'Is she married?'
'There's a gonzo who comes around saying he's her husband but nobody pays much attention to him.'
'What does he do? What's his business?'
'He's Palm Springs social set. Stocks and bonds when they don't interfere with his golf, that's the way I read him.'
'That's significant money.'
'He's a heavy contributor and never misses a super bash at the White House. You know the type, wavy white hair and a big gut with lots of shiny teeth in a tuxedo; they always get their pictures taken dancing. If he could read a whole book through in English, they'd probably make him the ambassador to the Court of St James's—I take it back. With his money, half a book.'
Varak studied the Secret Service guard. The man was obviously relieved at being asked such innocuous questions. His answers were more complete than they had to be, bordering on the false confidentiality of gossip. 'I wonder why someone like that would send his wife out to work, even if it is for the Vice President.'
'I don't think he has anything to say about it. You don't send a sharp item like her anywhere she doesn't want to go. Besides, one of the maids told us she's wife number three or four, so maybe Vanvlanderen learned to let 'em hang loose and do their thing.'
'And you say she does it well?'
'Like I said, very sharp, very pro. Viper doesn't make a move without her.'
'What's he like?'
'Viper?' Suddenly another jet took off from the Naval Air Station, the roar of the engines thunderous. 'Viper's Viper,' said the Mafia plant when the earth-shaking noise had vanished. 'Orson Bollinger's a party glad hander with an insider's grasp of every fucking thing that goes on, and nothing goes on that doesn't serve the boys in the back rooms of California because they take care of him.'
'You're very astute.'
'I observe.'
'You do a great deal more than that. Only I'd suggest you be more cautious in the future. If I can find you, others might, too.'
'How? Goddamn you, how?'
'Diligence. And over the weeks watching for a mistake someone had to make. It could have been one of the others in your detail or something else—we're all human; none of us lives in a freezer—but it turned out to be you. You were tired, or perhaps you had that extra drink, or simply felt you were too secure. Whatever the reason, you made a phone call to Brooklyn, New York, obviously not the way you were supposed to make it, not from an untraceable pay telephone.'
'Frangie!' whispered the capo supremo.'
'Your cousin, Joseph “Fingers” Frangiani, second under-boss of the Ricci family in Brooklyn, inheritors of the Genovese interests. It was all I needed, amico.'
'You foreign low-life son of a bitch!'
'Don't waste obscenities on me… One last question, and why not be civil?'
'What?'' cried the furious man from the Mafia, his black eyebrows arched, his right hand instinctively reaching behind his jacket.
'Stop!' roared the Czech. 'One inch more and you're dead.'
'Where's your gun?' choked the agent, without a breath.
'I don't need it,' replied Varak, his eyes boring in on his would-be killer. 'And I'm sure you know that.'
Slowly, the Secret Service man brought his right hand in front of him. 'One question, that's all!' he said, his animus with himself reflected in his face. 'You've got one last question.'
'This Ardis Vanvlanderen. How was her appointment as the Vice President's chief of staff explained to you? Words must have been said, reasons given. After all, you're Bollinger's personal security and you worked well with her predecessor.'
