The Assassin Part 70

There was no answer.

"Jason?"

"Jason. William Seven, William One."

There was no reply.

"That will teach you, Peter," Mayor Carlucci said, "Never tell Jason 'your call.' "

"William Eleven, William One."

"Eleven."

"Can you see Seven?"

"Payne just jumped onto the porch roof."

"Say again?"

"Payne came out onto the roof over the porch of the house next door, jumped over to the next one, and just smashed the window and went inside."

A bell began to clang.

"What did he say about Payne?" the Mayor asked.

"I hope I didn't hear that right," Wohl said.

He tossed the microphone to Officer O'Mara and quickly got in the front seat beside him, gesturing for him to get moving.

They were halfway down Farragut Street toward the residence of M. C. Wheatley when the radio went off: "William One, Seven."

Wohl grabbed the microphone and barked, "One," as O'Mara pulled up, with a screech of brakes, in front of the house.

"Boss," Was.h.i.+ngton's voice came over the radio, "you want to send somebody in here to turn off the burglar alarm?"

There were more screeching brakes. A van skidded to a stop, and discharged half a dozen police officers, two of them buried beneath the layers of miracle plastic that, it was hoped, absorbed the effects of explosions, and all of them wearing yellow jackets with POLICE in large letters on their backs.

As the two Ordnance Disposal experts ran awkwardly up the stairs, the mayoral Cadillac limousine pulled in beside Peter Wohl's car, and Sergeant Jason Was.h.i.+ngton walked casually out onto the porch.

"Jason, what the h.e.l.l happened?" Wohl called.

"When Payne let me in, the burglar alarm went off," Was.h.i.+ngton said innocently.

"That's not what I mean, and you know it," Wohl shouted. "G.o.d d.a.m.n d.a.m.n the both of you!" the both of you!"

"Where's that mushroom cloud you were talking about, Peter?" the mayor asked, at Wohl's elbow.

"G.o.d d.a.m.n d.a.m.n them!" Wohl said. them!" Wohl said.

"I don't think he really means that, Charley, do you?" the mayor asked.

"Mr. Mayor," Wohl said. "I think you'd better stay right here."

"Hey, Peter," the mayor said as he started quickly up the stairs of the residence of Mr. M. C. Wheatley. "The way that works is that I'm I'm the mayor. I tell the mayor. I tell you you what to do." what to do."

At 8:25, as the schedule called for, Marion Claude Wheatley picked up AWOL bag #1, left his room in the Divine Lorraine Hotel, caught a bus at Ridge Avenue and North Broad street, and rode it to the North Philadelphia Station of the Pennsylvania Railroad.

There he purchased a coach ticket to Wilmington, Delaware, went up the stairs to the track, and waited for the train, a local that, according to the schedule, would arrive at North Philadelphia at 9:03, depart North Philadelphia at 9:05, and arrive at 30th Street Station at 9:12. Marion didn't care when it would depart 30th Street Station for Chester, and then Wilmington. He wasn't going to Chester or Wilmington.

At 9:12, right on schedule, the train arrived at 30th Street Station. The conductor hadn't even asked for his ticket.

Marion rode the escalator to the main waiting room, walked across it, deposited two quarters in one of the lockers in the pa.s.sageway to the south exit, deposited AWOL bag #1 in Locker 7870, and put the key into his watch pocket.

Then he went back to the main waiting room, bought a newspaper, and went to the snack bar, where he had two cups of black coffee and two pieces of coffee cake.

There was no coffee cake in the dining room of the Divine Lorraine Hotel, Marion reasoned, because there was no coffee in the dining room of the Divine Lorraine Hotel. He wondered if that was it, or whether Father Divine had found something in Holy Scripture that he thought proscribed pastry as well as alcohol, tobacco, and coffee.

When he had finished his coffee, Marion left the coffee shop and left 30th Street Station by the west exit. He walked to Market Street, and since it was such a nice morning, and since the really important aspect of trip #1, placing AWOL bag #1 in a locker, had been accomplished, he decided he would walk down Market Street, rather than take a bus, as the schedule called for.

The exercise, he thought, would do him good.

