Seven Silent Men (41 page)

Yates had read the flying squad's summary explanation of how the $31,000,000 came to be at Mormon State, found the reports to be, as he told Jessup at the time, as full of holes as Swiss cheese. The rush of subsequent events hadn't allowed Billy to dwell on this or Director Hoover's removal of Grafton. While he drove with Tina Beth, both questions reemerged, hovered. Billy homed in on the one for which he had tentative answers.

“If J. Edgar Hoover and Ed Grafton were such old and good pals, had fought and made up and fought again and made up again as legend held,” he said aloud but not necessarily to Tina Beth, “then why would Director Hoover remove him at all? What had Ed Grafton done that was so wrong, that would call for removal? Ed Grafton had gone on vacation. The first vacation he'd taken in five years. While he was gone, Mormon State gets robbed. Or we learn on Sunday it was robbed. Ed Grafton can't be reached, and no one knows how much money was stolen. There's no doubt the perpetration was spectacular in concept. The press starts calling it the crime of the century. Denis Corticun comes in from headquarters like a military historian rushing onto a fresh battlefield to memorialize the fight for all time. Grafton is back by then and is told by the bank and Brink's that only sixty-five hundred dollars was delivered to Mormon State just before the theft. That becomes the official loss estimate. Grafton wipes Corticun's nose in it. Corticun, of course, is Washington's man. The Brass-Balled Monkeys' man. He's a Brass Ball himself. The agents in our office get drunk and steal Corticun's pinstriped jacket and do a take-off on him … and he walks in on the take-off. All the agents drop their pants in front of him. Then we find out another thirty-one million was in the vault, that it's the biggest robbery in history. The press goes wild … but why remove Grafton? Because he believed what the bank and Brink's told him about only sixty-five hundred being in the vault? Because he rubbed Corticun's nose in it? Because the agents ridiculed Corticun? Because of the press … because Washington felt it needed a fall guy? Or because Washington was afraid what Grafton would say to the press when he got back from vacation?

“… Are any of these, all of these why J. Edgar Hoover would get rid of Grafton? Or are they reasons the Brass Balls in Washington would get rid of him? But I don't think the Brass Balls would dare bring one of these points up to Hoover … wouldn't risk his wrath if he defended Grafton against these complaints like he's defended him against everything else. Hoover, only Director Hoover, could have removed Ed Grafton. Then why did he? What would cause him to dismiss his oldest and closest friend among agents? The man he had protected and championed for so long. Could that be one explanation? That Director Hoover was protecting Grafton by removing him? Does that make any sense, Tina Beth?”

“Protecting him from what, Billy Bee?”

“This investigation. Being any part of Romor 91.”

“Why?”

“Maybe J. Edgar Hoover felt the investigation would fail and didn't want Grafton to suffer from that?”

Tina Beth knew from Billy's tone he did not seek any comment from her, that he was merely speculating aloud, listening to how the answers sounded, how they struck him. She knew that more would be forthcoming.

“… There are two more possibilities,” Billy said after a long pause. “What if J. Edgar Hoover had come to agree with the Brass Balls who felt Prairie Port was too big a pain in the butt to deal with any more? Let's say Hoover had decided the entire resident office should be replaced. Along comes Romor 91. Hoover sees the perfect opportunity to clean house without arousing the media. Even J. Edgar Hoover might have pause at what the press would do if they found out he replaced an entire office for no good reason. We certainly have seen how Washington cottons to the media, haven't we, Tina Beth? They probably learned that from Mister Hoover himself. Yessiree, if I were J. Edgar Hoover and wanted to flush out the Prairie Port office from top to bottom, the Mormon State robbery would be manna from heaven. With Mormon State I could stand back and let Prairie Port do its own self in. Walk the plank unaided and with its eyes wide open. All that would be required was to remove the man who
was
the Prairie Port residency … Ed Grafton. As far as Edgar Hoover was concerned, and most of the Brass Balls for that matter, Grafton was the mind, the soul, the very blood in the veins of our office. Lop off the monster's head and the beast will die. Pluck the captain from the helm and the ship will crash onto the rocks. Let all hands perish. Then send in a brand-new crew. Answer me this, Tina Beth.” He was looking intently at her now. “Why give Romor 91 to Strom Sunstrom?”

