The Road to Omaha (71 page)

“You don’t
believe
me!” yelled Sam.

“Where do you want to start? With Desi Arnaz the Second and someone named Goldfarb? Or body bags with air holes and three generals who wouldn’t last two minutes in the Pentagon without being put in straitjackets?”

“Everything I’ve told you is
true
!”

“I’m sure it is for you, and I wish you well. Also, if you like, I’ll call you a cab. You’ve got sufficient money in your wallet to get you to Rhode Island and another FBI office out of state.”

“You’re derelict in your duty, Agent Mikulski.”

“My wife says the same thing where the bills are concerned. What can I say? I’m a failure.”

“You are a sniveling bureaucrat afraid to stand up to those who would trash our country’s laws and constitutional rights!”

“Hey, you’ve got Desi Arnaz, this guy Goldfarb, and two squirrelly generals on your side. What do you need me for?”

“You’re a
disgrace
.”

“I’ll buy that.… Now, unless you’re going to mop up my floor and wipe down my desk, please get the hell out of here, huh? I’ve got work to do. The first-grade class at the Cape Ann grammar school is marching on City Hall, demanding equal voting rights.”

“Funny,
funny
!”

“I thought it was pretty cute.”

“It wasn’t, and I don’t need your help for transportation. My driver happens to be the champion wrestler of New England!”

“If you’re selling tickets, I’ll buy one if you’ll only please just leave,” said the FBI agent, gathering up Devereaux’s belongings and handing them to him.

“I won’t forget this, Mikulski,” Sam rejoined, rising with all the dripping dignity he could summon to his one-shoed feet. “As an officer of the court, I intend to file charges at the Justice Department. Your dereliction of duty cannot be tolerated.”

“You do that, pal, only get the name right, okay? I mean, we wouldn’t want a screw-up like you did with those two generals, would we? There are a lot of Mikulskis around here.”

“You think I’m
crazy
, don’t you?”

“That’s for the doctors to say, not me, but frankly I’m leaning in that direction.”

“
You’ll
see!” said Sam the Avenger, turning and hobbling
to the door, twice skidding on the wet floor. “You’ll
hear
from me!” he added, going into the outer office and slamming the door behind him.

Unfortunately, Special Agent Mikulski did hear about Sam, precisely three minutes and twenty-one seconds after his departure. As the FBI man swallowed his fourth gulp of Maalox, the priority line on his telephone console rang; he pressed the button and picked up the phone. “Mikulski, FBI.”

“Hey, Teddy, it’s Gerard over at the base,” said the commander of the 10th District Massachusetts Coast Guard station.

“What can I do for you, sailor?”

“I called on a hunch that you could fill me in on the Frazier-Devereaux alert.”

“What …?” asked the special agent, barely audible. “
Devereaux
, you said?”

“Yeah, we got that cork-popping loon Frazier but no Devereaux, and Frazier didn’t tell us a thing. He just sat there with an ass-eating grin and made his phone call.”

“ ‘Didn’t?’ ‘Sat?’ … Past tense?”

“It’s
nuts
, Teddy. We had to let him go and that’s what we can’t understand. What was that stupid alert about anyway? We damn near burned out an engine, stranded three men in a dinghy, and crashed five marina buoys which we have to pay for, all for nothing! Devereaux disappeared, and we don’t even know what he was
wanted
for. I figured you federals could fill us in.”

“We never even got the alert,” said Mikulski forlornly. “Tell me what happened, Gere.” Commander Gerard did so and the special agent blanched, reaching for his Maalox. “That son-of-a-bitch Devereaux just left here a few minutes ago. He’s a walking banana barge! What the hell have I
done
?”

“If you didn’t get the alert, you didn’t do anything, Teddy. We teletyped out our report and that’s all
we
could do.… Hold it, I just got handed a note. A shaver named Cafferty from the Boston P.D. is on the phone. Do you know him?”

“Never heard of him.”

“
Wait
a minute. P.D.-Boston is where that goddamn
alert originated! I’m going to give that bastard a salvo he’ll never forget! Talk to you later, Teddy.”

