The Consignment Read Online Free PDF Page B

possible.
    “Not that I’ve breathed a word about you to them,” he said. “But that’s just me. Christ knows what Dimitri’s been telling them.” Channon rose from his chair, agitated by the thought of Dimitri in private session with the IRS. “There’s a part two to the story,” he said, facing me over his desk. “Dimitri cut a deal with the IRS. They were coming down on him so hard, he knew the only way he might crawl out from under was to offer them something real.” What Dimitri had offered them, Channon explained, was a chance to bring the hammer down on the arms companies actually giving and receiving the bribes. “Dimitri got the IRS to cut him some slack till the next fair. He told them that’s where he could do the spadework, set some bad guys up for the IRS to knock over later.”
    “The next fair,” I said.
    “Right.” Channon made a face. “Springfield.”
    A new light suddenly illuminated Dimitri’s death. That morning, and for the previous few weeks, Dimitri hadn’t been working solely on Hawkeye.
    “He wasn’t working for our operation, period,” Channon corrected me sternly when I ventured the remark. “Once the IRS showed me what they had on Dimitri, I suspended him. I made it absolutely clear that the only reports I wanted from him were the duplicates of what he was giving the IRS. As far as I was concerned Blue Hawk had crashed and burned. I hit the switch and shut him down.”
    “Then why was he so concerned about Trevanian’s order?”
    “Jack Trevanian?”
    I nodded, handing the list across the desk. Channon’s head drew back, and by the time he was done reading, he was regarding the list with a narrow, sideways look. He asked me what I made of it.
    “Best guess? Dimitri had it tagged as a breaker.” A breaker, I meant, of international sanctions or Customs regulations, the kind of order we were working undercover to detect.
    “Did he say that?”
    “No.”
    Channon studied the list. “If this turned out to be a breaker,” he decided, “and Dimitri had it covered, maybe he thought that might save him. One last big trophy for the wall. I’d have to be grateful.” He grunted and dropped the list on his desk. He shook his head at this further evidence of Dimitri’s mendacity. But his eyes stayed on the list.
    “I’ll call Rita,” I said. Rita Durranti, our contact at Customs. “Let her know we’ve got one to watch.”
    “No you won’t.” Channon looked up. “I’m shutting Hawkeye down.”
    “You can’t.” When he gave me a look, I indicated the list. “It’s a breaker. We can’t just walk away from it.”
    He rounded on me. “You think I’ve got a choice, Ned? You think I’ve got a whole truckload of generals down in Washington cheering for me right now? Let me tell you, that is not the fucking case. What I’ve got is every enemy I ever made in the Pentagon shaking the goddamn ladder, trying to bring me down. I’ve got lieutenants—lieutenants, for chrissake—cracking jokes about me. Our man from the IRS, that’s what they’re calling me. And can you imagine how it’s gonna play when they find out what’s happened to Spandos? Holy shit.” He turned his head, then pointed. “I stayed loyal to you two.”
    I said that I knew that. I told him I appreciated it.
    “Do you, Ned? Do you know how many scars I’ve got from the scraps I’ve had keeping you two in the game? And then this.” His hand sliced upward. “One of you’s been stiffing me all along, playing me like some rube from the sticks. I’m in there pitching for you while you’re giving me the shaft.”
    “That was Dimitri.”
    “Yeah,” Channon agreed bitterly. “That was Dimitri.”
    I gave it a moment, then I placed a finger on Trevanian’s list. “This is a breaker.”
    Channon shook his head a couple of times, then puffed out his cheeks and blew. Finally he picked up Trevanian’s list and considered it. Dimitri’s insistence that the prospective order was his; the