well-groomed young man placed in a position to dispense favours in return for certain accommodations. And what better favours were there than below a weak man's belt, and how better to reach accommodations than the knowledge thereof. The elders were pleased, had been pleased for a number of years. This man came from the Mafia; he was Mafia; he served the Mafia.
Varak approached the lone figure in a raincoat by the rocks of a jetty several hundred yards from the high, imposing wire fence of the Naval Air Station.
'Thank you so much for seeing me,' said Milos pleasantly.
'I thought you had an accent on the phone,' said the well-spoken, well-trained, dark-featured man. 'Are you a redbird courier? Because if you are, you've reached the wrong swallow.'
'A Communist? I'm the farthest thing from it. I'm so American your consiglieri could present me to the Vatican.'
'That's insulting, to say nothing of being totally inaccurate… You made several very stupid statements, so stupid that you provoked my curiosity, which is why I'm here.'
'For whatever reason, I'm grateful that you are.'
'The bottom line was pretty clear,' interrupted the Secret Service agent. 'You threatened me, sir.'
'I'm sorry you were offended, I never meant to threaten you. I merely said that I was aware of certain additional services you provided—'
'Stop being so polite—’
'There's no reason to be discourteous,' said Varak courteously. 'I simply wanted you to understand my position.'
'You don't have a position,' corrected the government man with emphasis. 'Our records are unblemished, if you get my point.'
The Czech shifted his feet in the sand and waited while the roar of a jet passing over from the Naval Air Station diminished in the sky. 'You're saying that there are no records and your point is that you won't discuss anything concrete because you think I may be wearing a recording device.' Varak unbuttoned his jacket, separating it. 'Be my guest, search me. Personally, I wouldn't care to have my voice on the same tape with yours… Please, go ahead. I will, of course, remove my weapon and hold it in my hand but I won't stop you.'
The White House guardian was sullen, hesitant. 'You're too accommodating,' he said, standing motionless.
'On the other hand,' added Milos quickly. 'We can dispense with this awkwardness if you'd just read something I've prepared for you.' The Czech released his jacket, reached into his pocket and pulled out several sheets of folded paper. He snapped them open and handed them to the Secret Service agent.
As the man read, his eyes narrowed and his lips parted, frozen into the start of a snarl; in seconds a reasonably strong and attractive face became ugly. 'You're a dead man,' he said quietly.
'That could be short-sighted, don't you think? Because if I am, surely so are you. The capos would descend like a pack of wild dogs while the dons, drinking their fine red wine as if it were your blood, waited to hear of your very unpleasant death. Records? What are those? Names, dates, times, locations—and correspondingly, opposite each entry, the results of your sexual merchandise, or rather, blackmailed into being results. Bills amended, contracts awarded, government projects voted up or down according to their allocations. I'd say it's quite a record. And where does it all lead back to? Let me guess. The most unlikely source one can imagine… An unpublished telephone number listed under a false name and address but located in the apartment of a member of the government's Secret Service.'
'Those girls are dead… The boys are dead—’
'Don't blame them. They had no more of a choice than you do now. Believe me, it's better to assist me than to oppose me. I have no interest in your extracurricular activities; you provide a service and if you didn't somebody else would for roughly the same results. All I want from you is information, and in exchange I'll burn every copy of those pages. Of course, you have only my word for it, but as I'm likely to call upon your expertise again, I'd be stupid to release them, and I assure you I'm not stupid.'
'Obviously not,' agreed the Mafia soldier, his voice barely audible. 'Why throw a gun' away when you can still use it?'
'I'm glad you understand my position.'
'What sort of information are you looking for?'
