The Screaming Eagles (12 page)

“Get them now, Dani don’t play your infantile games with me about whether it’s your territory or the FBI’s. You damn well know, I don’t mess around so stop wasting time man, do it now.” Dani looked at Hanan, then at Michael. He pressed two intercom buttons. “We’re waiting for you.”

*

Both Ross and Dorn were the exact opposites of Dani. Short, slightly built, impeccably dressed, each entered his office looking totally relaxed. Dani was obviously not their favorite person for they pointedly ignored him when they sat down. Michael repeated his story and translated the Farsi as the tape played. When it finished, he saw them looking quizzically at each other, the only indication that the information might have importance was that Ross’s shoe was tapping rapidly while Michael was translating. Hanan informed them that he too spoke Farsi and that Michael’s translation was accurate.

Ross turned to Michael and authoritatively, almost pleasantly said, “Could you please step out and sit in the adjoining office for a while? Leave the tape recorder here.” His pleasantness cordially correct, suggested a hint of irony as if anything emanating out of Dani’s office was suspect and not worth wasting too much of their time.

Ross got up and opened a door to an adjoining office. He stood aside to let Michael walk past him into an office about the size of Dani’s. Ross closed the door, leaving Michael alone. Files were piled up in all four corners and similar maps were hanging on walls with the same mysterious colored pins.

Annoyed at not participating in the discussion going on in the next room, he had to wait forty minutes before Hanan came into the room and said that Dani wanted to see him.

*

Hanan said he was returning to his embassy now and would call Michael later. He’d requested that Perry Blatt, head of Subversives be assigned to work with Michael. Dani’d agreed, so had the FBI men. Hanan had worked with Blatt on a number of occasions in the past and felt that he’d be the best man for the job ahead.

Not knowing what to expect, Michael sat down warily opposite Dani. Dani, seemed more galvanized, charged up a typical Chicago cop that one could see on TV any night of the week. A rough man, egotistical and opinionated, a tough son of a bitch and he knew it. More important, he wanted to be sure Michael knew it. Dani, wanted results, not friends. Michael was a means to his end, necessary because for the next few hours, by some fluke, he might be able to find the Iranians.

Dani stood up, walked over with exaggerated importance to the edge of his desk and sat down heavily on some of the files, his stomach resting on one of his thighs as he leant forward to look at Michael. “Hanan vouches for you, sport, that’s good enough for me.”

Up close, Michael noticed a patch of thin spider veins on Dani’s left cheek. He’d cut himself shaving and a small spot of blood had dried on his collar. “This is our game plan, sport. Your first order of business is composite sketches, identikit. Afterwards, you’ll be hypnotized. I want to suck you dry, know everything hidden in your subconscious. I’ve assigned the head of our terrorist squad to be with you at all times until this is over. He’s my top operative in our Subversive Division. You must never be out of his sight, sport, never. This is big league, my man. This is war. Fuck up once, only once, and you’ll be back in civilian life selling electronic gizmo gadgets to little old ladies with blue hair.”

Immediately bristling at the implied threat, and the man’s attitude, Michael answered, mimicking Dani’s insolent tone. “Listen to me Mister Hot Shot cop. I don’t care who the fuck you are, I make a better living selling electronics to little old ladies then you do buried in this coffin of an office a homeless person would be ashamed of to call a shack. You Mr. Cop, have to call it an office three hundred and sixty five fucking days and nights, every fucking year. I don’t need your threats and all this other horseshit of playing a movie tough guy, so get off my back or I walk out right now, asshole. Secondly sport, not you or anyone else is going to put me under hypnosis. Who I am, sport, or what I am sport, has nothing to do with you. Understand, sport? Do I make myself clear asshole?”

Michael got up and walked to the door. Dani took two steps toward him. Michael saw him out the corner of his eye and tensed, expecting to get grabbed or punched. Angrily, he turned to defend himself. Michael saw that Dani was grinning at him.

“Hanan said you had a short fuse, nice to know hot blood dribbles through your miserable veins, not just blocks of ice.” Extending his hand, he grasped Michael’s. “Welcome to Subversives, Mickey, you and I are going to get along okay, I need a bit of piss and vinegar around here.” Hesitating at the sudden show of friendliness, Michael knew that if he were a target, he’d need any help Dani and the police force could give him.

“My guy’s on his way over. He’ll meet you at our identification section. Mickey, I want you to work fast. Accuracy first, speed second.”

