The First Billion

"Sorry, Brucie, no children allowed in the bar. We'll be sure to send up some chocolate milk to your room."

Gavallan heard some chuckles and knew he'd won back his team's confidence.

A firm tap on the leg directed his attention to Cate. "What's going on?" she demanded. "What did Bruce say? Are the police looking for you? You didn't mean what you said about Mercury. Go on, now. Tell them what you told me. About Boris and the girl. Tell them who killed Ray."

"Shh," he said to Cate. "Give me a second." Then to McNamee: "Tell you what. You want to talk, get me one of your bosses on the phone. A Mr. Howell Dodson. He runs your task force on Russian organized crime. Name ring a bell? Find him and we can talk till we're blue in the face."

McNamee hesitated, and Gavallan could hear some discussion in the background. After ten seconds, the agent returned. "If you'll give me a minute, I'll patch him in."

"Tell him to call this number." Gavallan rattled off Cate's mobile, hoping he was making it more difficult for anyone to track him down, then hung up. In less time than it took for Cate to fire up her journalist's interrogation, her phone chirped. Gavallan slid it from her bag. "Mr. Dodson, I presume."

"Hello, Mr. Gavallan," replied a smoky Southern voice. "I'm sorry to disturb your vacation. Or is it a working holiday like our other famous Texan is so fond of taking?"

"Neither, actually," replied Gavallan flatly. "I came here to speak with Ray Luca. When I learned he was the Private Eye-PO, I wanted to talk to him face-to-face and ask him why he was so intent on discrediting one of our upcoming IPOs."

"That would be Mercury Broadband, would it not?"

"That's correct." Gavallan added, "I take it you're acquainted with Mr. Kirov."

"Not as well as I'd like to be. Perhaps you could introduce us someday."

"I would enjoy meeting you, though, Mr. Gavallan. A little sit-down, just the two of us. How 'bout in an hour's time at your hotel? You're staying at the Ritz-Carlton, I believe. I'm sure you're not too far away."

About a hundred yards if you really want to know, answered Gavallan silently.

Cate had turned the Explorer down a narrow lane leading to the hotel. A pink pastel palace beckoned at the end of a manicured drive. Emerald lawns as smooth as velvet rolled from either side of the road. An imposing portico welcomed guests. Two police cars were parked beneath it, their front doors open. A few uniformed officers mingled with some stiff types whose short haircuts and inviolate posture identified them as members of the law enforcement community.

"Keep driving," Gavallan said coolly, one hand covering the phone. "We're a couple of tourists having a look around. Whatever you do, don't stop. And if they come after us, floor it."

"You're scaring me. What did Dodson say?"

"Just keep driving."

Gavallan froze in his seat, eyes to the fore, phone at his ear. But Cate handled herself as if born to a life of crime. Passing the quartet of police officers, she waved a hand and offered a cool smile, circling the portico at the same steady speed. The officers looked from Cate to Jett to Cate again, somber in their khaki rayon uniforms and Smokey the Bear hats. Tourists didn't rate a second glance, and in a moment the four were talking amongst themselves. There was a fifth man nearby, standing at once among and apart from the police officers. He was a tall, professorial man with neat brown hair and a pair of half-moon bifocals. He was wearing Clarence Darrow's seersucker suit and suede bucks, and he held a phone to his ear.

Howell Dodson. Had to be.

A moment later, Cate and Gavallan were through. Gavallan didn't dare look behind him for fear of what he might see. "We clear?" he asked.

Cate's eyes jumped to the rearview mirror and back, and he could see now that her smile was superglued to her teeth and that she was frightened. "We're clear," she said.

"Mr. Gavallan, you still with me?" Dodson was saying.

"I'll take a rain check, if you don't mind," said Gavallan. "For now, why don't you just call off the hounds. Sending your storm troopers into my offices really is a little much."

"I'd say it made the appropriate point. Come now, Mr. Gavallan, let's sit down like a couple of good ole boys and have ourselves a little chat. I'm sure that in no time, we'll have everything all cleared up."

Gavallan chewed on the idea. Dodson was a charming son of a bitch who sounded like he'd be at home as Robert E. Lee's aide-de-camp. The question remained, however, as to whether he would listen to good sense. Gavallan rejected the idea as too risky. Once inside a cell, there would be no way out until Monday morning. Grafton Byrnes could not wait that long.

"Let's just say I know more than I can divulge at the moment," he said. "We can call it a gentlemen's agreement. I'll tell you just as soon as I'm able. Tuesday latest."

Dodson's voice tightened. "You can do better than that. I've got ten bodies that deserve an answer, Mr. Gavallan. Now. Not Tuesday."