'Something else has come up.'
Earl and D. A. said nothing but exchanged a brief glance.
'A source I trust, not in the police department or die municipal government, says that he was dining with his wife in the Southern Club and he saw Owney with a beautiful woman and a man he recognized from the papers as an Irish mobster called Johnny Spanish.'
Earl and D. A. ate their ice cream.
'Sir, there's lots of gangsters come to Hot Springs.'
'Not like this one. I made some inquiries. It seems Johnny Spanish?real name John St. Jerome Aloysius O'Malley?is a noted heist expert. An armed robber. He learned his trade in the IRA in the '20s. He specializes in banks and factory payrolls. Very violent, very smart, very tough. He has a crew of four other men, and they do the heavy work but the mob scouts their jobs and puts up the seed money.'
The two men were listening numbly. Each by now had an idea where this one was going.
'They say Johnny Spanish was in Hot Springs in 1940. Early October, 1940. Mean anything?'
'The Alcoa payroll job.'
'exactly. So I'm thinking: Owney used Johnny before to raise money for a project?the building of the Southern. Now, you've put a big crimp on Owney financially with your raids. He needs cash to keep operating, to keep up his payments. His empire runs on cash. This would be the perfect time for another big job.'
'That seems like the sort of thing you'd need a big police operation for,' said D. A. 'We haven't trained for that kind of operation, Mr. Becker.'
'But you have the element of surprise! Now let me finish. I made some discreet inquiries. Alcoa sure isn't coming through Hot Springs anymore, I'll tell you that. But tomorrow night, the Federal Reserve Board is moving over a million dollars in gold up to Fort Knox, in Kentucky, where they're consolidating the gold reserves. They dispersed them during the war, because they thought it was too big a target. A million bucks' worth was moved to the Federal Reserve Bank in New Orleans. Now it's headed back to Fort Knox, under guard of the U. S. Army, and that train is slated to run up the St. Louis & Iron Mountain tomorrow night to little Rock, where it'll divert to the Memphis & Little Rock and on to Kentucky tomorrow night.'
'They're going to stop a train guarded by troops?'
'No. But suppose a bridge would catch fire? You watch. Sometime tomorrow a bridge along the St. Louis & Iron Mountain will catch fire somewhere north of Hot Springs but south of Little Rock. Or some track will be torn up. Or a tunnel will collapse. Something will happen tomorrow. The feds will divert to Hot Springs because it's the biggest yard between New Orleans and Little Rock, and the closest. If that happens, I guarantee you, Johnny Spanish will hit that train, Owney will make a million bucks and he'll go on and on and on.'
'You should call the FBI,' said D. A. 'It's a federal thing. They have the firepower to handle that sort of thing. I still know a few fellas in the Bureau. I'm sure they'd share the credit, Mr. Becker. That could make you look real good.'
'Oh, I'd get muscled out. I know how the FBI works. You worked for Hoover. You know what an egomaniac he is.'
The dull, pained look on D. A.'s face told the story.
'He's right,' he finally said. 'They'd push us out and it wouldn't have nothing to do with us. J. Edgar himself would come on down to get in all the pictures.'
'Now,' said Becker, 'look at it this way. If our team does this, brings these fellows down, makes the nab, it has exactly the same effect as closing down the Central Book. Then we can hit the Central Book too, if we have to. But if we get Johnny Spanish and his boys, we link him to Owney, we save the gold, we pin the 1940 Alcoa job on him, just think of it!'
Earl said, 'I don't like night operations. They're plenty tricky, especially on unknown ground. Everything looks different at night. You got bad communication problems, you have target-marking problems, you have terrain recognition problems. You need perimeter containment, you need experience. Lots of men died at night because their own boys got jittery.'
But D. A. responded quickly. 'Yes, but Earl, think of the reward. This might be it exactly. This would put us on the map for all time. I can see the look on J. Edgar's face if I showed up on the cover of Time magazine. Whoooeee, that chilly bastard would twitch his lips like the strange fish he is and wish to hell he'd gotten there first. Whooooeee.'
Earl saw at that moment his argument was lost. D. A. had connected with the concept in some deep way that called upon his own bitterness and seemed to validate his derailed life. It was the poison of dreams.
'Yes sir,' Earl said. 'We are short on men.'
'I'll call Carlo at his mama's and get him back fast.
And hell, I'll go myself, I'm still the best gun in town. Ain't as spry as I once was, but I'm still damned fast.'
'That's the spirit,' said Fred Becker. 'By God, that's the Marine spirit!'
CHAPTE 45
Somewhere along the way, Herman Kreutzer had picked up some expertise in electronics, so he understood Sniperscope Ml right away, and he was the one who talked Johnny Spanish through it, with guidance from War Department technical manual TM 5-9340, classified SECRET! Owney must really have had some juice to come up with something this special this fast.
The system consisted of two units linked by electrical cord: the Carbine, Caliber 30, T3 Modified, which wore the Telescope T-120 jury-rigged by special bridge mount to its receiver, and clamped beneath its forestock the infrared light source, which resembled a headlight, and behind that a plastic fore grip with the lamp trigger switch; and, three feet of cord away, the electrical power supply unit, a large metal box that supported the battery and various vacuum tubes. The whole thing weighed about eighteen pounds, loaded. The scope looked like a thermos jug, the headlamp like, well, a headlamp, and the electrical power supply like a large but utilitarian radio. You couldn't move fast with it, you couldn't maneuver, pivot, twist or switch angles or positions quickly.
'Ah, whoever came up with this gizmo never trekked the alleys of Dublin, that I'll tell you,' said Johnny, feeling the heavy weight of the rifle but more peculiarly its awkwardness, for the scope was too large and the lamp completely threw off the balance of the little piece; and the fragility of the connection to the battery housing via the cord made the whole thing even more problematical.
'You'll get the hang of it, Johnny,' said Herman, fussing with various switches and consulting the manual. 'It's just for sitting in a hole and clipping Japs as they come over the ridgeline thinking everything is hinky-dinky banzai. Okay, I think we're set. Red, get the lights.'
Red Brown hit the lights. Jack Bell and Vince the Hat put their cards down. The Maddox warehouse went dark.
'Throw the bolt,' said Herman.
Johnny, in the kneeling position, snapped the bolt, lifting a round into the carbine's chamber.
Herman read by flashlight. 'Okay, now with your front hand, hit the trigger switch up on the front grip.'
Johnny did as he was told.
'By Jesus, it's broken,' he said.
'Nah, it's invisible. Invisible to you, to the naked eye. Look through the scope.'
Johnny obeyed.
'Nothing.'
'Okay, I'm going to try a few of these switches and you keep looking and?'
'My God and sweet Lord,' said Johnny. 'The blasted thing's glowing like a horror movie. Where's Boris Karloff when you need him?'
'What's it look like?'
'All green.'
'What do you see?'
'Hmmm,' said Johnny, concentrating. 'Why, I see them paint cans you set up.'
'Is there a crosshair?'
'Indeed.'
'See if you can hit anything.'
'Hold your ears, boys.'