Tension draining away, feeling a little more relaxed by the man’s sudden change of attitude, Michael asked, “Isn’t a composite and an identikit a waste of time, why not one or the other?”

“Good point. Good to see, you’re on the ball. One of them is going to be more accurate; you get to choose. We need an exact likeness or as close as possible. Try to remember their profiles as well as full face, head shape, hair styles, the build of their bodies, tall, short, medium, whatever. I want their girlfriends to get all excited when they see pictures. Our Chicago ladies of the streets for the right fee can take most tourists to any paradise they choose. Before going to their Farsi paradise up on high, maybe they decided to party a little bit and wanted to try a last paradise on earth, catch my drift? If we can get the composites onto the street, some of the girls might remember them. Let’s go.”

Michael followed him down the stairs two at a time. They took a right down a narrow passage, walked a few steps then Dani opened a door marked Professor Russell Leslie, CHA. He motioned Michael to follow him in.

“Russell, this is Michael. Need your best, Russ, no farting around, okay?” He closed the door. Michael sat down in a chair next to Russell. Russell, must have weighed over three hundred pounds, he was enormous. Grossly fat, his neck overflowed his collar. Big watery eyes looked through thick bifocals at Michael. He breathed loudly through his half-open mouth.

“Hi, understand big daddy’s in a hurry. Describe one of the people. Was his face round, square, fat, thin, long, young, old? Those are the types of things I need to know. Is he black, brown, white, yellow?”

Michael closed his eyes concentrating on the leader of the group. He could see his face clearly. Could see coldness and suspicion in his eyes. “Iranian, Middle Eastern, swarthy skin tone, middle thirties, five ten, black curly hair, no gray, no mustache. Thin face, longish aquiline nose, flared nostrils, heavy thick eyebrows, moles, a small cluster above left eyebrow.”

Using a pencil and an eraser, Russell started with the shape of the face. He worked quickly, making changes as Michael directed. Unbelievably a face began to appear the likeness was incredible. They started on the second face. Still breathing through his half-open mouth, Russell began to sweat. Sweat poured down his face, through his hair and dripped onto his collar streaming in a widening pool down his back. Wheezing, he sketched and sketched until satisfied, Michael held pictures of all five men. Each picture was numbered one through five. Red faced his eyes now filmy and slightly bloodshot, Russell asked if he was sure that there were no more changes. Michael had about an eighty-percent likeness enough he felt to identify them. For the past hour they’d been going round and round trying to get a more exact resemblance, but were unable to and kept on returning to the same features. Michael was tired and frustrated, unlike Russell who was finding energy from some unknown source. Finally, realizing this was about the best he could hope for he said to Russell, “That’s it, let’s go.”

“We go one floor down.” Heavily, he pushed himself up from his desk, grunting as he did so. Michael followed him to the next floor smelling the heat of the man’s sweat as Russell walked. He drew deep short breaths, gasping as if he suffered from emphysema. Stopping, he opened a door and introduced Michael to a man named Rowley. “Guy, your turn now, I’m finished. How is Anat?”

“Fine, Russell, just fine. She got back from Logan Square yesterday. Joanie and Emma from Oak Park, you remember them. Some of the Comisky’s as well as the Crockett’s, Mike and Cindy, are coming over this evening. Why don’t you join us? We plan to talk about the bad old days at Kent. Why don’t you bring Gina and Michelle? See you about seven old chap?”

Russell, still breathing heavily, nodded and closed the door.

Michael heard Rowley’s broad British accent and wondered what a Brit was doing in the Chicago Police.

“I’m ever so pleased to meet you, old boy. Do you see this jolly old projector and all its funny little gadget things? Well, old boy, we, you and I, are going to play ourselves a really fascinating little game. This ATI stock projector was a great investment, and helps me to build up and create facial likeness. Fascinating, what? Be a good fellow and look through these old folders. Like fingerprints, we earth people all fall under standard characteristics unless we’re deformed or damaged goods. Ha, ha. Just joking old man, just joking. Let’s get on with it old chap, you’ll find it ever so interesting.”

He opened a folder marked “foreheads.” Rowley kept on turning pages until Michael saw number-one’s forehead. Pursing his lips, humming softly to himself, Rowley extracted a thin sheet of plastic, put it onto the top of his projector, noting its code number. Quickly Michael found eyebrows, eyes, nose, lips, chin,
etc.
Each time Rowley positioned them carefully, checking to make sure if angles and spacing were correct. When Michael nodded, he fastened them onto the sheet using paper clips.

