The Scorpio Illusion (66 page)

“Neptune’s answer?” Tyrell pressed.

“Delivered with that same malicious smile and the ice-cold eyes that held such fire behind them. I remember the words precisely, they’re burned into my mind.… ‘Because we proved we could do it,
Dickie
old sport—over two generations. Given time, we can run the United States government—Mars and Neptune. I wanted you to see it, know it, and realize that you can do nothing.’… That was his satisfaction, throwing it in my face, in the face of a helpless old man whose reborn wealth was built on corruption. But when they killed my son, I knew it was time to come out from the luxurious heaven of my hell and find someone to whom I could tell the truth. I wasn’t sure where to begin, for there are some things that can never be told. I have a fine grandson to protect—potentially far better than his father and grandfather—but the rest must be told. Then I heard you in the study, Mr. Hawthorne, and turned the chair around and studied you. You’re elected, young man; there’s something about you that gives rise to cautious confidence.” Ingersol’s eyes bored into Hawthorne’s. “You’re not simply doing a job,” he said. “You’re committed to it; that probably accounts for your excessively forceful appearance on our stage here.”

“I’m not an actor, Ingersol.”

“We’re all actors, Hawthorne, we who move in and out of other people’s lives, either for self-preservation, self-enhancement, or settling scores.”

“Who does that leave out?”

“As I said, we’re all actors.… Now, to my unwritten contract—”

“
What
contract?”

“I’m prepared to give you certain information as long as it’s understood that my identity is never revealed. I’m your unknown ‘source,’ our communications must be private, beyond scrutiny.”

“That’s out of bounds. I need confirmation.”

“Then after the funeral I shall return to the Costa del Sol; and if Van Nostrand shows up, my last act will be
to take a small revolver from my pocket, shoot him in the head, and throw myself at the mercy of the Spanish court. An act of personal honor without elaboration; it’s not unknown.”

“Van Nostrand won’t show up. He’s dead.”

The old man stared at Tyrell. “There’s been no news, no reports of his death—”

“You’re one of the privileged few. It’s been silenced.”

“For what purpose?”

“To confuse the enemy is as good an answer as any.”

“The ‘enemy’? Then you know there’s a structured organization.”

“We do.”

“Recruited, as my son was recruited. Extortion, blackmail, and guaranteed destruction if the candidates don’t comply; guaranteed compensation if they do.”

“Except for the few we found or think we found—all dead—we don’t know who they are or where they are. Can you help us?”

“I think you mean can I help
you
.”

“Friends of mine were killed, one probably crippled for life, let’s leave it at that.”

“Again, I accept your reply.… They’re called the Scorpios, One through Twenty-five, the first five above the rest insofar as they transmit the orders from, shall we say, the board of directors.”

“What board of directors?”

“They’re known, aptly enough, as the Providers.”

“Who are they?”

“Is my contract accepted? With
you
?”

“How can you ask me to keep my mouth shut? You have no idea what’s involved.”

“I know that I will not involve my grandson. Todd has his whole lifetime in front of him, and I refuse to have him stigmatized as the offspring of corrupt men.”

“You realize I could lie to you.”

“You’ll think about it, but I don’t believe you will,
not if you give me your word. It’s a risk I’ll take.… Your word?”

Tyrell took several angry steps to Ingersol’s right, gazed briefly at the pale moon, then turned back and looked down into the old man’s sad but steady eyes. “You’re asking me to relay information based on an unknown source? It’s crazy!”

“I don’t think so. There was a Deep Throat, remember, and the integrity of a newspaper that followed his leads.”

“Can you furnish me with concrete information?”

“I can furnish you with leads I believe are substantial; the rest is for you to establish.”

“Then you have my word,” said Hawthorne finally, softly. “And I’m not lying.… Go ahead.”

“Van Nostrand had one of those small but very expensive villas, the sort designed for single people who don’t care to have overnight guests, except for lovers, of course. After he told me who he was and what he had done, I had that villa under what the intelligence branches call a microscope. I bribed his help, as well as the local telephone office and the switchboards at our clubs. I knew I couldn’t kill the man without facing consequences I didn’t care to face, but if I could learn everything there was to learn about the bastard, perhaps I might reverse the hold he had on my son and me.”

“By using his own technique?” interrupted Tyrell. “Extortion? Threatening to expose what you learned?”

“Precisely … in conjunction with what my son told me. We had to be extraordinarily cautious, you understand. No letters, no telephone calls, nothing like that.… David traveled a great deal, oddly enough at times reporting to the Central Intelligence Agency on matters they asked him to look into—”

“I was told that,” Hawthorne broke in again. “When I first broached his name, the head of naval intelligence
said I was an idiot. Your son was so clean he was a CIA asset when they wanted him.”

“It’s all so ironic, isn’t it?… Nevertheless, we would meet secretly, taking every precaution not to be seen together. In the crowds of Trafalgar Square, or in boisterous cafés on the Rive Gauche, or in out-of-the-way country inns. David gave me the telephone codes—they’re satellite transmissions, incidentally—”

“We know that—”

“You’ve made progress.”

“Not enough. Go on.”

“He knew Van Nostrand socially, that was unavoidable within the Washington circles they traveled, although they rarely spoke to each other in public. Then, due to an emergency that required immediate action—an urgent analytical revision at the CIA—Van Nostrand instructed my son to carry the revised information to Scorpio Two.”

“Scorpio Two …? O’Ryan?”

