His Excellency stood up. “Thank you. We’ll talk about it some time. Meantime let me say ‘au revoir’ to Joe.”
Even with total co-operation it was seven o’clock next morning before Nolan was opening the brown envelope. It contained a single sheet of 6″ × 4″ microfiche and he walked over to the reader in the coding annexe and sat reading page after page of the translations of the files on Kleppe and van Elst. He had made a list of the pages that he wanted in hard copy and walked back to his office.
He phoned through to Harper and told him that he was moving his group, except the two surveillance teams, down to the house at Hartford. They had evidence now of criminal activity by Kleppe and they had established Kleppe’s contact with Dempsey. Both in New York and way back in the Paris days.
A US Navy helicopter took Nolan and his team from Floyd Bennett Field to Hartford. The Brainard Airport buildings were just visible from the house and there was an entry to the southbound carriageway of Highway 95 a mile from the main gates. The house had been built at the turn of the century for the retiring partner of one of Boston’s leading law firms, and stood in its own five acres of woods and landscaped gardens. It was secluded and ideal for the operation.
Nolan checked the Hartford files that covered Powell and his associates. There was very little useful material but there was one lead, Gary Baker, who worked as an investigator in the Hartford District Attorney’s office. He had been a CIA contact for a number of years and Langley had helped him from time to time in return. Nolan had met him a couple of times in the days when he had run the CIA’s New York office. Nolan telephoned him and fixed to see him after lunch at the DA’s office.
Gary Baker had the crew-cut look of a man who spent most of his time outdoors, and he gave Nolan an amiable welcome.
“What can I do for you?”
“I’m doing a bit of background checking on Andrew Dempsey. I wondered if you’d got anything on file.”
“Nothing that would interest you. He’s clean as far as we’re concerned. Anyway, he’s a Washington responsibility now. It was in this morning’s papers. He’s been appointed Powell’s Chief of Staff.”
“Anything on Powell?”
Baker looked up quickly. “Like what?”
“Like anything you’ve got.”
“Local boy. Lived here all his life. His old man teaches at Yale. He was a lecturer there himself for a time, then he set up shop in town here as a business consultant.”
“Successful?”
Baker pursed his lips and shrugged.
“In a small way. He was barely established before he went into politics.”
“How did he get started?”
“He just came out of nowhere. He was one of six or seven possible runners. A complete outsider, then—boom—he was the Republican candidate.”
“How did he make it?”
“Nobody knows. There was the strike. That put him on the map locally, and a week after that he was the candidate. The GOP has had the State governorship in its pocket since Adam and Eve, so like all the others, the candidate became the Governor.”
“What was the strike?”
“It was about five years ago at Haig Electronics, a big plant on the other side of the river. Six thousand workers laid off. Most of their stuff goes to Detroit for the car plants. There were contingency delivery penalties, and Haig’s was very near to going down the pike. Powell was made arbitrator. Settled it in three days and that was it, I reckon. Fame and fortune.”
“Who appointed him?”
“Old man Haig agreed and the union local agreed.”
“Who was the union negotiator?”
“Siwecki, Tadeusz Siwecki. He was plant negotiator.”
“How come you remember so much, Gary? It’s a long time ago.”
Baker looked across at the window, silent for several minutes. Then he turned back to look at Nolan.
“For the same reason you asked the question, I guess.”
“Tell me.”
“It stank. It was so convenient.”
“Did you do any checking.”
“I started. Then I stopped.”
“What stopped you?”
“I got the message from on high.”
“How high?”
“From the State Attorney’s office.”
“Did you find anything before you stopped?”
“There had been some stock dealing a week before the strike. Some more afterwards. That’s about all.”
“Was it significant?”
“God knows. I didn’t have time to check.”
“Can I see your files on it?”
Baker smiled grimly. “There ain’t no files, old friend.” He reached for his cigarettes. “If you want to know more I can introduce you to a girl who might know.”
“Who is she?”
“Her name’s Angelo. She works in this office as the DA’s secretary. She gets screwed by a guy named Oakes.”
“Who’s he?”
“Senior partner in a successful downtown law firm. Got to be successful about the same time as Powell. Specializes in trust administration and tax. He’s a stockholder in Haig’s. Since the strike.”
“What’s the girl like?”
“Gorgeous, but don’t be fooled by the big, melting brown eyes. She’s a tough baby. I know she squeezed Oakes for a lot of bread some years back for an abortion. There was talk that he had to go out of town to raise the cash so that it didn’t show in his bank account. But he’s still screwing her so she must be good at it.”
“What’s her attitude to him?”
“I’d guess it was a money relationship. There’s at least two other guys screwing her regularly. One’s an out-of-town salesman, the other’s a junior partner in a law firm in New Haven.”
“I’d like to meet her this evening, if you could fix it.”
“OK. There’s a new bar called Pinto’s Place two blocks down from me. Soft lights and a piano sort of dump. Say seven?”
“OK. But you leave when you’ve had a drink. I don’t want any witnesses.”
“OK, pal. But watch it, she’s not dumb. What are you, for the introductions?”
“IRS.”
Haig agreed on the telephone to see him at four but probed about the purpose
