The Road to Omaha (57 page)

“I hated it, too, but there were compensations only that place can provide.… Call your troops back, Deucey. You’re being led down the fall-guy path.”

“I will, I
will
. I just have to find a way.”

“Pick up the phone and give the order, that’s all you have to do.”

“It’s not as easy as that. Christ, I’m countermanding the Secretary of State! Maybe I’ll just get sick—”

“You waffling, Deucey?”

“For God’s sake, I’ve got to
think
!”

“Then while you’re at it, think about this.” The Hawk unbuttoned his jacket and spread it open, revealing a tape recorder strapped to his chest. “A colonel I recently field-commissioned suggested I be ‘wired,’ that’s what he called it. Every word said in this room is recorded.”

“You’re
scum
, Mac!”

“Come on, General, we’re just a couple of old-timers, and I’ve got to survive, too.… What’s that phrase? ‘If the devil don’t get you, the big deep will’?”

“Never heard it before.”

“Neither have I, but it kinda fits, doesn’t it?”

Vincent Mangecavallo walked across the white marble floor of the condominium in Miami Beach on his way to the apartment’s gym room. Once again he winced at the pink furniture that was everywhere—chairs, sofas, lamps, throw rugs, and even a living room chandelier made up of several hundred descending pink shells that looked as if it was going to crash down on somebody’s head any minute. Vinnie was no decorator, but the endless combination of pink and white did nothing for him except to suggest that the big famous decorator his cousin Ruggio had hired was also very big on ballet.

“It ain’t pink, Vin,” Ruge had said the day before yesterday over the telephone. “It’s peach, only you call it
pêche
.”

“Why?”

“ ’Cause pink is low price, peach higher, and
pêche
goes through the fuckin’ roof. Me, I can’t tell the difference, and to be frank, I don’t think Rose can either, but it makes her happy, y’know what I mean?”

“The way you live,
Cugino
, you should always make your wife happy. However, regardless, I appreciate your letting me use the place.”

“As long as you like, Vin. We can’t get down there for at least a month, by which time you’ll be back among the living. We got pressing business with the El Paso family—but, hey, look at the gym I built, steam bath and all.”

“At the moment, that’s where I’m heading when I get off the phone—I’m even wearing a pink towel-type bathrobe, kinda short.”

“That’s for the girls, I got blue ones in the gym.”

“What’s with the El Paso boys, Ruge?” Vincent had asked.

“They want the whole fuckin’ leather saddle market, which takes into account not only the fake dude ranches in New York and PA, but all the fancy fox hunt clubs in west Jersey and New England.”

“Well, with respect, Ruge, horses are like, Western, y’know? And saddles maybe should be like cowboys, huh? Western, right?”

“That’s bullshit, Vin. Most of that saddle stuff is made in Brooklyn and the Bronx. You give those
paisan
yippee-yie-yo-yos an inch, first thing you know they’ll be into the tracks, and that we can’t tolerate.”

“I see your point. I wouldn’t on the breath of my dead mother interfere with you.”

“Your mama’s not dead, Vinnie. She’s in Lauderdale.”

“It’s only an expression, Cousin.”

“Hey, Vin, guess what? Tomorrow I’m going to your memorial service! Ain’t that
somethin’
?”

“You gonna speak on my behalf?”

“Hell, no, I’m lowlife. But the cardinal’s gonna say a few words. Hey, a
cardinal
, Vinnie!”

“I don’t know him.”

“Your mama called and cried a lot and made an impact on the collection plate. He’ll speak.”

“She’ll make a bigger impact when I’m resurrected.… Thanks again for the pad,
Cugino
.”

Mangecavallo paused beneath the pink-shelled chandelier, reflecting on the telephone conversation he had had with Ruggio two days ago. As then, he was on his way to the small elaborate gym, where he intended to studiously avoid the brand-new Nautilus equipment, as if by touching it a person could catch the clap. The sudden memory of
that phone conversation, brought on by the faggy Easter egg decor, reminded Vincent that it was time to make another call. It was not a call he was overjoyed to make, but it was necessary, and perhaps the information he might be given would make him the happiest man this side of an honest amateur who broke a bank in Vegas. But there was a catch. The news of his being alive and well and pulling strings was restricted to a
very
few people, namely the scumball Wall Streeters on Meat’s agenda who would have mouths sealed in cement or later face the rest of their lives in various slammers without the money they figured to make, and his cousin Ruggio. Ruge was also a necessity, as Vincent needed a private residence where he could stay securely out of sight until the time came for Smythington-Fontini to pick him up and fly him to the point of his miraculous “rescue” in the Dry Tortugas.

However, Abul Khaki was not on that exclusive list, nor should he have been, but he, too, was now a necessity. In the world of international finance, Abul was every bit as devious as Ivan Salamander; what made him more dangerous, or successful, depending on one’s point of view, was the fact that he was not a citizen of the United States and had more offshore holding companies, like in the Bahamas and the Caymans, than anyone since the more successful pirates buried a couple of thousand trunks in the Caribbean. Also, as Khaki was an Arab from one of those sheikdoms that Washington was always trying to reach on the sly, he had certain built-in protections that came when the government concluded back-channel negotiations with politically unpopular people. People who, for instance, could broker a few thousand missiles and a King James Bible for three convicts and a prostitute from Damascus. Abul Khaki had a walking case of immunity.

When Mangecavallo learned of Abul’s unadvertised credentials, he entered into a liaison with the Arab that was beneficial to both men. Khaki had numerous shipping interests and tankers pulling into waterfronts everywhere, sometimes carrying more than oil, and after a few embarrassing local busts, Vinnie let Abul know that he and his friends had considerable influence down at the docks … 
“from New York to New Orleans and points in between—they’re locked up, Mr. Cocky.”