Soon, number one’s face was complete, including the cluster of moles. Code numbers were written on the bottom of each page. Michael had his first identikit face. They started working on number two. By the time they’d finished number five, Michael’s head was spinning, the corners of his eyes stung, hurting like hell. A clock above Rowley’s desk showed five thirty. Michael had been doing composites and identikits for more than five hours.

Still humming, Rowley lifted his telephone, punched in some numbers and said, “We’re finished, okay, I’ll bring him now.” He got up smartly, his movements economical and quick. “Let’s go, old chap. ‘Twas absolutely delightful meeting you. Good show, old man. For a first timer you were really pretty damn good, you know. Would have enjoyed having a bit of a chat with you, and we could’ve had a spot of real English tea, but the man upstairs wants you in his office right away. We should do it again some time. Pop by anytime you’re in the area.”

Walking fast, they went down a long passage. Michael could hear typewriters echoing, banging and clanging away behind closed doors. Stacks of cardboard boxes stood chest high on both sides of each door. Rowley stopped at a door, pointing for Michael to enter. “This is the one. Cheers, see you around.” With a wave that was half a salute, head down as if he was examining the floorboards, he walked away humming to himself. Michael opened the door holding both sets of identikits and composites. CHAPTER THREE

Michael knocked again on the door of room 412. Louder this time, a polite but determined workman’s knock. He was a workman in a hurry. The sweat on his forehead threatening to fall through his eyebrows into his eyes was from fear, not heat. An automatic pistol in an ankle holster chaffed up against his leg, the knife strapped to his arm above his wrist, was causing an itch. He fought the impulse not to scratch, rubbing it instead against his hip. Les’s overalls, which were at least a size too large, covered both weapons.

The door finally opened a crack and a voice asked irritably, “What you want?”

“Lawrence’s Spray on Shine Services. Good morning sir, sorry to disturb you, sir, but I must do insect exterminating in your kitchen.”

“We do not need. We have no insect here.”

“Sorry, sir, hotel rules. It takes less than five minutes, but hotel management insists that it’s done now.”

The door opened further. “Come later,” said the man, who was now getting annoyed.

Michael returned the stare trying not to drop his eyes. With deference yet authority he said, “I can’t, sir. Yours is the last room on this floor. I must insist sir. I’ll be as quick as I can. We have a terrible roach infestation on three floors, and your room must be disinfected immediately. The City Health Department has insisted this be done immediately and given us only a few hours to comply.”

“Wait.” The door closed.

Michael adjusted his cap gripping the spray equipment tighter. He was about to knock again when it suddenly opened. “Please. Come inside, please.”

Opposite the door where he entered four men were sitting on sofas, the two he’d followed still had their jackets and ties on. Five small identical suitcases were stacked neatly near a coffee table in the opposite corner. The men watching him were tense, their uneasiness evident in each face as they followed his progress into the room. Trying to act deferential and harassed, he touched his cap in a sort of greeting to them, bowing his head slightly as he walked into the kitchen. If they’d baited a trap, the next few seconds would show him. He’d placed a transmitter into the heel of his right shoe which would let Hanan know where he was if he was taken by them to another location.

Following closely behind him was the man who’d opened the door. He had a cluster of moles above his left eyebrow. Long hairs grew out of them. Obviously he wasn’t self-conscious by his mole cluster, for he didn’t comb his hair down to try to hide it.

Michael knelt down and opened each cupboard door below the sink. Unpacking pots, pans and various crockery items he placed them onto the counter stacking them in neat piles above each cupboard. Directing the rubber tubing that extended from a large nozzle at the top of the tank, he began spraying into each cupboard working as slowly as he could. Sliding along the floor on his knees, he moved to the stove, dishwasher and refrigerator spraying behind each appliance aware that they might attack him at any moment. Coughing intermittently, holding a handkerchief in front of his mouth, the man was watching his every move. One man had risen from a sofa and was standing on the far side of the counter, watching Michael intently. Their eyes met briefly as he lit a cigarette. He stood calmly with one hand in his pocket. Out the corner of his eye as he stood up to open the cupboards above the sink Michael saw that a man was now standing by the door. Another had moved to a window, glancing out, moving each curtain slightly with his thumb, looking to see if any unusual activity was taking place outside the hotel.