The Racketeer Page 0,123

he's a lot smarter than we are. Talk about a set of balls. He gets his dear friend indicted for the capital murder of a federal judge and he knows the entire time he can get it unraveled and walk him out. Are you kidding me? We look like a bunch of fools."

Westlake couldn't help but join in the fun. He smiled and shook his head in disbelief.

McTavey said, "He's not lying, Vic, because he doesn't have to. Lies were important earlier, during the first phase of the project, but not now. Now it's time for the truth, and Bannister knows the truth."

Westlake nodded in agreement. "So what's our plan?"

"Where's the U.S. Attorney on this? What's his name?"

"Mumphrey. He's squawking about another indictment, but it's not going to happen."

"Does he know everything?"

"Of course not. He doesn't know that we know Fawcett was selling gold in New York."

"I'm having brunch with the AG in the morning. I'll explain what we're doing and he'll get Mumphrey in line. I suggest the two of you meet with Bannister as soon as possible and tie up the loose ends. I'm really tired of Judge Fawcett, Vic, know what I mean?"

"Yes sir."
Chapter 42
I wait for another delayed flight inside the sweltering terminal of V. C. Bird International Airport, but I'm not the least bit annoyed or anxious. By now, my fourth day on Antigua, my wristwatch is in a drawer and I'm on island time. The changes are subtle, but I am slowly purging my system of the frenetic habits of modern life. My movements are slower; my thoughts, uncluttered; my goals, nonexistent. I'm living for today and casting an occasional, lazy eye at tomorrow; other than that, don't bother me, mon.

Vanessa looks like a model when she bounces down the steps of the commuter flight from San Juan. A straw hat with a wide brim, designer shades, a summer dress that is delightfully short, and the easy grace of a woman who knows she's a knockout. Ten minutes later, we're in the Beetle and I have a hand on her thigh. She informs me she has been fired from her job because of excessive time off. And insubordination. We laugh. Who cares?

We go straight to lunch at the Great Reef Club, on a bluff overlooking the ocean, with a view that is hypnotic. The crowd is well-heeled and British. We are the only black diners, though all of the staff is of our kind. The food is just okay, and we vow to search out the local joints so we can eat with real people. I guess we're technically rich, but it seems impossible to think in those terms. We don't necessarily want the money as much as we want the freedom and security. I suppose we'll grow accustomed to a better life.

After a dip in the ocean, Vanessa wants to explore Antigua. We put the top down, find a reggae station on the radio, and fly along the narrow roads like two young lovers finally escaping. Rubbing her legs and watching her smile, I find it difficult to fathom that we have made it this far. I marvel at our luck.

The summit is at the Blue Waters Hotel, on the northwestern tip of the island. I walk into the colonial-style main house, into the breezy lobby, all alone. I spot a couple of agents in bad tourist clothing as they sip sodas and try to appear innocuous. A real tourist here has an easy, casual look, while a Fed posing as a tourist looks like a misfit. I wonder how many agents, assistant attorneys, deputy directors, et cetera, managed to wedge themselves into this quick little trip to the islands, spouses included of course, courtesy of Uncle Sam. I walk through archways, past gingerbread woodwork, along picket fences to a wing where business can be done.

We meet in a small suite on the second level, with a view of the beach. I am greeted by Victor Westlake, Stanley Mumphrey, and four other men whose names I don't even try to remember. Gone are the dark suits and drab ties, replaced by golf shirts and Bermuda shorts. Though it's early August, most of the pale legs in the room have not seen the sun. The mood is light; I've never seen so many smiles in such an important gathering. These men are elite crime fighters, accustomed to hard, humorless days, and this little diversion is a dream for them.

I have one final, nagging doubt