"Well, G.o.ddammit, then get it from Kansas City!" Supervisory Special Agent H. Charles Larkin said, nearly shouted, furiously. "I want a description, and preferably a photograph, of this sonofab.i.t.c.h here in an hour!"

He slammed the telephone into its cradle.

"I think Charley's mad about something," Chief Inspector Matt Lowenstein said drolly. "Doesn't he seem mad about something to you, Denny?"

"What was that all about, Charley?" Chief Inspector Coughlin asked, chuckling.

"The Army has the records of our guy-his name is Marion Claude, by the way, his first names-in the Depository in Kansas City," Larkin said. "So instead of calling Kansas City to get us a G.o.dd.a.m.n description and a picture, he calls me!"

"We have a man in Kansas City who does nothing but maintain liaison with the Army Records Depository," Mr. Frank F. Young of the FBI said. "Shall I give him a call, Charley?"

"So do we, Frank," Larkin said. "Don't take this the wrong way, but if we get your guy involved, that's liable to f.u.c.k things up even more than they are now."

"I think we can say," Young said, "that we're making progress."

"Yeah," Wohl said. "We now know know that he has a lot of explosives, and from the way those burglar alarms were wired, even if he hadn't been in EOD, that he knows how to set them off. We don't know what he looks like, or where he is." that he has a lot of explosives, and from the way those burglar alarms were wired, even if he hadn't been in EOD, that he knows how to set them off. We don't know what he looks like, or where he is."

One of the telephones on the commissioner's conference table rang.

"Commissioner's conference room, Sergeant Was.h.i.+ngton," Jason said, grabbing it on the second ring. "Okay, let me have it!" He scribbled quickly on a pad of lined yellow paper, said "Thank you," and hung up.

The others at the table looked at him.

"Marion Claude Wheatley is employed as a petrochemicals market a.n.a.lyst at First Pennsylvania Bank & Trust, main office, on South Broad," Was.h.i.+ngton said. "A guy from Central Detectives just found out."

"Do they have a photograph of him?" Larkin asked.

"They're being difficult," Was.h.i.+ngton said. He looked at Peter Wohl. "You want me to go over there, Inspector?"

"You bet I do," Wohl said.

"Can I take Payne with me?"

"If you think you can keep him from playing Tarzan," Wohl said. "And jumping from roof to roof."

"Sergeant, would you mind if I went with you?" H. Charles Larkin asked. "If they're being difficult, I'll show them difficult."

"No, sir," Was.h.i.+ngton said. "Come along."

Was.h.i.+ngton doesn't want him, Wohl thought, Wohl thought, but there's nothing I can do to stop him. but there's nothing I can do to stop him.

"Would four be a crowd?" Frank F. Young asked.

"No, sir," Was.h.i.+ngton said.

The four quickly left the room.

"What about that guy Young?" Denny Coughlin asked, when the door was closed.

"He either is very anxious to render whatever a.s.sistance the FBI can on this job," Lowenstein said, "or he wants to play detective."

"Now that we're alone," Wohl said. "It looks like Lanza, the corporal at the airport, is is dirty." dirty."

"Oh, s.h.i.+t," Coughlin said. "What have you got, Peter?"

"He's been having middle of the night meetings with various Mafioso sc.u.mbags. Gian-Carlo Rosselli, Paulo Ca.s.sandro, and others. They have been talking about a fruit basket coming in."

"How do you know that, Peter? About the fruit basket?" Lowenstein asked.

"Please don't ask me that question, Chief," Wohl said.

Lowenstein and Coughlin exchanged glances.

"He's under surveillance?" Lowenstein asked.

"By Internal Affairs when he's off the job. And d.i.c.kinson Lowell, who's chief of security for Eastern at the airport, has people watching him when he's on the job. Chief Marchessi set that up. He and Lowell are old pals."

"d.i.c.kie Lowell is, was, a good cop," Coughlin said. "You have any idea when this 'fruit basket' is coming in?"

"Nine forty-five tonight," Wohl replied. "Eastern Flight 4302 from San Juan."

"You picked that information up, right, from ordinary, routine, legal surveillance of Corporal Lanza, right?" Chief Lowenstein asked.

