Blue Gold (NUMA Files 2)

“I’m in L.A.,” he said. “I’ve got someone who needs to be out of circulation. Can you help? No questions now, but I promise to fill you in as soon as I can.”

“Does this happen to have anything to do with the business you were involved in down here?”

“That and more. Sorry to be so mysterious. Can you help?”

Pause. Then Gomez’s voice came back, all business. “We maintain a safe house in Inglewood. There’s a caretaker there. I’ll call and let him know to expect a package.” He gave Zavala directions to the safe house.

“Thanks. Talk to you later,” Joe said.

“I hope so,” Gomez replied.

The phone rang as soon as he put it down. He rattled off the address Gomez had given him and told Cohen to take a taxi there. “Leave your car,” he cautioned. “It might have a transmitter on it.”

“Of course. I never thought of anything like that. Oh, jeez. I knew this thing was big. Poor Sandy and the others. I feel responsible for them.”

“There was nothing else you could have done, Randy. You didn’t know you were playing well out of your league.”

“What the hell is going on?”

“You had it right the first time we talked,” Zavala said. “Blue gold.”

27

THE BLACK RUBBER BALL was only a meteor blur, but Sandecker had anticipated the bounce, and his light wooden racket flicked out like a serpent’s tongue. The quick backhand sent the ball speeding with a sharp thwack against the right wall. LeGrand lunged, but he had misjudged the spin and his racket swiped clumsily at thin air.

“That’s the game, I believe,” said Sandecker, deftly scooping up the bouncing ball. Sandecker was a fitness and nutrition fanatic, and his strict regimen of jogging and weightlifting gave him a competitive edge over men much younger and bigger. He stood with legs wide apart, the racket resting easily in the crook of his arm. Not one drop of perspiration beaded his forehead. Nor was a single red hair out of place on his head or the precisely trimmed fiery red Van Dyke beard.

By contrast, LeGrand dripped with sweat. As he removed his eye protectors and toweled his face dry he remembered why he had stopped playing with Sandecker. The CIA director had the height and muscle advantage over Sandecker, who stood a few inches over five feet, but as he learned each time he stepped onto the court with Sandecker, squash was a game of strategy, not power. Under normal circumstances he would have put the admiral off when he called the day after the incident in New York State.

“I’ve reserved a court at the club,” Sandecker said cheerfully. “How’d you like to bat the little black ball around for a bit?”

Despite the genial tone there was no doubt in LeGrand’s mind that this was a command performance. LeGrand canceled his morning appointments and stopped at the Watergate complex to pick up his gear. Sandecker was waiting at the squash club. He was wearing a designer sweatsuit of navy blue with gold piping. But even in his casual outfit it took little imagination to picture Sandecker pacing the deck of a man-o’-war in a bygone day, barking commands to trim sail or unleash a broadside against a Barbary pirate. He ran NUMA the same way, keeping one eye on the changes in the wind and the other on his adversaries. Like any good commander he took a keen interest in his crew’s welfare.

When he learned Austin had been put in harm’s way by a cockeyed intelligence scheme he erupted in an explosion that would have put Krakatoa to shame. The CIA’s involvement added to the violence of his reaction. He was fond of LeGrand, but in Sandecker’s uncompromising view the Company was pampered and overfunded.

While he relished the chance to put the CIA director in the hot seat, he saw it as more than an opportunity to vent his spleen. Sandecker wasn’t above political chicanery. He was quite adept at it, in fact. One of his more valuable talents was the ability to stay ahead of his anger and use it to get his way. Targets of his rage had no idea that behind his laser-hot fury he was often serene, even joyful. His ability served him well. Presidents of both parties deferred to him. Senators and congressmen went out of their way to cultivate his acquaintance. Cabinet members instructed their staff to put through his phone calls without question.

LeGrand had readily accepted the admiral’s invitation for a match because he was drenched with guilt over the incident in New York and welcomed the opportunity to make amends, even if it me

ant being humiliated on the squash court. To his surprise, Sandecker had greeted him with a smile and hadn’t mentioned the incident throughout their play. He even offered to buy the first round at the juice bar.

“Thanks for the match on such short notice,” Sandecker said with his famous alligator smile.

LeGrand sipped his papaya juice and shook his head. “One of these days maybe I’ll beat you.”

“Your backhand needs some work first,” Sandecker offered. “By the way, while I have your ear, I’d like to thank you for averting a potential tragedy involving my man Austin.”

This might not be as bad as he expected, LeGrand thought.

Sandecker maintained his disconcerting smile. “Pity you didn’t get someone to respond more quickly,” he said. “You might have been able to save your asset.” He put heavy emphasis on the first syllable of the last word.

LeGrand groaned inwardly. It was obvious Sandecker was going to worry this one like a puppy with a bone.

Ignoring the play on words, the director said, “I’m sorry about that regrettable episode. The full extent of this, er, problem wasn’t apparent at first. It was a very complex situation.”

“So I hear,” Sandecker said lightly. “Tell you what I’m going to do, Erwin. I will forget for the time being that a screwball scheme hatched by the OSS and carried out by the CIA went awry, almost killing the head of the NUMA Special Assignments Team and an innocent bystander and placing the Speaker of the House in jeopardy.”

“You’re very gracious, James,” LeGrand said.