Swimming To Catalina

Stone followed his instructions. “No pictures,” he said.

Cable opened the shoebox and took out a pair of wingtips. “They’re 9½ C’s,” he said. “It was the best I could do.”

“I take it these are some sort of federal high-tech wingtips,” Stone said.

“Good guess. Put them on.”

Stone put on the shoes. “They’re tight,” he said.

“You’ll live,” Cable replied. He took some wires and a roll of tape out of the shoebox. “Here’s how it works,” he said. “In the heel of one shoe is a tape recorder; in the heel of the other shoe is a transmitter.” He plugged a very slim wire into a tiny receptacle at the top rear of each shoe. “Turn around.”

Stone turned around.

Cable began ru

Stone got dressed.

“Now we tape the wires ru

“Now you can stick your shirttail in and buckle your belt.”

Stone did as he was told.

“Now,” Cable said, “if they frisk you for a wire they’ll be looking for a small transmitter taped to your chest or in the small of your back, or maybe even in your crotch. They won’t be looking at the heels of your shoes. Even if they pat you down very thoroughly, the wires are too thin to feel through the fabric of your suit.”

“I see,” Stone said. “That’s pretty good; I might just get away with it.”

“I’d be willing to bet that you will,” Cable said.

“How do I turn on the transmitter and the tape recorder?” Stone asked.

“All you do is stamp each heel firmly on a hard surface, like concrete. It might not work on carpet. The transmitter we can pick up from as much as ten miles away; the tape in the recorder will last for two hours.”

“I don’t understand about the recorder,” Stone said. “Why don’t you just record it at the receiving end?”

“Oh, we will, but we need a backup, in case there’s any interference that screws up some part of the transmission.”

“Here’s what we do,” Rick said. “You go down to the headquarters building of the Safe Harbor Bank and take the elevator up to the top floor, where Ippolito’s office is. Tell the receptionist or secretary who you are and ask to see Ippolito.”

“Suppose he won’t see me?”

“Don`t take no for an answer. I’m betting that his curiosity will be too much for him, especially if he still thinks you’re dead. He’ll see you, I’ll give you odds.”

“Then what?”

“Engage him in conversation; get him to incriminate himself.”

“How the hell am I supposed to do that?”

“You’re a good talker, Stone; you’ll figure a way. Just get him talking and keep him talking for as long as possible.”

“And where will you guys be all this time?”

“We’ll be all over that building, just an elevator ride from you. If he cuts and runs, there’s no way he can get past us and out of the building.”

“Suppose he just takes a gun out of his desk drawer and shoots me?” Stone asked.

“Come on, he’s not going to commit murder in his own office, for Christ’s sake.”

Cable spoke up again; he held up a Mont Blanc fountain pen, the fat model. “More goodies; this little beauty fires one twenty-two-caliber hollowpoint cartridge. You’ll be able to hit somebody at arm’s length-any farther away than that, no guarantees. I’d go for the head, if I were you.” He held up another pen. “Here’s a second one; put them in your inside coat pocket, where a man would normally carry a pen.” He unscrewed the cap and revealed a pen point. “It will actually write,” he said; then he screwed the cap back on. “To fire it, you point it and press down hard on the tip of the gold clip, see?” He demonstrated without actually firing the weapon.

“I don’t see a barrel.”

“That’s concealed under the plastic tip. The bullet will blow the end off the pen when it’s fired.”

Stone took the pens and put them in his inside coat pocket.

“Now,” Rick said, “after you’ve gotten him to incriminate himself, or if anything should go wrong, just say the word ‘police’ in any sentence. If you say ‘cops’ or ‘FBI’ or ‘IRS’or anything except ‘police,’ we won’t move. But the minute we hear that word from you, we’re on our way with SWAT teams. We’ll have the elevator keys, and we can be with you in no more than a minute, a minute and a half at the outside.”

“And if I’m in trouble, what am I supposed to do for those ninety seconds?”

“That’s what the pens are for,” Cable said.

“Okay,” Stone said, “I’ll do it.”

61

Stone sat with Rick Grant and Dino in the parking garage of the Safe Harbor building. Stone took off his shoulder holster and handed it, with the pistol, to Rick. “I don’t think I’d get into Ippolito’s office wearing that, do you?” he asked, slipping back into his jacket.

“Probably not,” Rick said.

Dino, who had been uncharacteristically quiet during the pla

“What problems?”

“You’re walking into this place, and you don’t know anything about it. On top of that, all you know about this Ippolito is that he’s a very, very bad guy who has already tried to kill you once. This is not a recipe for a nice day.”

“I take your point, Dino, but I have a personal interest in this; I don’t want to sit around and wait for the feds to take forever to make a case against this guy. I want to hurt him myself.”

“You already did that-twice,” Dino pointed out.

“I cost him money, that’s all. I want to put the son of a bitch in prison forever.”

“All right,” Dino said, “if you have to do it, then do it.”

“Stone,” Rick said, “you don’t have to do this; I can call it off right now.”

“Iwant to do it,” Stone said. “Now both of you shut up and let’s get on with it.”

“Let me tell you the setup,” Rick said. “We’ve got a van parked across the street with a power company logo on it and a manhole open. The van is where all the radio equipment is. They’ll receive your signal, then amplify it and broadcast it to our hand-held radios, so everybody can hear you all the time. We’ve got two FBI SWAT teams in vans here in the garage; they’ve taken an elevator out of service, and it’s just sitting there, waiting to go straight to the top. We’ve got plainclothes people loitering near every security station in the bank, so that there’s no early warning to Ippolito’s suite that we’re on the way. We’ve got people sitting on David Sturmack and Martin Barone; we’ll bust them the minute you’re safe. Also, the feds have got search warrants for Safe Harbor and all its branches; also for Barone Financial and Albacore Fisheries, and we’ve got the bank examiners ready to roll the minute you’re out of the building.”

“Sounds good,” Stone said, then he pointed at something. “Look at that,” he said.

A Rolls-Royce convertible drove past and parked in a bay across from them; David Sturmack got out and went to the elevators.

“Maybe he’s going up to Ippolito’s office,” Rick said.

“Maybe he’s go

“Wouldn’t it be sweet if you could get both of them talking?” Rick asked.

“I’ll do the best I can,” Stone said. He got out of the car and stamped both heels on the concrete floor. “Testing, testing,” he said.

Rick held up his radio. “Loud and clear. Good luck.”

“Yeah,” Dino said. “Good luck. I wish I was going with you.”

Stone started for the elevators. He had to wait a while, since one was out of service, but eventually he got into the car and pressed the top button, the twenty-fifth floor. The elevator stopped several times, taking on and discharging passengers, but by the time he reached the twenty-fifth, he was alone. “I’m here,” he said to the wire. He got off the elevator and walked into a large, plushly furnished reception room. David Sturmack was sitting in an armchair, flipping through an issue ofFortune magazine. He didn’t look up.