660f course.”
“Do you think anyone could recognize you from last night?”
“I doubt it. The light was bad and I wore my cap half over my face and
tried to talk like a goon. No, I don’t think so.”
“Good. You did a fine job. Get some sleep.”
“Thank you.” The field accountant walked out the door, closing it behind
him.
Benjamin Reynolds looked at the photographs on his desk. “The Scarlatti
padrone, Glover.”
“Turn it back to Treasury. You’ve got all you need.”
“You’re not thinking. . . . We don’t have a damned thing unless you want to
consign Canfield to his grave.
. . And even assuming that, what is there? Scarlett ~loesn’t write out
checks. . . . He ‘was observed in the company of . . .’ He ‘was heard to
give an order . . .’ To whom? On whose testimony? A minor government em-
ployee against the word of the celebrated war hero? The son of Searlatti?
. . . No, all we’ve got is a threat. . . . And perhaps that’s enough.”
“Who’s going to threaten?”
Benjamin Reynolds leaned back in his chair and pressed the tips of his
fingers against one another. “I am…. I’m going to talk with Elizabeth
Scarlatti…. I want to know why.,,
75
CHAPTER 7
Ulster Stewart Scarlett got out of the taxi at the corner of Fifth Avenue
and Fifty-fourth Street and walked the short distance to his brownstone
house. He ran up the steps to the heavy front door and let himself in. He
slammed the door shut and stood for a moment in the huge foyer, stamping his
feet against the February cold. He threw his coat into a hallway chair, then
walked through a pair of French doors into a spacious living room and turned
on a table lamp. . . . it was only four in the afternoon but already growing
dark.
He crossed from the table to the fireplace and noted with satisfaction that
the servants had piled the logs and the kindling properly. He lit the fire
and watched the flames leap to all corners of the fireplace. He gripped the
mantel and leaned toward the warmth of the blaze. His eyes were on the
level of his Silver Star citation, framed in gold in the center of the wan.
He made a mental note to complete the display above the fireplace. The time
would soon be here when that display should be in evidence.
A reminder to everyone who entered this house.
It was a momentary diversion. His thoughts returned to the source of Ins
anger. His fury.
Stupid, God damn thick-headed scuml
Bilgel Garbagel
Four crewmen from the Genoa-Stella killed. Thi captain’s body found in an
abandoned waterfront barge.
They could have lived with that. They could have lived with the crew’s
rebellion. The docks were violent.
76
But not with the corpse of La Tona hooked to a cross post on the surface of
the water fifty yards from the ship Tbe freighter bringing in the
contraban&
La Tonal
Who had killed him? Not the slow-speaking, cloddish customs guard…
Christ, nol … La Tons would have eaten his balls off and spat them out
laughingl La Tona was a sneak kill&. The worst kind of homicidal brute.
There’d be a smelL A bad smell. No graft could stop iL Five murders on,
pier thirty-seven during a single night shift.
And with La Tons it would be traced to Vitone. Little Don Vitone Genovese.
Dir-ty little guinea bastard. thought Scarlett.
Well, It was time for him to get ouL
He had what he wanted. More than he needed. Strasser would be amazed.
They’d all be amazed.
Ulster Scarlett lit a cigarette and walked to a smWL thin door to the left
of the fireplace. He took out a key, unlocked the door, and walked In.
The room. like the door to it, was small. It had once been a walk-in wine
pantry; now it was a miniature office with a desk, a chair, and two heavy
steel file cabinets. On each file drawer was a wide circular combmation
lock.
Scarlett turned on the desk lamp and went to thq first cabinet. He crouched
down to the bottom file, manipulated the combination numbers, and pulled
out the drawer. He reached in and withdrew an extremely thick leatherbound
notebook and placed it on the desk. He sat down and opened it.
It was his master work, the product of five years of meticulous
scholarship.
He scanned the pages-delicately, precisely inserted Into the rings with
cloth circlets around each hole, Each entry was lettered clearly. After
every name was a brief description, where available, and a briefer
biographyposition, finances, family, future,-when the candidate warranted
it.