“Eight months, four days, and five and a half hours,” mumbled Mikulski, opening his top drawer and looking at his marked-off retirement calendar.

The champion wrestler of New England drove his Jeep into the Birnbaum driveway in Swampscott. “Here we are, Mr. Devereaux. I’ve seen this place from the water but never from inland. Some joint, huh?”

“I’d ask you in, Boomer, but the conversation’s going to be pretty heavy and very confidential.”

“I’ll bet it is! You land up on our beach, then the FBI, then here—
wow
. But don’t mistake me, sir, I wasn’t hinting, honest. I’ll split fast, and if anybody without legal authority asks me, I never saw you.”

“Well put—legally. However, I insist on paying you.”

“No
way
, Mr. Devereaux, it’s been an honor. But if you don’t mind, I took the liberty of writing out my name in case—in a couple of years from now maybe—you might at least consider me for a clerking position. No special privileges, I wouldn’t want that.”

“No, I don’t think you would, Boomer,” said Sam, taking the piece of paper and looking into the clear, earnest eyes of the pre-law student. “But if I want to grant them, there’s nothing you can do about it.”

“Sorry, sir, I have to be good enough. You learn that in weight-class wrestling.”

“Let’s put it this way. With that statement you won’t have to look for us, we’ll find you.… Thanks, Boomer.”

“Good luck, sir!” Devereaux climbed out of the Jeep; it spun around the drive and disappeared through the gates. Sam looked at the imposing brick entrance to the Birnbaum beach house, took a deep breath, and hobbled up the flagstone path to the door. Things would be so much simpler if he had both shoes, he considered as he rang the bell.

“I’ll be
damned
!” roared the huge black mercenary-chemist, Cyrus, as he pulled back the door. “I don’t know whether to hug you or to slug you, but get the hell in here, Sam!”

Devereaux trudged sheepishly into the foyer, his blotted clothes, matted hair, and shoeless foot apparent for all to see. The “all” consisted of Cyrus, Aaron Pinkus … and the love of his eternal existence, Jennifer Redwing, who stood in the far corner of the room staring at him. What was in her alert—angry?—eyes, he could not tell.

“Sammy, we’ve heard
everything
!” shouted Aaron, who rarely if ever shouted, as he rose from the couch and spryly ran around it to greet his employee by gripping Devereaux’s both arms and placing his elderly head against Sam’s left cheek. “Thank Abraham, you’re alive!”

“It wasn’t that hard,” said Devereaux. “Frazie may be a maniac, but he sure knows how to drive a boat, and then there was this kid who’s the champion wrestler of New England—”

“We know what you’ve
been
through, Sammy,” exclaimed Pinkus. “Such courage, such
chutzpah
. All because you acted on principle!”

“It was dumb, Devereaux,” said Cyrus, “but you got guts, man, I’ll give you that.”

“Where’s Mother?” asked the avenger, avoiding Jenny’s eyes.

“She and Erin went back to Weston,” answered Aaron. “Apparently Cousin Cora fell into some teapots.”

“And Desis One and Two are on beach patrol with Roman Z,” added Cyrus.

“They let in Boomer’s Jeep—the car I was in,” said Sam, disapproval in his statement.

“Not exactly,” countered the mercenary. “Why do you think I was at the door? Desi the First radioed that the tall
loco
was back.”

“He’s always had a way with words,” said Devereaux, slowly turning his head and looking over at Jenny. “Hi,” he said cautiously.

It was like a pavane filmed in slow motion, as Aaron Pinkus and Cyrus M gracefully moved away from the line of contact. Tears flowing from her eyes, Sunrise Jennifer Redwing ran across the carpeted floor as Sam walked gallantly, if unsteadily, down the marble steps into the living room. Devereaux held his place as she rushed into his arms; they embraced, their lips meeting in swollen agony and delight.

“
Sam,
” she cried, holding him fiercely. “Oh, Sam, Sam,
Sam
! It was Switzerland all over again, wasn’t it? Mac
told
me! You did what you did because you knew it was
right
. It was the legal,
moral
thing to do! Leaping off a boat and swimming miles and miles in a storm to right the wrong! Oh, God, I
do
love you!”

