyan had traced him, but would say only that S-Five was 'a heavyweight-the heaviest at the Pentagon. "

"Its a big place with a lot of heavyweights," observed Tyrell.

"I agree. Nevertheless it confirmed what I learned on the Costa del Sol. Van Nostrand made scores of calls to Washington whenever he was in residence, many of them to the Pentagon. However, as David pointed out, the list is useless. If Neptune wanted to reach a Scorpio, hed use the satellite codes."

"Unless he was using blinds to send a message," Hawthorne said. "Your son was right. Its a useless avenue.... Did you learn anything else from that villa outside of the telephone calls?"

"Yes, I found correspondence from a real estate firm in Lausanne. Apparently Van Nostrand owned property on the lake in another name, a Spanish name. He himself was listed as custodian."

"Nothing there, and even if there were, it would take too long to unscramble. Anything else?"

"Again, yes." Ingersol smiled thinly. "A list of twenty names and addresses on the stationery of the Gemeinschaft Bank in Zurich. Eighteen months ago it was in Van Nostrands wall safe. I paid ten thousand dollars to have the alarms neutralized and the safe opened by a delightful rogue currently incarcerated in Estepona. Twenty names, Mr. Hawthorne. Twenty."

"The mother lode!" whispered Tyrell. "The rest of the Scorpios. Did your son know?"

"Im an experienced jurist, Hawthorne. I know when to deliver sealed evidence and when not to, especially if that evidence could bring great harm to counsel."

"What does that mean?"

"To put it bluntly, David was neither raised nor prepared for the position he was forced into. He was a fine attorney, a good corporate lawyer, but he was no street lawyer, no legal knife for the underworld. He put on a good act as Scorpio Three, but it was just that, an act. He was constantly frightened, p.r.o.ne to periods of depression and moments of panic. If I had given him the list, he very well might have used it in an attempt to extricate himself during one of his anxiety attacks."

"Could he have?"

"Good Lord, use your head, young man! Van Nostrand, an intimate of presidents with connections all over Washington; ORyan, a top-flight a.n.a.lyst, privy to the deepest secrets; and a list of unknown names delivered by a panicked man who cant substantiate who or what they are?"

"What about the satellite codes?"

"Instantly shut down by any number of Scorpios in a position to send out the alarm.... If I were a conspiratorialist where the John Kennedy a.s.sa.s.sination was concerned, I could detail how a cover-up was easily managed, totally eluding the Warren Commission. The Scorpios are proof of how it can be done."

"Why was your son killed?"

"He panicked. Over what, I have no idea, but it must have been recent. As I told you, we never allowed ourselves written or wired communication. He was convinced his house and his office were monitored by the Providers."

"Are they tapped?"

"The house isnt; the office, I dont know. Its a large firm with a complicated telephone system. Intercepts might raise suspicions."

"Are you certain about the house?"

"I have my own people check it out once a month, but I could never convince David. He kept saying 'You dont know what they can do. I agreed I didnt; I merely insisted that his house was clean. Bugs are easily discovered in residences, as you well know."

"Who are the Providers?"

"Im not sure, I can only give you leads. People flew in on private aircraft to see Van Nostrand, and naturally, I spread some money around at the airport in Marbella and among its customs officials. Oh, yes, Mr. Hawthorne, I have the names and points of origin of everyone he saw, among them certainly several of the Providers, but to my regret nothing made sense. Lies are normal on such doc.u.ments, but there was no core, no center that I could unearth.... But there was a man and a woman, he from Milan, she from Bahrain, who appeared much more frequently than the others. At first I thought they were raisons de coeur-lovers accepting Van Nostrands private hospitality. Then I realized my foolish naivete. They were both quite elderly, gross, enormous. If they were lovers, neither could mount the other without the help of grooms.... No, Hawthorne, they were not lovers. In my opinion, they were intrinsic to the Providers, possibly their leaders, at least their brokers."

"Milan, the northern conduit for Palermo, for the Mafia," said Tyrell softly. "Bahrain, with all the money in the world, often a major source for the Baaka Valley. Can you identify them, tell me who they are?"

"Shh!" Ingersol abruptly raised his right hand, palm forward. "Someones coming through the archway."

Hawthorne started to turn; he was too late. A loud spit cracked through the air, a silenced gunshot. The bullet shattered the old mans forehead. Tyrell lunged to his right, diving into a duster of rosebushes, his hand plunging under his belt for his weapon, but not in time. A silhouetted figure swooped down on him like a giant bird, filling his vision with darkness. A heavy metal object crashed down on his skull, and there was nothing.

