The Bannerman Solution (The Bannerman Series) (87 page)

Lesko knew he was right.

This wasn't his element. That's what angered him as
much as anything. Even Katz knew it. He said so this
morning. Somehow he knew about New York cops.
“What do you think this is, Lesko? Fort Apache? You
think a bunch of Feds are going to come in here blast
ing? Hoping the locals won't notice the bodies all over
their lawns? That's your trouble, Lesko. For ten years I
try to teach you finesse but all you know is blasting.”

Lesko bit his lip. His expression softened. “I have to
be in on this,” he said earnestly. “Are you going to make
me say please?”

Bannerman studied him for a long moment. Then he reached for his phone.

“Who are you calling?”

“I'm going to find out what Reid is up to.”

“How do you do that?”

“I'm going to ask him.” He motioned Lesko to the
extension at one end of his office sofa.

“Paul
...
is that you? . . . Where are you calling
from?”

Bannerman could almost see, in the pauses, Reid urgently gesturing for someone on his end to listen in.
Probably Whitlow. Reid had already tried to call him
twice.

“I'm in Westport, Palmer.” Paul kept his voice
downcast and preoccupied. “I'm sorry I didn't get back to you. I've been spending most of my time at Susan's
bedside.”

“How is she, Paul?”

“Somewhat better, but she's sleeping a great deal.
She has no memory of what happened to her. I'm con
cerned about brain damage.” He saw Lesko's eyebrows
go up and he touched a finger to his lips. “Thank you for
the flowers, by the way. That was very thoughtful.”

“The least I could do.” A long pause. Bannerman
thought he heard whispering. “Paul, I called your Klos
ters apartment two days ago. Did I talk to you or some
one pretending to be you?”

“It was probably Lesko, his daughter gave him a key
so he could collect her things. Do you know where he is,
by the way?”

“He's not with you?”

“Hardly. He blames me for what happened to the girl. He's threatened to kill me for it. At the moment,
he's probably in Switzerland with Elena. You were right
about him, Palmer. He's a bad one.”

Another silence. Paul knew that Reid would be try
ing to remember what he said to Lesko. And now his
mind would be sorting out all manner of promising new equations.

“Paul,” he asked finally, “did you find the people
who assaulted Susan?”

“They sank right out of sight.”

“Probably shot your man Russo as well, don't you
think?”

“It wouldn't surprise me. But they're only hired hands. I want who sent them. Tell me who that is.”

“Paul, I've just about pieced it together. But I'm
re
luctant to tell you until I have evidence that will stand
up in a court of law. Moral certainty is not enough.”

“Tell me, Palmer.”

“You don't go off half-cocked? It's vital that we work
together, because I'm afraid we have a conspiracy that
reaches to a very high level.”

“We need each other. I won't make a move without
you.”
             

“
I'm pleased, Paul. Very pleased. We never should
have been adversaries, you and I. We should have
been. . . .”

“Palmer
…
who?”

“It shames me to admit that I've been fooled. Be
trayed. By two of my own people. One is Robert Loftus.
The other is Douglas Poole. Both have vanished? Lof
tus's family
has vanished as well. It wouldn't surprise me
if they've all been murdered, possibly by Lesko, more
likely by the man behind all this.”

“I want his name.”

“I hope you're sitting down, Paul.” Reid dropped his
voice. “Because the ringleader is none other than our
Secretary of State. Your friend, Roger Clew, is involved
as well, though I'm trying to believe that he's an unwit
ting dupe.”

“Barton Fuller?” Paul hushed. “And Roger?”

“I'm sorry, Paul.”   

“Palmer, I just can't believe it.”

“You will when you see the evidence. Not enough for
a jury, perhaps, but. . . .”

“The bastards.”

“We'll have to move quickly, Paul. And well coordi
nated. Your people and mine.”

“Palmer, I'm going to call an immediate council
meeting here. Then in, say, two hours, let's have a con
ference call. Will you be there?”

“Depend on it.”

“The bastards.”

Lesko put down his extension. He stared disbelievingly at Paul Bannerman. “What the hell was all that?” he asked.

“I think he wants me to kill the Secretary of State.”

“I heard. You believe any of that shit?”

“No.”

“Why'd you tell him you and me are on the outs?”

“Because now Palmer will look for you,
show you evidence that I ordered the attacks on Susan and Elena to frame him, and recruit you to kill me. You wanted a
way to get at Reid, there's your opening. All you have to
do is go home and wait for your doorbell to ring.”

Lesko pondered this. “Let me ask you something.”

“Shoot.”

“You two do this all the time? In that whole conver
sation, neither one of you said a word that was true.”

“Except that I know when I'm lying and when I'm
not. I'm not sure Reid knows the difference.”

“You don't get tired of that?”

“Yes, I do.”

“You made up your mind?”

“Yes. If Anton agrees.”

“I'm in, right?”

“If you do it my way. And you do as you're told.”

“You get first shot. You miss, it's my turn.”

“Fair enough. Be here in two hours.”

“What happens then?”

“Happy hour.”

General Oscar Ortirez glowered darkly from a
leather wing chair in the study of Palmer Reid's Mary
land home. The unaccustomed collar beneath his pin
striped suit was too tight and Reid's overheated house
was making him perspire heavily.

“I would like something to drink,” he said to Charles
Whitlow, who sat in a chair at the other end of Reid's memento-covered desk and who never seemed to per
spire at all.

“The bar is there, sir,” Whitlow pointed. “I'm afraid
we'll have to do our own fetching today.” The house
hold staff had been furloughed for the duration.

“It is too much to ask of an
assistant
?” Ortirez said
the word drippingly. “It would at least be a task you can
manage,”

Whitlow rolled his eyes. The man hadn't stopped
carping about the failed attempt on Elena since he ar
rived. What's more, he hadn't showered. And the man
stank of garlic.

It was hardly Whitlow's fault, as he'd explained to Palmer Reid. Who would have expected a person like
Russo to have shielded her with his body? And Ortirez is
a fine one to talk. The Carmodys are the very best, he
says. They never miss because they never quit, he says.
Well, why is the girl still alive, then? And where are
they, then?

“Enough bickering.” Palmer Reid rapped smartly
on his desk. He glanced at his watch. Ten more minutes.
He was supremely please
d
with himself. Justifiably so.
What a masterstroke. Before this weekend is out, Bar
ton Fuller may well be a dead man and Paul Bannerman
will be either dead or hunted by every government in
the western world. Hunted by Lesko as well if it comes
to that. And Bannerman's people will be in the field.
Scattered. Vulnerable. Bannerman will want proof, of course, and he'll get it. Whitlow has already accessed
over twelve hours of Barton Fuller's speeches. Give one
good editor half a day and he'll produce tapes proving that Fuller is anything from a KGB mole to a child molester.