“Mind the road, Billy Bee,” she told him.

He looked ahead at the highway. “Romor 91, the largest and most important Bureau investigation ever mounted … and they give it to Strom? Dozens of SACs and supervisors with ten times the experience Strom has are bypassed for replacing Grafton. There's no precedent here. Not with a resident office. No rule saying who should take over for Grafton. It could be anyone. But Edgar picks Strom. Everything goes to Strom. Corticun, who outranks Strom, comes in and doesn't lift a finger. He lets Strom do it all. Agrees with everything Strom does, investigationwise.

“Tina Beth, you think Denis Corticun knows something we don't? You think maybe he's waiting for something to come down … like Strom and the rest of us? Without realizing it, you think maybe Strom's aiding and abetting Corticun? Strom's already turned over most of the residency's routine case load to Corticun and his auxiliary agents on the twelfth floor. Do you think maybe those auxiliary agents, those temporary support personnel, as they've been designated, are not so auxiliary or temporary or supportive? Do you think they're our replacements? And always have been? How much effort would it be for those thirty agents on the twelfth floor to relieve the eleventh floor of Romor 91 and have the whole kit and kaboodle to themselves? Have Romor 91 as well as Prairie Port? Think Denis Corticun was just waiting for us to stumble so he would have the excuse to take over, or … so J. Edgar Hoover would have the excuse to order him to take over?”

Billy's laugh was pained. “Tina Beth, looks like your old man has gone looney-toon on you. Wacko as Mata Hari Jessup claims to be about spies coming to Praire Port to peek on Grafton. Next thing you know I'll be seeing little green Edgars under every bed … or on the highway in front of us. Keep your eye on the highway, Tina Beth. If you see the sign for a crazy house, let me know 'cause I haven't told you the craziest idea yet. If you see a phone booth while you're looking for a nut house sign, I can use that too.”

Billy Yates finished the last of the now tepid hot chocolate. “Possibility three. Wilkie Jarrel versus Ed Grafton. Grafton and Jarrel have been going after one another for years. Headquarters and even Capitol Hill have tried to intercede, usually on Jarrel's behalf … tried to either check or replace Grafton. J. Edgar Hoover sticks by his old pal Grafton. No one is sure why. Maybe it's not important enough for J. Edgar to do otherwise. Maybe there's nothing to be gained by not standing by Grafton. Mormon State explodes onto the land. Mormon State is important to the FBI. Wilkie Jarrel controls the conglomerate that owns Mormon State National Bank. Wilkie Jarrel's son-in-law, Emile Chandler, is the president of Mormon State National Bank. An investigation like Romor 91 needs the full cooperation of the victim bank. What with the blood feud between Wilkie Jarrel and Ed Grafton raging hot as ever, Edgar has to choose between facility and friendship. Has to sacrifice one or the other. He sacrifices Ed Grafton. After all, how accommodating would you expect Emile Chandler to be if Grafton showed up in his parlor?”

Yates glanced expectantly at Tina Beth.

“That's all?” she asked.

He nodded. “Theory number three.”

She pointed ahead. “I see a phone booth.”

… The office ordered him to go to Municipal Airport without delay.

The jet cargo plane from Chicago taxied into the National Guard hangar at Municipal Airport, swung around, stopped. The engines cut off. The nose section opened. The metal ramp behind it lowered. A large, black limousine rolled out of the fuselage hold and down the ramp and on across the hangar to where Yates and Brewmeister and a young FBI agent from Washington headquarters were standing.

“Clean it,” the young man said.

“Clean what?” Yates, like Brewmeister, had been given no explanation as to why he had been summoned here.

“Clean the car. Make it glisten.”

“It's glistening already,” Brew said.

“There are cloths and a portable vacuum cleaner in the trunk,” the young man said. “Use them. On the outside and inside.”

A second young agent from headquarters, this one with an earpiece leading down to a walkie-talkie in his hand, ran forward, calling, “He's already there!”

“Where?” the first young man demanded.

“He didn't land here. He landed by helicopter somewhere else. He's already at the office and waiting.”

“Jesus H. Christ.” The first young man wheeled to Brew and Yates. “Let's go!”

“Where?” Brew asked.

“Your office.” The first young man jumped into the rear seat of the limousine followed by the second young man.