“That’s Khaki, Mr. Mangecuvulo.”

“That’s Mangecavallo.”

“I’m sure we’ll get to know each other’s name.”

They did, and, as is said, one thing led to another, including certain financial services rendered by Abul to his friend Vincent. And at the firm suggestion of the dons in the tri-state area and Palermo that Mangecavallo go after the directorship of the CIA, Vinnie went to Khaki.

“I gotta problem, Abul. The dons think big and that’s good, but they’re not much for details and that’s bad.”

“The problem, please, my dear friend who has the eyes and the speed of the desert falcon—although, in truth, I’ve never been to the desert. Extremely hot, I’m told.”

“That’s the problem, pal. The heat.… I’ve got a lot of bread buried in accounts all over the country under different names. Once I’ve got that job in Washington, and I’ll get it, there’s no way I can fly around some thirty-eight states picking up my cash, a great deal of which I’d prefer to keep private.”

“An absolute, I should think.”

“Definitely.”

“Do you have your bank account books?”

“All four thousand two hundred and twelve.” Vinnie had permitted himself an indictable grin.

“
Ahh
, the gaze of the camel holds more than can be gathered by the rumblings of its several stomachs.”

“Something like that, I guess.”

“Do you trust me, Vincent?”

“Sure, I’ve got to—just like you’ve got to trust me,
capisce
?”

“With certainty. The tail of the Bedouin’s dog wags in the triumph of its survival.… Have you ever met a Bedouin? No matter, but let me tell you, they smell to high heaven in the marketplace.”

“The bank accounts? The books?”

“Sign several dozen for closure and collection and bring all of them to me. I have on my payroll an artist, a man of extraordinary talent, who can duplicate the signatures of anyone, living or dead, and has done so many times for
considerable profit. I shall handle your portfolio myself, Vincent, a blind trust, as it were, under the aegis of one of the most respectable law firms in Manhattan.”

“
All
of it?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Only an amount commensurate with the estate of a rather successful importer. The remainder you’ll really make money with, and I can assure you there’ll be no paper trail.”

Abul Khaki became Mangecavallo’s unofficial personal manager, with roughly four million in the market and seven times that amount in offshore holding companies. However, it was neither the serviceable friendship nor the service rendered that compelled Vincent to reach Abul. Quite simply, it was because Khaki had a greater in-depth knowledge of the global stock exchanges than any other person Mangecavallo knew, most of it garnered through illegal avenues, the rest through financial acumen. And of all men, Abul Khaki would keep his mouth shut. It was a given—his own survival eternally depended upon it, forget the Bedouin’s dog.

“I can’t
believe
this!” shrieked the Arab after Vincent had used one of the code names to get through to him—at the moment in Monte Carlo.

“Believe it, Abul, I’ll fill you in later—”

“You don’t
understand
. I wired ten thousand dollars’ worth of floral wreaths for your memorial service yesterday and signed it on behalf of myself and the Israeli government through my offices in New York!”

“Why did you do that?”

“Well, I’ve made a shekel or two with the Likud, and coupling my name with theirs might lead to further arrangements.”

“It can’t hurt,” said Vincent. “I always got along with the Mossad.”

“I would expect so … but you’ve come back from the
dead
! I’m beside myself with shock, my entire body trembling—I’ll lose every hand to the boot in baccarat, costing me hundreds of thousands!”

“Don’t play.”

“With three Greeks at the table with whom I do business? Are you
mad
?… What are you
doing
, Vincent?
What is
happening
? The swirling sands of the desert are blinding my universe!”

“You’ve never been to the desert, Abul.”

“I’ve seen photographs—appalling, just as your voice is appalling to me as you speak now, from where I know not, but I must assume it isn’t ethereal.”

“I told you, I’ll explain later … after I’m rescued.”

“
Rescued
…? Thank you, dear Vincent, but I don’t care to hear another word. In fact, I insist upon it.”

“Then pretend it’s not me, just an interested investor. How’s the market doing in the States?”

“How is it doing? It’s gone quietly
insane
. So much subterfuge, so many secret negotiations—mergers, buyouts, controlling interests; it’s started all over again! It’s
madness
!”

“What do the oracles say?”

“They’re not talking, even to me. Compared to the market, Alice’s looking-glass world is a place of incontestable logic. Nothing makes sense—again even to me.”

“What about the defense-oriented companies?”

“As you Italianos say, they’re
pazzo
! When they should be drying up, anticipating equipment conversions everywhere, they’re reaching all-time highs. Moscow called me, both furious and frightened, asking me what I thought, and I had no answers. And my contacts in the White House tell me the President’s been on dozens of conference calls with everyone in the Kremlin, assuring them all that it must be the opening Eastern markets
and
the conversions because the Pentagon budget continues to be drastically cut.… I tell you, Vincent, everything is
pazzo
!”

“No, it’s not, Abul. It’s perfect.… I’ll be in touch, I gotta take a steam.”

Warren Pease, Secretary of State, was beside himself, in the outer extremes of anxiety. His left eye was at the moment uncontrollable, racing back and forth like a laser blip trying to center in on an elusive target. “What do you mean you can’t
find
General Ethelred Brokemichael?” he shouted into the telephone. “He’s under
my
orders—
strike
that—he’s under the orders of the President of the United
States, who expects him to report to this max-classified phone number, which I have now
given
you at least a dozen times! How long do you expect the President of the United States to wait for a lousy brigadier general,
huh
?”

“We’re doing the best we can, sir,” said the frightened, exhausted voice from Fort Benning. “We can’t produce what isn’t here.”

“Have you sent out search teams?”

“To every movie theater and restaurant from Cuthbert to Columbus to Hot Springs. We’ve checked his logs, his outgoing calls—”

“Anything
there
?”