29.

Hawthorne felt the sharp, agonizing pain first, then the rivulets of blood rolling down his face. Gasping for breath, he tried raising his head, only to have his hair and his flesh caught and sc.r.a.ped by thorns. He was deeply entangled in a rosebush, the needled branches enveloping him, pressed into his clothing everywhere as if someone had used his feet to crush the pain-inducing stems into his body. Someone had; a silhouetted killer who had ended the life of Richard Ingersol, father of Scorpio Three.

Slowly, unsteadily, and wincing through the web of thorns, Tyrell got to his feet, suddenly realizing that there was a gun in his hand but it was too large, too heavy to be his own. He looked down through the wash of light from the nearby pool. The weapon was a .38-caliber Magnum with a perforated silencer attached to the barrel, the same gun used to kill the elder Ingersol. A setup! thought Hawthorne, only then realizing that there was a pulsating irritation inside his jacket-one, two, three ... one, two, three-Poole was trying to reach him on the emergency signal. For how long, he had no way to tell.

He lurched up from the soft earth of the garden, trying with all his concentration to orient himself while pulling out his shirt and blotting the blood on his face with the ends. There was no one else there, only Ingersols corpse, his entire skull drenched in blood, his face a shining scarlet mask. Tye rushed forward, instinct telling him what to do, as long as it was done quickly. He lowered Ingersols body off the white wrought-iron bench, placed it on the ground, and dragged it under the base of the tall hedges beyond the garden. He searched the old mans pockets; there was nothing but a billfold filled with money and credit cards; he left it there and took the unsoiled handkerchief from Ingersols breast pocket. The light from the swimming pool-water!

Hawthorne raced to the latticed trellis, carefully peering around the corner as he shoved the Magnum under his belt. Again no one. The muted sounds of quiet voices confirmed the presence of several dozen figures moving slowly beyond the tinted sliding gla.s.s doors of the living room. He soaked the handkerchief in the pool, moving the wet surface over his face and head. If he could just get through the crowded, overworked kitchen without notice, he could reach the hallway only steps away from the younger Ingersols office. He had to! He had to reach Jackson, had to learn what the emergency was, had to tell him what had happened. There was a limp bath towel hanging over a deck chair; he grabbed it, not sure what he would do with it other than to somehow cover his soiled clothes. But suddenly he was sure what had brought him out of his unconscious state. The weak but incessant pulsating electric charges from the plastic lighter against his chest. Without that electronic interference he would have been found within feet of Richard Ingersols blood-drenched body and held by the police for murder. Thus would be eliminated two men, perhaps the only two people outside of the terrorist Bajaratt, who knew about the underground Scorpios. Move, now!

Tyrell held the towel against his face and rushed up the flagstone path to the kitchen door. He entered the white-ap.r.o.ned melee as though he were an overcome mourner or one who, in sorrow, had drunk too much in this house of death. Those who noticed his pitiful presence turned away; they had their work to do. In the narrow hallway he hurried to the study, grateful to see that the door was still closed. He slipped inside, locked the door behind him, and went to each window, pulling the drapes shut. The wound in his head had opened again, but thank G.o.d the st.i.tches on his hip had held. There was blood above, but none below; Pooles extra taping had done its work. There was a bathroom in Ingersols study, the door open. He would take care of the gash in his skull as soon as he could, but first there was A. J. Poole V, Lieutenant, United States Air Force.

"Where have you been?" an anxious Poole shouted. "Ive been trying to reach you for the past forty-five minutes."

"Later, Jackson. Your news first. Is it Cathy?"

"No. The hospital says theres no change."

"Then what is it?"

"Id rather not tell you, Tye, but youd better hear it.... Henry Stevens was killed, a huge knife wound in the chest. His body was found by the police behind his garage." The lieutenant paused, then said, "I thought youd want to know, Mrs. Stevens beat down Secretary Palisser until he gave her this number. She has a message for you and wouldnt take no. I wrote it down and swore on my honor to tell you. It goes as follows: 'First Ingrid, now Henry, Tye. How long can it go on? Get out for all our sanities.... What does it mean, Commander?"

"Shes a.s.sociating one thing with another when theres no linkage." Tyrell could not allow himself to think about Phyllis Stevenss pain. There wasnt time! "Do the police have anything on Henrys killing?" he asked.

"Only that very unusual wound so far. Everythings being kept silent. The police are under orders to issue nothing to the press or anyone else."