“Well, it wasn’t that many miles, maybe four or five—”

“But you
did
it! I’m so
proud
!”

“It was nothing.”

“It was
everything
!”

“I failed. The tape was drowned.”

“But you weren’t, my darling,
you
weren’t!”

Suddenly, there was the eruption of static and a squawking Hispanic voice over Cyrus’s radio. “Hey,
mon
! A big
leemoseeno
ees racing into dee house! You want me to blow it away?”

“Not yet, Desi!” ordered the mercenary. “Cover the door; and you, Roman, come to the front, all weapons ready!”

Moments later, the middle-European voice of Roman Z could be heard. “It iss only one old man weez white hair walking to the door. Iss driver inside turning on raadio. Iss lousy music.”

“Stand to,” ordered Cyrus, removing his gun from his shoulder holster. “If I have to fire, converge.”

“Was dat? Con-sompding?”

“Iss no problem. Old man don’ go for pockets or gun.”

“Out. Stay at the ready!”

“Reddy wad …?”

“
Out
!”

“Wad …?”

The doorbell rang as Cyrus waved Pinkus, Jenny, and Devereaux away from any conceivable line of gunfire. He yanked the door open, his weapon at his side, only to be faced by a tall, slender, elderly gentleman.

“You’re the butler, I presume,” said R. Cookson Frazier, his anxiety in no way mitigating his genuine courtesy. “I must see your employer immediately, it’s of the utmost urgency.”

“
Cookson
!” cried Aaron Pinkus, emerging from a curtained beach window. “What are you
doing
here?”

“It’s unbelievable, Aaron, absolutely
unbelievable
!” said Frazier, clutching a paper in his hand and rushing down the marble steps, his arms upright in apoplectic disbelief. “You and I and all of Boston have been
gulled
, old fellow, positively
caged
!”

“What is that in English, Cookson?”

“Here,
look
!” Again, suddenly, the entangled figures of Jennifer and Sam came out of the far right shadowed corner. “Who the hell are
they
?” yelled Frazier.

“The young man with one shoe and rather distressed clothing is Samuel Devereaux, Cookson—”

“Oh, you’re Lansing’s son. Damn fine man, your father. Damn shame he was taken so early.”

“And our lady friend is Jennifer, Jennifer Redwing.… Cookson Frazier.”

“Lovely tan, my child. Caribbean, no doubt. I’ve a house in Barbados—I think. You and Lansing’s son must go down and enjoy it—haven’t been there in years.”

“What’s so unbelievable, Cookson?”

“As I say,
here
 … look!” The old gentleman thrust out the paper in his hand. “This came to my house over the fax machine that has a noninterceptor, nonmemory line confirmed by Washington—just a moment, old boy, can everyone here be trusted?”

“My word on it, Cookson. What does it say?”

“
You
read it. I’m still in a state of shock.”

Aaron took the thin fax paper, scanned it, and slowly, in
bewilderment, lowered himself into the nearest chair. “It’s beyond my understanding,” he said.

“What
is
it?” asked Devereaux, his arm protectively around Jennifer’s shoulders.

“It says, and I quote: ‘This communiqué is top secret and must be destroyed upon perusal, its contents restricted to the highest levels of law enforcement. Geoffrey C. Frazier, code name Rumdum, is a highly effective and covertly much-decorated undercover agent for the federal government. Proceed accordingly with maximum regard for Officer Frazier’s cover, credibility, and safety.’ … It’s signed by the director of the Drug Enforcement Agency. My
word
!”

“The boy’s a damned Scarlet Pimpernel!” cried Cookson Frazier, throwing himself into the chair next to Aaron. “What in heaven’s name am I to
do
?”

“To begin with, I’d say you should be enormously proud as well as relieved. You yourself said there was another man inside your grandson and you were right. Instead of a wastrel, he’s a highly successful, highly decorated professional.”

“Yes, but good God, old boy, the only way he can continue to be successful without being killed is to bring further disrepute on the family!”

“I hadn’t considered that,” said Pinkus, frowning and nodding in agreement. “But surely one day the truth will be revealed, and all manner of praise will be heaped on the Boston Fraziers.”