‘Let’s bring them in first. I’ll wait until then before speaking to Washington about court orders. Probably won’t even have to, after I convince her I’ve saved her life.’
Hanlan’s irritation deepened when he reached Patrick McKinnon on his cellphone to be told that the early morning rush hour had been worse than they’d anticipated and that the FBI team were still at least an hour short of Paterson, which made West Milford nearer two and a half hours away, without any allowance for finding the track to the cabin.
Ginette said: ‘They’re unpredictable, Alice certainly. Better warn them.’
Hanlan let the cabin number ring unanswered for five full minutes before slamming the receiver back on the rest. He said: ‘Shit, they’ve run! What the fuck do they think they’re doing?’
‘The bad guys get them first, they’re dead. We are, too.’
‘Get back to vehicle registration,’ insisted Hanlan. ‘Tell them it’s become a major emergency. I’ll tell Pat.’
Which Hanlan did and which was how the Cavalcante Family, who’d had people using cellphone scanners since the identification of the Bearfort area, heard for the first time the name Jane Carver. They also heard, on Hanlan’s second call, the repeated directions to the cabin four miles outside West Milford. And that Alice Belling was there, too.
The Cavalcante consigliere, Tony Caputo, was waiting impatiently for Charlie Petrie at the top-floor entrance to the elevator in the Family-owned office block overlooking the Delaware. The building was secure enough for Caputo to start talking even before they regained his suite. By the time they actually reached it Petrie knew every detail of the interception. He’d come all the way from New York because the escalating emergency demanded it but it made him appear like someone at the centre of everything that was happening, which was how he wanted to emerge.
Petrie said: ‘You did good, Tony. Very good.’
Caputo, who knew very precisely just how well his organization had done, said: ‘You didn’t tell us the FBI were involved.’
‘Because we didn’t know,’ admitted Petrie. It ratcheted up the stakes by at least a 100 per cent. There had to be an immediate consiglieri conference, as soon as he got back to New York: conceivably a full Mafia Commission gathering, attended by as many Dons as the capo di tuttii capi decreed. It would probably be most of them because most of them had used the Northcote laundry at one time or another.
‘We get this wrong, we got a major, nationwide disaster,’ said Caputo. He was a slightly built, compact man who enjoyed the trappings of his unquestioned authority, four gold rings to match the gold neck-chain and identity bracelet.
‘We already knew that, before the Bureau involvement.’
‘We’ve got people closer. We should get to the cabin first. What do you want we should do when we get them?’
Petrie did not respond at once, uncomfortable at being the man identifiably making the decisions on behalf of so many. ‘Just get them away, from the cabin and the FBI. The Carver woman’s our key. Literally.’ But how to use her? Maybe he wouldn’t need to, if Burcher got it right. He wouldn’t tell the lawyer: let him go on as they’d decided that morning.
‘What about the other one, Alice Belling?’
‘We’ve got to sweat her, until she can’t be sweated any more, to find out what she knows. Which we think is a hell of a lot. We’ve got to get it all, however long it takes and however hard – for her – it has to be.’
‘OK,’ accepted Caputo.
‘And then she gets whacked,’ ordered Petrie.
‘OK,’ agreed Caputo, again. ‘You want to eat something? A drink?’
Petrie shook his head. ‘I had breakfast.’
Twenty-Five
Alice drove as fast as was reasonably possible once they reached the twisting road, manoeuvring her wrist familiarly every so often to check the time. Jane saw the contortion and told her not to worry, that they had plenty of time, but Alice kept doing it, even though she knew the other woman was right. She got stuck behind a truck which looked similar to the one beneath which John had been crushed and wondered if the same impression had occurred to Jane. If it had, she didn’t remark upon it. Instead, as they got closer to West Milford, Jane said: ‘I had a stick shift once. An MG. It was fun.’
‘I’ve had this since college. It’s a kind of…’ She hesitated, looking for the word. ‘A souvenir, I guess.’ The Volkswagen was the first thing she’d bought with her own money after her father’s disgrace and suicide. It would have to go, along with everything else, she supposed. Would she be able to drive it back to New York? Probably not. She’d have to remember to take out the already packed IRS and company records printouts of the five Mafia firms. Her overnight case was ready, back at the cabin, the photograph of John protectively wrapped between two sweaters. That was the only souvenir she wanted, nothing more.
Jane said: ‘You need gas.’
‘I’ve got enough to get there and back to the cabin.’
‘What about back to New York?’
‘I thought we’d probably go in their car.’
‘It would be a delay, if that’s not how they plan it. Irritating.’
‘I guess you’re right,’ agreed Jane, seeing the Shell sign ahead although on the other side of the road. She filled up and had to lean back into the car to take cash from her satchel.
As she got back into the car Jane said: ‘That bag’s full of money!’
‘I left New York in a hurry… didn’t know at first where I was going, what I might need… didn’t want to use credit cards…’
Jane moved, as if to say something, but didn’t.
Alice knew the pharmacy, attached to the small supermarket that she and John had used, in a mall on the outskirts of the small township. As Jane paid she said to Alice: ‘I need to go to the restroom right away.’
‘I’ll wait,’ said Alice, although she didn’t. She’d already isolated the pregnancy-testing kits, picking the first on the shelf at random, and as an afterthought she took up a tube of toothpaste from an adjoining display.
‘Bought something?’ queried Jane when she emerged, nodding to the plastic bag in Alice’s hand.
‘Toothpaste,’ said Alice, glad she had provided herself with the excuse.
‘You know what?’
‘What?’
Jane indicated her own package. ‘False alarm. Just spotting.’
‘Probably everything that’s happened.’
‘That’s what I think.’
They walked back out into the car park side by side. Alice almost automatically checked her watch and Jane said: ‘We’ve been gone exactly thirty-five minutes.’
‘OK,’ smiled Alice. That’s how she could think now, she reassured herself. Of everything happening – and being over – in minutes.
Jane said: ‘You want to do me a favour? Let me drive! That stick shift I had really was fun.’
‘It’s a pretty stiff box.’ Still in so much danger it was bizarre standing here in a car park discussing gearboxes!
‘Come on! It’s only just up the road.’
‘OK,’ shrugged Alice. Just get everything over, that’s all she wanted to do. Just minutes.
Jane couldn’t get the car into reverse and ground the gears as she followed Alice’s instructions and the Volkswagen shuddered unevenly backwards and then kangarooed forwards when Jane selected first gear. Jane said: ‘Sorry… sorry…’ and got into second and then third much more smoothly. She swung easily out on to the mountain road but almost at once, at the junction, made a left.
‘No!’ said Alice. ‘This isn’t the way to the cabin. This is the Stockholm road.’