Wohl hesitated a moment, and then did not reply directly.

"The surveillance of Corporal Lanza leads us to believe that he is spending a lot of time with a lady by the name of Antoinette Marie Wolinski Schermer," he said. "Spends his nights with her. We find this interesting because Organized Crime says Mrs. Schermer is ordinarily the squeeze of Ricco Baltazari, the well-known restauranteur. "

"When you take Lanza, can you take any of the sc.u.mbags with him?" Coughlin asked.

"More important, are you sure you can take Lanza?" Lowenstein asked.

"We'll just have to see, Chief," Wohl said.

"You have good people doing the surveillance?" Lowenstein asked.

"Internal Affairs is providing most of it," Wohl replied. "And I loaned them Sergeant O'Dowd, but my priority, of course, is finding this Wheatley screwball before he hurts somebody."

"For all of us," Denny said.

"I want this dirty corporal, Peter," Lowenstein said. "Rather than blow it, I would just as soon let this 'fruit basket' tonight slip through. If there's one, there'll be others."

"I'll keep that in mind, Chief."

"We have a minute, with Larkin and Young gone, to talk about what we do now that we know who this Wheatley nut is, but not where he is," Coughlin said.

"Which means you've been thinking about it," Lowenstein said. "Go on, Denny."

"Worst case scenario," Coughlin said. "Despite one h.e.l.l of an effort by everybody concerned to find this guy, and the only way I know to do that is by running down any and every lead we come across, ringing every other doorbell in the city, we don't find him. The odds are that Was.h.i.+ngton will will turn up something at the bank, or from his neighbors. But let's say that doesn't happen." turn up something at the bank, or from his neighbors. But let's say that doesn't happen."

"Worst case scenario, right?" Lowenstein said sarcastically.

Coughlin's face darkened, but he decided to let the sarcasm pa.s.s.

"When Peter said we have to catch Wheatley before he hurts somebody," he went on, "he wasn't talking about just the Vice President. This guy has the means, and I think is just crazy enough, to hurt a lot of people. You heard what Charley said his expert said, that he's probably going to set off his bomb, bombs bombs, by radio?"

Both Wohl and Lowenstein nodded.

"That means he could be walking up Market Street with his bomb under his arm and his his radio in Camden, and somebody turns on a shortwave radio, maybe in an RPC, and off the bomb goes." radio in Camden, and somebody turns on a shortwave radio, maybe in an RPC, and off the bomb goes."

"I don't know what we can do about that," Lowenstein said.

"Or he could be walking up Market Street with his bomb under one arm, and his radio under the other, and he spots somebody who looks like the Secret Service, or the FBI, and he pushes the b.u.t.ton."

"I don't know where you're going, Denny," Lowenstein confessed.

"Well, I said, 'Market Street' but I don't think he's going to try to set his bomb off on Market Street. He may be a nut, but he's smart. And I don't think he plans to commit suicide when he- what did he say, 'disintegrates' 'disintegrates'?-the Vice President. That means he has to put the bomb someplace where he can see it, and the Vice President, from someplace he'll be safe when it goes off."

"Okay," Lowenstein said after a moment.

"There aren't very many places he can do that on Market Street," Coughlin went on. "The only place you could hide a bomb would be, for example, an empty store or a trash can or a mailbox."

"The Post Office will send somebody to open all mailboxes an hour before the Vice President arrives," Wohl replied. "Then they'll chain them shut. Larkin set that up with the postal inspectors. And I, actually Jack Malone, arranged with the City to have every trash basket, et cetera, in which a bomb could be hidden, removed by nine A.M., two hours before the Vice President gets here. And we'll check the stores, empty and otherwise."

"I don't think he's thinking about Market Street anyway," Coughlin said. "He'd have only a second or two to set the bomb off. That's not much margin for error." He paused. "But I d.a.m.ned sure could be wrong. So we're going to have to have Market Street covered from the river to 30th Street Station."

"Which leaves Independence Square and 30th Street Station," Wohl said. "I don't think Independence Square. He knows that we're going to have people all over there, and that he will have a hard time getting close to the Vice President, close enough to hurt him with a bomb."