Brew shrugged, got in behind the wheel. Yates rode beside him. They reached the downtown residency office twenty minutes later, led the two young men up to the twelfth-floor conference room/television studio.

The speaker's rostrum and Bureau crest which had been in place the night before when Harry Janks confronted the staff were gone. Standing in their place was the stage set which had not been used since the area was refurbished by Corticun … an exact replica of J. Edgar Hoover's Washington office. The audience comprised only men from the eleventh floor, all seventeen Prairie Port resident agents, including Strom. The two young agents from headquarters guarded the door. At exactly 8
A
.
M
. the door opened.

J. Edgar Hoover entered. Stopped abruptly just inside the room. Stared hard at the awestruck men seated in the audience. Exuded a presence which frightened even the usually imperturbable Billy Yates.

J. Edgar Hoover strode onto the set. Seated himself behind a reproduction of his own desk. He folded his hands atop the blotter. Looked down at his hands. Remained that way.

“Here it comes,” Donnie Bracken whispered to Strom and Yates, who were sitting directly in front of him. “He's exiling us to Alaska. I feel it. Nome, Alaska.”

J. Edgar Hoover cleared his throat. Moved his lips silently as if he were saying something under his breath. Squinted up momentarily, then back down at his hands. Blinked. Glanced up and blinked again. Blinked down at his hands once more.

“The Bureau, like Israel, has suffered many hurts,” he intoned. “Its women weep for the fallen. Its children pray for the wounded. It ill behooves one who has supped at the Bureau's table to damn, with equal fervor and fine impartiality, both the Bureau and its warriors when they are locked in mortal combat. Those who must shall suffer a thousand curses. Shall be smitten by boils and blindness and plague. Their lands shall be parched and flooded. They will take to the hills like scattering sheep.”

Edgar stopped talking, continued looking down at his folded hands.

“What was that about?” Brew whispered to Yates.

“Beats me,” Billy answered
sotto voce
, “but the first part is a steal from a speech John L. Lewis made in the 1930s.”

“How do you know that?”

“I used to know everything.”

J. Edgar Hoover pinched the tip of his nose. Wet his lips. Gazed up at the resident agents seated before him. Shot his cuffs. Squared his shoulders. Leaned forward on one elbow.

“There are those who say you struck the dagger into the back of Romor 91 and that the cause is lost,” he told them. “How say
you
? How care you? What is it you wish me to perceive? What is it you expect me to do?”

J. Edgar Hoover closed his eyes, lowered his head.

“He's changed his mind,” Bracken whispered. “It's not Nome, it's the firing squad.”

J. Edgar Hoover's head raised. The eyes opened. “Jellyfish. Punks. Mental halitosis. That's what I have to say to anybody who doesn't think you people were magnificent.” He was on his feet, one hand in his jacket pocket, the other hanging loose. “You are, each of you, magnificent. You have acquitted yourselves bravely. I have come here to tell you how proud I am of you and what you have achieved with Romor 91. With God's help and your skill we will carry forward and bring to bay the true perpetrators. You shall make it so. I love you!”

J. Edgar Hoover bowed his head, reseated himself behind the desk, motioned to the two young men from Washington.

“Mister Sunstrom has brought to my attention that you fine young men have so much enjoyed reading my best-selling book,
Masters of Deceit
, you wish to have an autographed copy of my other work,
A Study of Communism
. “Strom had made no such statement. “I have therefore brought with me a copy for each of you which I will inscribe as instructed. You will receive a complimentary ten-percent discount, and the purchase price will be deducted from your salary.”

Seventeen copies of
A Study of Communism
were deposited before J. Edgar Hoover by the two young men. The resident agents of Prairie Port, one by one, came forward, shook hands with the Director, said what they wished inscribed, received the autographed book, shook hands again, left the duplicate office and the studio in which it was built.

Billy Yates, on leaving, was told by one of the two young men from Washington he was to wait for J. Edgar Hoover. Was to accompany the Director on a tour of the offices and then drive him wherever he wished to go. Billy tagged along as J. Edgar was shown the rest of the twelfth floor by Corticun. J. Edgar hated what he saw, sputtered orders to Corticun for immediate redecoration … for restoring integrity to the space and the men who worked there … for making it look much more like the eleventh floor, which he had not yet visited. And did not visit.