“Seems to me they found a huge loophole,” Burch finally said. “Big enough to drive a trainload of money through.” He looked over at Gage. “The question is whether it’s sleazy enough for you to act on.”
“That’s sort of what Landon said to me.”
“My guess is they’re trying to turn your strength into a weakness.”
“Which strength is that?”
“Your sense of fair play. Isn’t that why Landon has called you every single time somebody has tried to sabotage his campaigns? It wasn’t as if you were ever a button-wearing supporter.”
Gage shrugged.
“And now you’re on the other side, they know you won’t do anything unless you’re certain this campaign finance scheme is illegal and Landon was in on it.”
“Certainty may not be an option.”
Burch fell silent for a few seconds, then cocked his head and raised his eyebrows.
“You’ve got me wondering what they’ve been up to for the last four years, since they closed down the insurance end.”
“I don’t know. Maybe nothing. Maybe they had enough money. By that point as much as four hundred million had passed through Pegasus, maybe even more.”
Gage sensed motion by the restaurant entrance. He spotted Burch’s wife, Faith, and Alex Z walking toward them. Happy birthday smiles on their faces.
G age took Alex Z aside after lunch as they made their way across the parking lot to their cars. One of Alex Z’s bodyguards trailed behind.
“It’s not long before the nominations come to a vote,” Gage said, “and Pegasus is still a black box.”
“What do you need, boss?”
“I need to know everything about who is really behind Mann Trust. If you need more help from Jack, just ask for it, but keep his name out of whatever you do.”
“Sounds like you’ve got an idea how to shine some light inside.”
Gage shook his head. “It’s more like following all the trails to see where they lead. We’re still years behind these guys.”
“What are you going to be working on?”
“Porzolkiewski. There are some things I still need to look into.”
“How is he?”
“Suicidal.”
Chapter 76
Boots Marnin’s cell phone rang as he sat beating on the steering wheel of his Econovan parked on the frontage road near the San Francisco Airport.
“I lost the fucker.”
“What fucker?”
“The rocker. Gage’s database guy. He’s got a bodyguard who’s the best countersurveillance driver I’ve ever seen.”
“You still don’t know where Gage hid him?”
Boots looked up at a Virgin Airlines flight rising into the sky, then down at the airport. “I know lots of places he isn’t.”
“Don’t let me down on this one. We need to know where everybody is just in case, and we already have over two hundred grand invested in you.”
“I’ve got Gage nailed down and I’ve got Palmer’s wife nailed down and I’m sure the Muslim kid is staying with the rocker.”
“How’d you get onto the rocker’s tail this time?”
“A birthday party for Gage’s pal Jack Burch at the St. Francis Yacht Club.”
“Why didn’t you stick a GPS under his car?”
“You think I’m an idiot? His security guy never left… son of a…”
“What ‘son of a…’?”
“Nothing. I’ll call you later.”
Boots disconnected, tossed his phone into the console, then reached into the glove compartment and pulled out a flashlight. He jumped down from the van and flattened himself on the ground in one motion. He worked the beam on the underside as he scooted farther and farther under. He finally caught sight of a black two-inch-by-two- inch tracking device duct-taped to the undercarriage.
“Son of a bitch.”
He reached into his jeans pocket for his pocket knife, then stopped.
Wait a second. A rope can pull in two directions.
He slid out from the under the van, climbed back in, and headed toward the San Francisco Mariner Hotel.
R osa M. was slipping on her bra at nine-thirty the next morning when Boots reached over to pick up his ringing cell phone from the nightstand. Rosa’s cleaning cart was parked near the door. Now that he got what he wanted, as far as he was concerned she was human wallpaper.
Boots recognized the caller’s number.
“I was just heading out,” Boots said.
“Don’t bother,” the familiar voice said. “Our guys down at Evergreen Security found the rocker.”
Boots sat up. “How?”
“There were a bunch of Internet and commercial database searches about Mann Trust early this morning. Our people traced them to a DSL line going into a loft on the Oakland waterfront. We backtracked and found that the same computer had been researching Pegasus over the last few days.”
Boots’s eyes settled on his alligator-skin Tony Lamas on the floor of the open closet, once more feeling like a dinosaur.
“Do you have a place lined up just in case?” the caller asked.
“Yeah, it’s perfect.”
Chapter 77
'Tell me something I don’t know,” Marc Anston said, gazing over the Ocean Beach seawall toward the fog- filtered Farallon Islands.
Only the footfalls of an occasional daybreak jogger and the squawk of seagulls intruded on the rustle of the low-tide surf.
“That’s the part that’ll cost you.” Daniel Norbett glanced down at his worn Ferragamo loafers, now dusted with sand. The Cayman Island accountant gave a little shiver, unused to the chill of Northern California mornings.
“How can I be sure you’ll deliver?” Anston asked.
Norbett cinched his trench coat tighter, then laughed. “That’s a stupid question. I protected your ass in my Miami case.”
“I wasn’t part of your case.”
“But you were part of what Quinton was doing and I sent the U.S. Attorney off in another direction.”
“Quinton doesn’t seem to see it that way.”
“Only because his ego blocks his view.”
“I know, and it’s the cost of doing business with ex-pat British lawyers. They’re stamped out of the same mold. I hated dealing with those guys even back in the Contra days.”
