Hostage

'I want to tell you something here, Glen, before you go any further. I trusted you to handle this, and you've fucked it up. You're letting me down here, Glen.'

'Sonny, Talley has the disks, but we can still get this settled.'

Howell's voice shook.

'It's good you've got a plan for that.'

'He wants the money that Smith was holding for us, the one-point-two. He gets his family and the money, he says he'll give us the disks and cut loose our guys.'

Salvetti said, 'Waitaminute. Are you saying that this asshole wants to be paid off? He's extorting us?'

'One-point-two is a lot of money.'

Tuzee shook his head, looking at Benza but speaking to Howell.

'It's a setup. He's baiting you to get the wife.'

'What other choice do we have?'

Benza answered, softly again, without waiting for Tuzee's or Salvetti's opinion.

'You don't have any other choice.'

Howell didn't answer for several seconds.

'I understand.'

'Hang on.'

Benza muted the phone. He stretched his back, trying to lessen the ache, but it only hurt worse. He tried to figure out which way to jump; either Talley was really trying to scam the cash or he wasn't. If Talley was setting up Howell, the next few hours would be a shit storm. Federal agents might already be pouring over the disks and petitioning for warrants. Benza knew that he should warn New York, but the thought of it made his bowels clench.

'Phil, call the airport and have the jet prepped. Just in case.'

Tuzee went to the other phone.

Benza took the speakerphone off mute. He didn't want to accept defeat yet; there might still be a way out.

'Okay, Glen, listen: I don't care about the money. If I gotta lose the cash to buy some time, so be it.'

'That's what I figured.'

'If Talley is setting you up, we're fucked anyway.'

'I'll give you fair warning.'

'Fuck you and your fair warning. Get the disks, then get rid of him. If you don't get the disks, you're gonna have a problem, Glen. You understand that?'

'Our guys will still be in custody. He's not going to cut them free until after he has his family.'

Benza glanced at Tuzee again. He didn't like the idea of killing his own employees, but he had done it before. He had to get rid of Smith, Talley, Jones and his crew, and anyone else who was vulnerable after tonight. That was the only way he would be safe.

'After Talley is dead, we'll take care of Smith and Jones and his people. That's the best way to do this. Everyone has to die.'

'I understand.'

Benza pressed the button to end the call, then went back to the couch.

Salvetti came over and sat next to him.

'This thing is goin' south, Sonny. We gotta think about that. We should warn New York. We let'm know what's comin', old man Castellano might cut us some slack.'

Benza considered that, then shook his head.

'Fuck New York. I'm not that anxious to die.'

'You sure about that, Sonny? We still got a few minutes here.'

'We lose those disks, the last thing I want is a conversation with that old man. Even prison looks good by comparison.'

Salvetti frowned.

'That old man has long arms. He'll reach us even in prison.'

Benza looked at him.

'Jesus, Sally, always the cheery word.'

Tuzee crossed his arms, and shrugged.

'What the fuck, we get those disks, we'll beat the Feds and Castellano will never know this happened. Things could still work out.'

Benza decided to pack. In case things didn't.

CHAPTER 27

Saturday, 3:37 A.M.

Santa Clarita, California

TALLEY

Talley drove without lights, swerving far onto the shoulder whenever he passed an oncoming vehicle. He pulled off the road a hundred yards before the motel and left his car in the weeds, thankful for the black sweatshirt he had pulled on earlier. He tied a roll of duct tape to a belt loop, then shoved a handful of plastic restraints into his pocket. He rubbed dirt on his face and hands to kill their shine, then drew his pistol and trotted toward the motel. The moon was up, bright like a blue pearl, giving him light.

Talley guessed that Howell would post observers to warn him if the police were approaching. He worked his way to the edge of the motel property and froze beside a spiky-leafed manzanita bush, searching the shadows at the edge of the light for some bit of movement or blackness that did not fit. Talley had approached a thousand armed houses when he was on SWAT; this time was no different. The motel was a long two-story barn surrounded by a parking lot. A smattering of cars were sleeping outside the ground-floor rooms. Two huge tractor-trailer trucks sat at the rear; a third was parked near the street. Talley worked his way around the perimeter of the grounds, moving outside the field of light, pausing every two paces to look and listen.

He spotted one observer on the east side parking lot, sitting between the wheels of an eighteen-wheeler that had been docked for the night. A few minutes later, he found the second man hunkered beneath a pepper tree across the street on the west side. Talley looked carefully for others, but only two men were posted.

DUANE MANELLI