three hundred an hour I’m paying you. That was our agreement, I believe. A very generous one.”
“Agreements are made to be renegotiated,” Hooper said.
“What do you have in mind?”
“Another ten grand.”
“Ten grand? Are you kidding?”
“Not in the slightest.”
Jerry laughed, he couldn’t help himself. Ten thousand was chicken feed. Anticipating that Hooper would try something like this, although not quite so unsubtly, he had brought fifty thousand dollars with him and was willing to spend it.
“Let me think about it,” Jerry said, pretending to look pensive. “You must think I’m an idiot,” he added, taking another gulp of vodka. “You and Brubaker both. Do you call each other and say, ‘What an idiot that Jerry Trotter is, thinking he’s some kind of spy’?”
Hooper looked at Jerry coldly. He didn’t say no.
“I’m an idiot, but I’m not a total idiot.”
Jerry reached into the pocket on the front of his leather jacket and took out a small digital recorder of the type Hooper was familiar with.
“What’s that?” Now Hooper was smiling.
“I taped our calls, Harry. Not on this machine but another one just like it. What did you say-‘basic precautions’? I prefer to think of it as insurance. Ha, me and insurance.” Jerry finished his drink and held up his glass for the hovering waiter. Hooper hadn’t touched his drink.
“There’s nothing on there. I never say anything on the phone.”
“Oh, really? Then you’ve got nothing to worry about.”
Hooper’s eyes darted around the room briefly, and he took a sip of his drink.
Jerry had got him thinking, he could see that.
“We’re in this together, my friend. I have no intention of doing anything with the recordings. As you say, there’s probably nothing there. But we’ve definitely entered a new phase in our relationship. You were very honest with me-you want more money. Okay.”
Jerry reached into his jacket again and took out a thick manila envelope. He threw it down on the table next to Hooper’s drink. Hooper picked up the envelope, held it below the level of the tabletop, and opened it with a finger. He flicked through the bills and looked up at Jerry. Jerry thought that if Hooper had ever seen that much money before, it was evidence he’d seized in an investigation, and it was going under lock and key.
“I don’t get it,” Hooper said. “That’s a lot more than ten.”
“Yes, it is. That’s fifty.”
“Fifty grand! Holy shit.”
“Ah, Mr. Hooper, your grim exterior is slipping.” Jerry finished off his drink. He was feeling a lot more like his old self.
“What do I gotta do?”
“You tell me two things, and I give you another one of those envelopes in a couple of weeks. That’s all. First, I’m going to tell you what I think. I think you’re a greedy little man. I know you pad your bills for me-that’s fine, everyone does it. But this is real money. And I have more real money that I intend to keep giving you as long as we can help each other out. Because we really are in this together. I also think you don’t know exactly what I have on tape. Hmm?”
Hooper had regained his composure and was looking Jerry right in the eye.
“I notice you already took the money. I also think you’re thinking, Screw it, I want the money. It’s easy money too, Harry, because I know you already know the first thing-that’s why we’re here. And I really think you’ll find out the second one very quickly, a man of your experience.”
“You’re playing a dangerous game. You’re an amateur.”
“I know.” Jerry closed his eyes and smiled. “But I’m a quick learner. So tell me what you found out about Edmund Mathews and Ms. Croft.”
In a few sentences Harry Hooper told Jerry Trotter what he’d been told and about the source of the information. There was no doubt in Hooper’s mind that it was true.
“Thank you, Harry. That might just be enough for me.”
“So what’s the other thing you want to know?”
Jerry leaned in toward Hooper.
“I want you to tell me how I get my hands on some polonium-210.”
24.
GREENWICH, CONNECTICUT MARCH 4, 2011, 3:23 P.M.
It was thirty miles, give or take, from Columbus Circle in Manhattan to Edmund Mathews’s house in Greenwich and by some miracle, Jerry’s driver, a former New York State highway patrolman, made the trip in just over fifty minutes. After leaving Harry Hooper in the hotel bar, Jerry had found Max Higgins waiting in the limo in front of his building. He got in and called Edmund Mathews immediately, pretty much ordering him and Russell to leave their Greenwich office and meet at Edmund’s house within the hour. Jerry had told Max nothing. Max thought Jerry looked terrible-red-rimmed eyes, unshaven cheeks, hair in disarray, and wearing a strange and rumpled shirt-and-khakis combination under an old leather jacket such as a biker might wear. And he could smell the alcohol on his breath. Max would have to wait for an explanation because as soon as he’d spoken with Edmund, Jerry stretched out in the limo’s generous backseat and fell into a noisy and fitful sleep.
In the hours since their lunch with Jerry and Max the day before, Edmund and Russell had done nothing significant in terms of solving their problems. Russell had busied himself overseeing the implementation of some of Edmund’s ideas about buying different types of life insurance policies and legal staffers had started combing through existing diabetics’ policies looking for what Russell had called “anomalies.” Anyone who’d used a middle initial on one document and not on another, they were to see if that was grounds for termination of the policy. Any agreements in progress were halted pending investigation. But these were stopgaps. If there was to be a macro solution, Edmund and Russell hoped it would come from Jerry.
When Edmund received Jerry’s summons, he was optimistic that salvation was at hand. Jerry had sounded hoarse, and he was even more abrupt than usual. But no matter. Russell had been positively giddy as the two men waited for Jerry, Edmund more reserved. From experience Edmund knew that if Jerry had thought of something, it wouldn’t be pain-free. There’d be a price to pay somewhere down the line.
Jerry’s limo pulled up to Edmund’s front door. As Edmund watched from a second-floor window, the driver hopped out and held the door open for Jerry, who slowly stepped into the chilly winter air. Even from this range, Jerry didn’t look so hot. As Edmund made his way downstairs, his wife, Alice, ever the good hostess, opened the front door.
“Alice!” Jerry said jovially. “I was hoping I’d see you. You look as lovely as ever.” And she did, her blond bob tucked back behind her ears, her light green eyes set off by a mint-green sweater, her gym-toned legs setting off a sharp, knee-length skirt.
“Hello, Jerry, how are you?” Alice grabbed Jerry’s elbow and leaned in to kiss his cheek. Jerry had tried to tame his hair and had quickly polished off half a roll of breath mints, but he hadn’t completely overcome his dishevelment. Nor had he done anything about a subtle ripeness that hovered around him like an invisible cloud. Alice recoiled a little.
“I was just saying to Max,” Jerry continued as Edmund joined them, “what a wonderful couple Alice and Edmund are. And little Darius makes three. Beautiful wife, a healthy heir, this stunning house. Edmund, you are a lucky SOB. The man who has everything. Wasn’t I just saying that, Max?”
“Absolutely, Jerry, and who could disagree?” Max had no idea what Jerry was talking about, but he played
