Read The Bannerman Effect (The Bannerman Series) Online

Authors: John R. Maxim

The Bannerman Effect (The Bannerman Series) (15 page)

BOOK: The Bannerman Effect (The Bannerman Series)

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Urs Brugg shrugged. His interest in the second man, the brutish one, was limited to his capacity to protect Paul Bannerman. From his appearance, he seemed adequate to the task.

“Yes, Willem called as soon as you were safely past our friend at the booth,” he said into the telephone. “You are leaving none too soon. The police think they have the lot of you contained in Davos. They have set up roadblocks.”

He listened, hearing no concern in Bannerman's response. He studied the photograph. An interesting face. Curiously gentle. He set it down as Bannerman asked about his niece.

“She is still in surgery. The damage is extensive. And your Susan?”

“I'm about to call,” Bannerman told him.

“Please keep me informed.”

”I will, sir.”

“Today,” said Urs Brugg, ”I have put a price on the men who shot Elena and killed Josef. If Mama's Boy finds them first, will he give them to me?”

“Mr. Brugg, I would prefer to be called by my name.”

“Forgive me. Mr. Bannerman, then.”

“Paul is fine. In any case, those men are
only shooters.
They're a dime a dozen in Europe. I'll try to do better than that.”

“It is...as we discussed, I take it.”

I’m not sure. I hope to be. Very soon.”

“And if you are not?”

Bannerman hesitated.

“You will act nonetheless.” Urs Brugg answered for him. “Do others know this about you?”

“Sir?”

“That no assault on you can go unpunished. That an immediate response must be presumed, regardless of any remaining doubt. If others know this about you, Paul, you become predictable. You can be manipulated. You have considered this?”

“The problem with that,” he answered, “is that doubt can be manipulated as well.”

Urs Brugg understood. Doubt, successfully nourished, can lead to inaction, even misdirected action. He sighed audibly.

“How wearying it must be,” he said, “to be Paul Banner-man.”

“Sometimes. Yes.”

“Safe home, Paul.”

“I'll be in touch.”

Urs Brugg broke the connection. His opponent reached to retrieve the file he had brought. “An interesting man,” he said softly, returning his attention to the chessboard.

“Leo,” Urs Brugg said firmly, ”I have your word.”

The other man nodded. “You have lost a bishop,” said the KGB station chief from the Soviet Embassy in Bern. “But perhaps, today, you have gained a knight.”

Molly Farrell took his call in Helge's cubicle.

“She goes in and out,” Molly told him. “Dozing a lot, having bad dreams. The doctor says that will go on for a while, occasional hallucinations, some memory loss, but he thinks she'll be okay.”

“Has she . . .”

“Asked about you? Some.”

“How much has her father told her?”

“The basics,” she answered. “Not that he knows all that much. He did say that no matter whose side you were on, you're still a killer. Then Susan asked him how that made you different from him. Not a bad question.”

“What did he say to that?”

“Same thing you've been saying. She can't live in your world and you can't live in hers. She told him she loved him but he should fuck off.”

“Susan said that?”

“And you too.”

He let out a breath. “Try to make her understand that . . .”

“Paul,” Molly said gently, “don't push.”

“Yeah.” A long pause. “How is Lesko behaving otherwise?”

“He's calming down. He's ... did you know he still talks to his partner?”

“What partner?”

“The dead one. When he thinks no one is looking. Susan says it's just force of habit from ten years of working together.”

“He's not . . .”

“Wacko? I don't think so. More like lonely. By the way,” she glanced back up the corridor, “he's signaling me right now to see if you have any news about Elena.”

Bannerman told her what Urs Brugg had said. He gave her the name of the hospital in Zurich. Molly nodded toward Lesko and held up her thumb. Lesko turned away so that she could not see his face.

“Roger Clew,” she told Bannerman, “called an hour ago from the airport. He's on his way. You must have passed each other on the road.”

“Did you tell him I'm leaving?”

”I just said you weren't here.”

“Don't tell him. Don't lie to him either. Let him draw his own conclusions but I'll want to know what sort of questions he asks. Tell him I'd like him to make arrangements to get Susan and her father out of Switzerland as soon as she can travel. Is Lesko's passport legitimate?”

“He didn't have one. The one we gave him is okay but not great. Short notice.”

“Then Lesko will need Roger. Bring them both to Westport where we can protect them until this is settled.”

“Susan will come. She's not through with you. If she does, so will he. He's not through with you either.”

“Fair enough. Until then, get Roger to arrange for more security around that hospital.”

“No need,” she told him. “There are six men outside with automatic weapons. They're paratroopers, off duty. Their major came in to introduce himself. They're with the Enzian Unit out of Zurich.”

Enzian Unit. Swiss commandos. Bannerman was impressed. “Roger works fast.”

“Not Roger. Your new friend. Urs Brugg.”

He was doubly impressed. He remembered the awe on Helge's face when she first told him that Urs Brugg was on her telephone. There was more to this man than money after all. “Well,” he said, “in that case, wait for Roger and then get home. I might have a job for you.”

”I thought you might.”