“Yes. You see, David was Scorpio Three.”

“He was one of the top five, then.”

“With the utmost reluctance, I assure you. As to why, that is not part of the information I will give you.”

“Who are the other two? Of the five highest Scorpios, I mean.”

“He never specifically learned, but he assumed that one was a senator because Van Nostrand once told him that the Senate Intelligence Committee was an excellent source of information. As to the fifth man, David said O’Ryan had traced him, but would say only that S-Five was ‘a heavyweight—the heaviest at the Pentagon.’ ”

“It’s a big place with a lot of heavyweights,” observed Tyrell.

“I agree. Nevertheless it confirmed what I learned on the Costa del Sol. Van Nostrand made scores of calls to Washington whenever he was in residence, many of them to the Pentagon. However, as David pointed out, the list
is useless. If Neptune wanted to reach a Scorpio, he’d use the satellite codes.”

“Unless he was using blinds to send a message,” Hawthorne said. “Your son was right. It’s a useless avenue.… Did you learn anything else from that villa outside of the telephone calls?”

“Yes, I found correspondence from a real estate firm in Lausanne. Apparently Van Nostrand owned property on the lake in another name, a Spanish name. He himself was listed as custodian.”

“Nothing there, and even if there were, it would take too long to unscramble. Anything else?”

“Again, yes.” Ingersol smiled thinly. “A list of twenty names and addresses on the stationery of the Gemeinschaft Bank in Zurich. Eighteen months ago it was in Van Nostrand’s wall safe. I paid ten thousand dollars to have the alarms neutralized and the safe opened by a delightful rogue currently incarcerated in Estepona. Twenty names, Mr. Hawthorne.
Twenty
.”

“The mother lode!” whispered Tyrell. “The rest of the Scorpios. Did your son know?”

“I’m an experienced jurist, Hawthorne. I know when to deliver sealed evidence and when not to, especially if that evidence could bring great harm to counsel.”

“What does that mean?”

“To put it bluntly, David was neither raised nor prepared for the position he was forced into. He was a fine attorney, a good corporate lawyer, but he was no street lawyer, no legal knife for the underworld. He put on a good act as Scorpio Three, but it was just that, an act. He was constantly frightened, prone to periods of depression and moments of panic. If I had given him the list, he very well might have used it in an attempt to extricate himself during one of his anxiety attacks.”

“Could he have?”

“Good Lord, use your head, young man! Van Nostrand, an intimate of presidents with connections all over
Washington; O’Ryan, a top-flight analyst, privy to the deepest secrets; and a list of unknown names delivered by a panicked man who can’t substantiate who or what they are?”

“What about the satellite codes?”

“Instantly shut down by any number of Scorpios in a position to send out the alarm.… If I were a conspiratorialist where the John Kennedy assassination was concerned, I could detail how a cover-up was easily managed, totally eluding the Warren Commission. The Scorpios are proof of how it can be done.”

“Why was your son killed?”

“He panicked. Over what, I have no idea, but it must have been recent. As I told you, we never allowed ourselves written or wired communication. He was convinced his house and his office were monitored by the Providers.”

“Are they tapped?”

“The house isn’t; the office, I don’t know. It’s a large firm with a complicated telephone system. Intercepts might raise suspicions.”

“Are you certain about the house?”

“I have my own people check it out once a month, but I could never convince David. He kept saying ‘You don’t know what they can do.’ I agreed I didn’t; I merely insisted that his house was clean. Bugs are easily discovered in residences, as you well know.”

“Who are the Providers?”

“I’m not sure, I can only give you leads. People flew in on private aircraft to see Van Nostrand, and naturally, I spread some money around at the airport in Marbella and among its customs officials. Oh, yes, Mr. Hawthorne, I have the names and points of origin of everyone he saw, among them certainly several of the Providers, but to my regret nothing made sense. Lies are normal on such documents, but there was no core, no center that I could unearth.… But there was a man and a woman, he from Milan, she from Bahrain, who appeared
much more frequently than the others. At first I thought they were
raisons de coeur
—lovers accepting Van Nostrand’s private hospitality. Then I realized my foolish naiveté. They were both quite elderly, gross, enormous. If they were lovers, neither could mount the other without the help of grooms.… No, Hawthorne, they were not lovers. In my opinion, they were intrinsic to the Providers, possibly their leaders, at least their brokers.”

“Milan, the northern conduit for Palermo, for the Mafia,” said Tyrell softly. “Bahrain, with all the money in the world, often a major source for the Baaka Valley. Can you identify them, tell me who they are?”

“Shh
!” Ingersol abruptly raised his right hand, palm forward. “Someone’s coming through the archway.”

Hawthorne started to turn; he was too late. A loud spit cracked through the air, a silenced gunshot. The bullet shattered the old man’s forehead. Tyrell lunged to his right, diving into a duster of rosebushes, his hand plunging under his belt for his weapon, but not in time. A silhouetted figure swooped down on him like a giant bird, filling his vision with darkness. A heavy metal object crashed down on his skull, and there was nothing.

29

H
awthorne felt the sharp, agonizing pain first, then the rivulets of blood rolling down his face. Gasping for breath, he tried raising his head, only to have his hair and his flesh caught and scraped by thorns. He was deeply entangled in a rosebush, the needled branches enveloping him, pressed into his clothing everywhere as if someone had used his feet to crush the pain-inducing stems into his body. Someone had; a silhouetted killer who had ended the life of Richard Ingersol, father of Scorpio Three.