Dream of a Falling Eagle

on what we were doing that got us killed-namely investigating the CIA's links to Haiti. We keep backup copies of all our files and records in a safe deposit box that we feed every night. Our murders would seriously piss off a lot of important people, and get lots of publicity that would result in a lot of investigative reporting. That scares the CIA; they want to head us off at the pass, not have the mountain fall on them. Publicity about them is precisely what they're trying to avoid. Besides, Lucas, the issue is moot. We're finished with our field work. Now it's just a matter of tying together what we've got and writing up our report.'

'I hear what you're saying,' Tremayne said quietly. 'But there still must be some way I can be useful. You need somebody to answer your phone? Type up the report?'

Garth glanced at me and raised his eyebrows slightly, then set his drink down and got up from his chair. 'Excuse me for a couple of minutes.'

My brother left the room, and Lucas Tremayne and I stared at each other. Finally I said, 'Making that last film of yours was a gutsy thing to do. Its subject isn't exactly a favorite topic of conversation. If it hadn't been the success it was, it could have seriously damaged your career.'

The film director shrugged, smiled thinly. 'I do what I can for people and causes I care about-just like you and Garth do. All I did was make a movie on a controversial subject nobody wants to talk about. I think what you're doing is incredibly gutsy, and I'm not sure I buy what Garth told me about your professional immunity. You've surely been in danger from the first day you started working on this project.'

'Oh, I'm sure the company would be delighted if we fell off a cliff or got run over by a truck-just as long as it didn't point to them. But we're being well paid for the risk.'

'I don't believe you're doing it for money.'

He had that right. Diddling the CIA, or trying to, was a labor of love-but for reasons that had to remain secret. 'Garth meant no disrespect by not mentioning this Haiti investigation to you.'

'I understand, Mongo.'

'I mean no disrespect either, but Beauvil really had no business discussing this with a civilian. Whatever his feelings or reasons, he could have put you at risk. Do you understand why you should keep all this to yourself? You shouldn't even discuss this with your family-especially not with your family.'

Tremayne colored slightly, but he didn't protest. Finally he nodded at me and flashed a grin. 'I've been following your exploits for some time-even before Garth and I became friends. You're quite a celebrity yourself.'

'Yeah. You think the world is ready for a big-budget film about a dwarf private detective? I see Schwarzenegger in the lead, with maybe DeVito playing Garth.'

He laughed. 'I think it's a wonderful idea. I'm going to pitch it to Arnold and Danny the next time I see them.'

Garth walked back into the room. He was carrying the photographs Carl Beauvil had sent us. He selected the head-and-shoulders shot of the man in the priest's collar, handed it to Tremayne. 'Like you said, you know a hell of a lot of Haitians. Ever see this guy before?'

The man with the gray eyes and hair barely glanced at the photograph before looking back up at Garth. 'I've not only seen him, but I know him personally.'

Well, well, well. I drained off the rest of the Scotch in my glass, rose to get some more.

'Who is he?' Garth asked.

'Guy Fournier-Dr. Guy Fournier. He's Haitian, a defrocked Roman Catholic priest who was an antigovernment activist in Haiti long before Aristide arrived on the scene, and long before me. His life must certainly have been at risk, for years, and it was probably only his collar that saved him; the past Haitian governments and the Roman Catholic hierarchy in Haiti have always had what you might call a close working relationship.'

'Not only the governments,' Garth said dryly. 'Not a few of those friendly neighborhood padres have turned up on lists of paid CIA informers.'

'It doesn't surprise me. Fournier also happens to be a collector of Haitian art, which is how I know him. We go to a lot of the same galleries, shows, and auctions.'

I took a long pull at my second drink, sat back down on the couch. 'Why was he defrocked?'

'Ostensibly for preaching liberation theology, which was the same as heresy to the hierarchy. But the real reason they defrocked him was to remove a thorn in their side and make him a softer target for Fraph thugs. They considered him a real pain in the ass. Friends helped him get out of the country a few months before Aristide was restored to power. Otherwise, he would have ended up getting his arms and legs cut off in Fort Dimanche. He lives right here in New York. His Ph.D. is in comparative religion, and that's what he teaches now, downtown at Mongo's former place of employment.'

Garth asked, 'Why didn't Beauvil recognize him?'

'I can't be certain, but probably because Carl has never lived in Haiti. He was born here. Fournier wasn't that well known outside of Haiti. Also, Carl's a policeman, and that's not a profession most Haitians have a lot of use for. They're afraid of the police. Carl does an enormous amount of work for his people, but he's still essentially isolated within the community. He's probably never even heard of Fournier. Incidentally, this looks like it could be a surveillance photo taken by the army, Fraph, or the police over there. May I ask where you got it?'

I said, 'It was on a voodoo altar in the basement of the murder victim's home in Spring Valley.'

Lucas Tremayne frowned slightly. 'That's odd.'

'Why?'

'I don't know. I'm no expert on voodoo, but a voodoo altar just seems an odd place to find a picture of a Roman Catholic priest. Could it have been set down there by chance, by accident?'

'No,' Garth replied, and handed his friend the second photograph. 'This is a picture of the altar itself. You can see that this man's photograph is placed right in the middle, in the center of that circle of candles, carvings, and painted symbols, with the cross beneath it. Mean anything to you?'

Tremayne shook his head in disgust, then pursed his lips slightly. 'I hate this voodoo shit. It's probably done more harm to the Haitian people than the generals, Fraph, and Ton-ton Macoutes, who've all used voodoo as a weapon against the people. It's a self-inflicted wound. I do recognize some of these things around the photograph as voodoo fetishes. They mean something.'

I grunted. 'The question is, what?'

'May I keep this photograph of the altar?'

'No,' Garth said, reaching out to retrieve both photographs from the other man's hand.

'I may not be an expert on voodoo, but I'm certain I can find somebody who is.'

'You flash that photograph around, and you're likely to conjure up some people you really don't want to meet. Among other bad habits they have, they cut out people's hearts.'

'Garth, I'm not going to flash-'

'Say good night, Lucas,' Garth said with a thin smile, gently but firmly grasping his friend's elbow and lifting him up off the sofa. 'Mongo and I have to get our beauty rest.'

'But I want to find out more about this for you!'

'Nope. Not a word to anyone. You've already been more than helpful in identifying this Guy Fournier for us. Mongo and I don't have time to track down any more leads even if you could produce them for us, and I'm sure the Spring Valley police and FBI are following up. Safe trip home.'

'But I haven't finished my drink!'

'Not to worry; Mongo will finish it for you.'

We walked with Tremayne to the parking garage in the next block where he had left his car. After he paid the attendant, he turned to shake hands, and said, 'Look, I'm sorry for barging in on you guys like that. I tried calling you right after I left the reception where I talked to Carl, but your secretary had gone home, and I didn't know what message to leave. Then I got antsy, so I just drove in on the chance I'd catch up with you.'

'Jesus, Lucas,' Garth said, squeezing the other man's shoulder, 'don't apologize. We might never have identified this Fournier. He could provide us with a few telling details we don't have now, and he might prove to be a valuable witness later on.'

'You think so?'

'We'll see-you won't. Good night, my friend.'

Lucas Tremayne waved to us as he got into his Range Rover when it was brought to him, then drove off. I turned to Garth. 'Time pressure or no, we've got to go for it, right?'