The pages were titled and separated by clues and states. Index tabs of
different colors descended from the top of the notebook to the bottom.
A masterpiecel
The record of every individual-~portant and unim-
77
Portant-who had benefited in any way from the operations of the Scarlatti
organization. From congressmen taking outright bribes from his subordinates
to corporation heads “investing” in wildcat, highly illegal speculations
proffered-again never by Ulster Stewart Scarlettthrough his hired hands. All
he had supplied was the capital. The honey. And the bees had flocked to id
Politicians, bankers, lawyers. doctors. architects. writers, gangsters,
oflice clerks, police, customs inspectors, firemen, bookmakers . . . the
list Of professions and oocupations was endless.
The Volstead Act was the spine of the corruption, but there were other
enterprises-all profitable.
Prostitution, abortion, oil, gold, political campaigns and patronage, the
stock market, speakeasies, loansharking … this list, too, was endless.
The money-hungry little people could never walk away from their greed. it
was the ultimate proof of his the*. riest
The money-grasping scuml
Everything documented. Everyone identified.
Nothing left to speculation.
The leather-bound notebook contained 4,263 names. in eighty-one cities and
twenty-four states. . . . Twelve senators, ninety-eight congressmen, and
three men in Coolidge’s cabineL
A directory of malfeasance.
Ulster Stewart picked up the desk phone and dialed a number.
Put Vitone on. Never mind who’s callingl I wouldnot have this number if he
didift want me to have itilt
Scarlett crushed out his cigarette.,He drew unconnected lines on a scratch
pad while waiting for Genovese. He smiled when he saw that the lines
converged-like knives -into a center spot. No, not like knives. Like bolts
of lightning.
-vitone? ies me. . . . rm aware of that. . . . There’s not very much we can
do, is there? . . – If yo&re questioned, you’ve got a story. You were in
Westchester. You don,t know where the bell La Tona was …. Just keep me
outi Understand? Don’t be a smart-ass . . . . I’ve got a proposition for
you. You’re going to like it. It makes everythins worth while for you. lirs
all yours. Ev-
7-8
erythingl Make whatever deals you like. rm out.”
There was silence from the other end of the line. Ulster Scarlett drew the
figure of a Christmas tree on the scratch pad.
“No hitches, no catches. IVs yourst I don’t want a thing. The
organization’s all yours…. No, I don’t know anythingl I just want out If
you’re not interested, I can go elsewhere—say the Bronx or even out to
Detroit. I’m not asking for a nickel. . . . Only this. Only one thing. You
never saw me. You never met me. You don’t know I existl Tbat’s the price.”
Don Vitone Genovese began chattering in Italian while Scarlett held the
receiver several inches from his ear. The only word Scarlett really
understood was the repeated, “Grazie, grazie, grazie.”
He hung up the receiver and closed the leather-bound notebook. He sat for
a moment and then opened the top drawer in the center of the desk. He took
out the last letter he had received from Gregor Strasser. He reread it for
the twentieth time. Or was it the hundred and twentieth?
“A fantastic plan . . . a bold planthe Marquis
Jacques Louis Bertholde … London … by mid-April . .
Was the time really here? At lastl
If it was, Heinrich Kroeger had to have his own plan for Ulster Scarlett.
It wasn’t so much bold as it was respectable. Immensely, thoroughly
respectable. So proper, in fact, that Ulster Stewart Scarlett burst out
laughing.
The scion of Scarlatti-the charming, handsome graduate of the cotillions,
the hero of the Meuse-Argonne, New York society’s most eligible
bachelor-was going to be married.
79
CHAPTER 8
“You presume, Mr. Reynoldsl” Elizabeth Scarlatti was seethm& Her vehemence
was directed at the old man who stood calmly in front of her, peering over
his glasses. “I & Dot countenance presumptuous people and I will not abide
fiarsl”
-rm sorry. I really am.”
“YOU got this appointment under false pretense&. Senator Brownlee told me
you represented the Land Acquisition Agency and your business concerned the
transactions between Scarlatti and the Department of the Intexior.”