like the one in the center of his neck so a ventilator on a timer could pump oxygen into his lungs at four-minute intervals. He had bed sores and couldn't have weighed a hundred pounds. He was in a private room with one window. The best thing about David Robb were his eyes. They were deep brown and still held the light of intelligence. Kaz moved over to him, pulled up a chair, and sat down.
'Mr. Robb?' The man looked at him and nodded his head.
'I'm Solomon Kazorowski; this is Cole Harris.' He held up his FBI badge for the man to see. 'We need to talk to you about Gavriel Bach. Can you speak?'
The man nodded, then slowly opened his mouth. 'Yes.' The word seemed fished up from the bottom of a dusty well.
'You talked to him in 1971 about Meyer Lansky. You gave him some material. Is that right, sir?'
Again, David Robb hissed his reply, nodding his head slightly for emphasis.
'Sir, what did you give him?'
David Robb looked at them for a long, heartbreaking moment; his withered eyelids blinked across beacons of despair. He licked his lips, but put no moisture on them.
'Sir. . what was in the suitcase?'
'Wiretaps,' he said in a sandpaper whisper. 'Conversations with the underworld.'
'Illegal taps?'
David Robb nodded his head in response.
'Sir, do you remember who was on the tapes? Was Joseph Alo on the tapes?'
The old man looked at them and said nothing. Then he closed his eyes for almost a minute. When he opened them again, he looked at Cole.
'So long ago. .' The ventilator turned on and hissed and sucked as the accordion pump went up and down in aglass tube, forcing fresh air into the old man's sunken chest.
'Where are the tapes now?'
'Gay took the tapes, never returned.' He closed his eyes and started to breathe heavily. Kaz and Cole looked across the bed at one another as the old man began to snore. As if to emphasize that the interview was over, the ventilator abruptly shut itself off.
'I don't believe this,' Kaz said 'Two months and all we get is, 'Never returned.' Gavriel Bach is dead.'
'Gavriel Bach was sort of a lone wolf in the Israeli prosecutor's office. I remember that from when I covered the trial. He had that suitcase on the prosecutor's table the day the verdicts were read. He didn't leave it with the justices. I can't see him giving the tapes to the Israelis. Besides, once Meyer's case was over, what use would the Israelis have for any of that stuff? It was about U. S. criminal activity.'
'What're you trying to say?'
'One of two things happened to them. He kept them or threw them away. You're a cop. Would you ever throw away evidence, regardless of whether you thought you'd ever need it again?'
'Of course not.'
'So maybe he held on to it. Maybe that suitcase is in an attic someplace.'
'In Israel?' His eyes rolled like an Atlantic City slot. 'We're down to our last ten dollars. How the hell we gonna get to Israel?'
'I'll do the heavy lifting. You work on tactics,' Cole said.
'Oh really?'
'Isn't Ryan Bolt loaded? Maybe we take him aboard, let him bankroll this pilgrimage.'
'He's a cripple and an amateur.'
'You got a better idea?'
They left the Wild Oaks Retirement Home and stood outside in the shimmering summer heat while Kaz tried to call Ryan Bolt on Penny Alo's cell phone.
It was after nine in the evening before he finally got through.
Chapter 56
Theghost was dressed in a Southern California Gas Company uniform. Over his right shoulder, he carried a canvas bag with a silenced Ruger Mark II and two 10-shot.22-caliber clips. He was wearing latex gloves and a b lue baseball cap. He found the alarm on the side of th e v alley apartment house and jumped it with alligator clips.
After he had deactivated the alarm box of apartment 4-C, he climbed the stairs and stood in front of the door. He slipped a lock pick into the door and opened it. The doo r c aught at the end of a chain, safety-locked from inside.
He listened, heard nothing, so he put his shoulder to the door and pushed hard. The safety chain popped off the door and landed halfway across the living room.
The Ghost closed the door behind him and began a careful survey of the apartment, checking to confirm it was empty. The dresser top paid a pictorial tribute to Ryan Bolt. One photo was taken at the studio; in it he was smiling, sitting in the front seat of an electric golf cart. Nameplate read THE MERCENARY. A few pictures were taken at industry banquets-Ryan and formally attired table mates with their chairs pulled together flashing manufactured smiles. The Ghost found a back door in the kitchen, whic h e xplained how the chain could be set on the inside. He checked the closet for men's clothing, checked the bathroom, but found no evidence that anybody was living with her. He discovered a small alcove off the kitchen from which he could watch the rear door. He pulled the Ruger.22-caliber automatic out of his bag and worked the slide, putting a round in the chamber. He made sure the silencer was screwed on tight. Then he settled back to wait.
The key turned in the lock at seven-thirty.
Elizabeth Applegate moved into her kitchen carrying a bag of groceries. The Ghost put the cold steel of the automatic behind her ear.
'Set down the bag and put your hands over your head.'. .? Who?'
He pressed harder with the barrel. 'Do what I said.'
Elizabeth set down the groceries and tried to turn around to see who was behind her, so he grabbed her roughly, threw her onto the floor, then landed hard on top of her. Before she could say anything or scream, he shoved a dishrag in her mouth and secured her hands behind her with plastic strip cuffs he'd brought with him. He rolled her over and she found herself looking into the cold, blue eyes and round face of a red-haired man who she thought looked a little like Jerry Colonna without the mustache.
'Okay, Elizabeth, I don't want to hurt you, but I will if that's the way you want it. Your only chance of surviving me is to do exactly what I tell you. You understand?'
She nodded, her eyes blank with desperation. He smiled at her, then pulled her to her feet and pushed her, on numb legs, into the bathroom, where he closed the door and undid the cuffs around her wrists.
'Take off all your clothes,' he commanded.
The Ghost had learned that stripping a subject before an interrogation made getting information easier. You eliminated resistance and introduced a sexual threat for both men and women.
She started unbuttoning her loose-fitting print dress, then let it fall to the floor. She was in her bra and panties.
'Let's go. All of it. I'm losing patience.' With a shaking hand, Elizabeth undid her bra and removed her panties and stood naked in front of him.
'Isn't that better? Look at you,' he said, smiling.
He grabbed her roughly and retied her hands with the plastic cuffs. 'Now get into the tub.' She moved backward and stepped into the tub.
'Lie down, Elizabeth, on your back.'
She was about to vomit. Fear had turned her stomach to acid and she started to gag. The Ghost had been waiting for it. It almost always happened. He yanked the gag out of her mouth as she threw up on herself.
Then he forced her to lie in her own stomach fluid. She was lost in terror. 'Don't kill me,' she rasped at him