Exhausted, Bannerman was asleep before the clouds blurred out the lights of Zurich. The Swissair flight took him only to Geneva where, to confuse possible surveillance, he and Billy boarded a Delta flight to Montreal. There they connected with a Finnair flight that was on its final leg from Helsinki to New York. They arrived at five in the morning. They'd been traveling fourteen hours.

At JFK Airport, they passed through customs without incident. Beyond, a knot of about a dozen people, several of them yawning, waited for arriving passengers. A number of limo drivers were among them. One of these, short, white haired, a sour expression, wearing a chauffeur's cap and a raincoat, held a sign with Bannerman's name on it. He recognized John Waldo. Against the far wall, he spotted the Jewish Afro hairdo and beaded denim jacket favored by Janet Herzog. She was sitting on the marble floor, hugging a knitting bag to her chest, apparently dozing. She could have been a college student traveling on winter break although he knew her to be almost his age. He also knew her to be wide awake. She would not move or be seen to look up until they were safely on their way. The knitting bag would contain an Ingram machine pistol. John Waldo's raincoat probably concealed a shotgun.

Bannerman checked his watch. Nearly noon, Zurich time. He wanted to make one more call. As Billy pushed their luggage cart toward the stretch limo waiting at curbside, Bannerman stepped to a bank of phones and, using a credit card, once more punched out the number of Urs Brugg.

“My niece is out of danger,” the familiar bass voice boomed back at him. Drained of worry, it sounded younger, fresher. “One bullet shattered her collarbone but it missed the lung. Her left arm has been reassembled with the aid of screws and clamps. She may or may not regain full use of it, yet she is in good spirits. Her primary concern seems to be the scars and how they will affect her choice of wardrobe.”

“That's the best possible news, sir.”

“Easy for you to say. You do not wear low cut gowns.”

Bannerman smiled at the joke and at the relief that it implied. “Mr. Brugg, I regret that I did not get the chance to know her better. She sounds like a very considerable woman.”

“Yes. Yes, she is.”

“Susan is also recovering nicely. I hope to get her home in the next few days.”

“That is done,” Urs Brugg told him. “They leave tonight by way of Munich. Your man from the State Department has arranged transport by military aircraft. She is well guarded. An army doctor will fly with her. She has agreed to accept your protection in Westport. The father disdains it but I think he will follow.”

The smile remained, although it twisted a bit. “Mr. Brugg, I seem to be having trouble keeping up with you.”

”I have my turf, as they say. You have yours.”

“Which brings me to the other reason for my call. I made you a promise. Can you stay close to your phone this week?”

”I am always here. I am in a wheelchair. You have, I gather, made a decision?”

“Just about.”

“Have you slept?”

“On the plane, yes.”

“You have had two days with very little rest. Get more sleep. Then decide.”

”I will. Mr. Brugg, I need two favors.”

“Ask them.”

“Dr. Russo's body. He ought to be buried where his friends are. If you could somehow get it released . . .”

“Give me an address.”

“Thank you.” Bannerman named a mortician in Westport.

“The second favor?”

“The telephone receptionist at Davos Hospital. Her name is Helge Guler. She's been most helpful and very kind but would not accept a reward. However, she is very much an admirer of Urs Brugg and I thought if you might . . .”

“Perhaps she would join me here for dinner.”

“That's more than I would have asked. Thank you.”

“Paul . . . this Lesko.” Urs Brugg lowered his voice, signaling a topic of an equally personal nature. “He is not, I gather, an especially handsome man.”

”I, um, would not say so. No.”

”A man of great charm, then.”

“Mr. Brugg,” Bannerman grimaced, “if you're asking me what your niece sees in him . . .”

“He came to visit her this morning. Elena was greatly touched that he did so. Yes, Paul. I suppose that is what I am asking.”

“Mr. Brugg, I don't know the man.”

“You know the daughter. How does she speak of him?”

Bannerman glanced apologetically in the direction of the waiting limo. He had more on his mind than whatever emotions existed between Lesko and Elena. Still, with a small sigh, he tried to answer. “Susan speaks of him with great warmth. She has expressed the wish that others could know him as she does. She calls him a pussycat. Do you know the expression?”

“It is similar in German.”

“Still, she knows that he can be a brutal man. When he was a policeman, the newspapers called him Raymond ‘the Terrible.’ He's been in more than his share of shootings but he is known to prefer his fists.”

”A humanitarian, then,” Urs Brugg said blandly. “And your own observations?”

“He's certainly tough but I don't think he's mean. By all accounts, he is scrupulously honest. For what it's worth, I guess I respect him.”

“Would Mama's Boy recruit him?”

“No.”

“Beyond the obvious, may I ask why?”

“He is—not like us.”

“Yes,” Urs Bragg said thoughtfully, ”I think I understand.”

Bannerman said nothing.

“Elena tells me that she has invited him back to Zurich. For an indefinite visit. Do you think he will come?”

“He might, but he won't stay. All he knows is New York.”

“And Elena cannot go there. There are warrants for her arrest. Perhaps it is just as well.”

“Perhaps. Yes.”

“You have been indulging me, Paul. I appreciate this.”

“You care about your niece. You don't want her hurt. I understand that. If you're asking my opinion, this thing with Lesko won't go much further. It's impossible.”