Fletch's Fortune Part 38

Englehardt said, "Mister Fletcher, you're suffering from a misapprehension."

"I'm sure it's nothing aspirin and a good night's sleep can't fix. What about those slacks, Don. Thanks."

"Those men. In Italy. Fabens and Eggers...."

"Eggers, Gordon and Fabens, Richard," helped Fletch.

"They aren't ours."

"No?"

"No."

Through his horn-rimmed gla.s.ses, Englehardt's eyes were as solemn as a hoot owl's.

Fletch said, "Gee. Not ours."

"They are not members of the Central Intelligence Agency. They don't work for any American agency. They are not citizens of the United States."

"Anything in that laundry bag, Don?"

"Mister Fletcher, you're not listening."

"Eggers, Gordon and Fabens, Richard are baddies," said Fletch. "I'll bet They're from the other side of the Steel Shade."

Englehardt said, "Which is why Mister Gibbs and I came down here to Hendricks. Foreign agents had set you up to provide them with information to blackmail the American press."

Fletch said, "Gee."

Englehardt said, "I don't see how you could think the Central Intelligence Agency could ever be involved in such an operation."

"I checked," said Fletch. "I asked you."

"We never said we were involved," Englehardt said. "I said you had better go along with the operation. And then Gibbs and I came down here to figure it out."

"And did you figure it out?" Fletch asked.

"We've been working very hard," Englehardt said.

Fletch said, "Yeah."

He took off his s.h.i.+rt and stuffed it into the laundry bag.

After riding and walking around the countryside he needed a shower, but he didn't have time.

Englehardt was saying, "I don't see how anyone could think the C.I.A. would be involved in such an operation...."

In the bathroom, Fletch sprayed himself with underarm deodorant.

Don Gibbs said, "Fletch, did you know those guys weren't from the C.I. A.?"

"I had an inkling."

"You did?"

"I inkled."

"How?"

"Fabens' cigar. It really stank. Had to be Rumanian, Albanian, Bulgarian. Phew! It stank. I mentioned it to him. American clothes. American accent. People get really stuck with their smoking habits." Fletch lifted clean s.h.i.+rts from the bureau drawer to his suitcase. "Then, when the Internal Revenue Service wallah paid me a visit, I figured there were either crossed wires, or no wires at all. There was no good reason for putting that kind of pressure on me at that moment."

He was putting on a clean s.h.i.+rt.

Sternly, Englehardt said, "If you knew-or suspected-Eggers and Fabens weren't from the C.I.A., then why did you give them the tapes?"

"Oh, I didn't," Fletch said.

"You said They're gone."

"The tapes? They are gone."

"You didn't give them to Eggers and Fabens?" Gibbs asked.

"You think I'm crazy?"

"Fletcher," Englehardt said, "we want Eggers and Fabens, and we want those tapes."

"Eggers and Fabens you can have." Fletch took their telegram from the drawer of his bedside table and handed it to Englehardt. "Says here you can pick 'em up tonight at the BOAC counter in Was.h.i.+ngton, any time between seven-thirty and nine. Very convenient for you."

Fletch grabbed a necktie he had already put in one suitcase. "Also indicates, if you read carefully, that I have not given them the tapes."

Englehardt was holding the telegram, but looking at Fletch.

"Fletcher, where are the tapes?"

"I mailed them. Yesterday."

"To yourself?"

"No."

"To whom did you mail them?"

Fletch checked his suitcases. He had already thrown in his shaving gear.

"I guess that's everything," he said.

"Fletcher," Englehardt said, "you're going to give us those tapes."

"I thought you said the C.I.A. wouldn't be involved in a thing like this."

"As long as the tapes exist....," Gibbs said.

"The tapes are evidence of information gathered by a foreign power," Englehardt announced.

"Bushwa," said Fletch.

He closed his suitcases.

"Fletcher, do I have to remind you how you were forced to do this job in the first place? Exporting money illegally from the United States? Not being able to state the source of that money? Not filing federal tax returns?"

"Are you blackmailing me?"

"It will be my duty," Englehardt said, "to turn this information over to the proper domestic authorities."

"You know," Gibbs giggled, "we didn't know any of that about you-until you told us."

"You're blackmailing me," Fletch said.

Gibbs was standing behind him and Englehardt was standing near the door.

"There's a tape on the machine," Fletch said. "Actually, it's a copy of a tape. The original was mailed out with the others."

Englehardt looked at the tape on the machine.

"Press the PLAY b.u.t.ton," Fletch said.

Englehardt hesitated a moment, apparently wondering what pressing the PLAY b.u.t.ton might do to him, then bravely stepped to the machine and pressed the b.u.t.ton.

The volume was loud.

They heard Gibbs' voice?

"Snow, beautiful snow! Who'd ever expect snow in Virginia this time of year?... Who'd ever think my dear old department headie, Bobby Englehardt, would travel through the South with snow in his attache case? Good thing it didn't melt!

"... Well, I've got a surprise for you, too, dear old department headie. 'What's that?' you ask with one voice. Well! I've got a surprise for you! 'Member those two sweet little things in Billy-Bobby's boo-boo-bar lounge? 'Sweet little things,' you say together. Well, sir, I had the p.i.s.s-pa-cacity to invite them up! To our glorious journalists' suite. This very night! This very hour! This very minute! In fact, for twenty minutes ago."

(Englehardt's voice): "You did?"

(Gibbs' voice): "I did. Where the h.e.l.l are they? Got to live like journalists, right? Wild, wild, wicked women. Live it up!"

(Englehardt's voice): "I invited someone, too."

(Gibbs' voice): "You did? We gonna have four broads' Four naked, writhing girls? All in the same room?"

(Englehardt's voice): "The lifeguard."

Englehardt turned off the marvelous machine.

"The tape continues," Fletch said. "All through what I'm sure your superiors will provincially refer to as your drunken s.e.x orgy. Lots more references to cocaine. Et cetera. 'Switch!'" he quoted Gibbs, but with a drawl. "'Switch!'"

Englehardt's shoulders had lowered, like those of a bull about to charge.

His fists were clenched.

The skin around his eyes was a dark red.

"'Live like journalists,?' " Fletch quoted. "'Disgusting.' "

Gibbs was a.s.similating more slowly. Or he was in a complete state of shock.

His face had gone perfectly white, his jaw slack. Standing, he was staring at the floor about two meters in front of him.

"Of course, this isn't the original tape," Fletch said. "But the original isn't much better. Same cast of characters, same dialogue...."

Gibbs said, "You bugged our room! G.o.dd.a.m.n it, Fletcher, you bugged our room!"

"Of course. You think I'm stupid?"

Englehardt's shoulders had slumped somewhat, his fists loosened.

"What are you going to do?" he asked.

"Blackmail you," Fletch answered. "Of course."

He picked up his two suitcases.

"Six weeks from today, I want to receive official, formal notification that all charges against me have been dropped," Fletch said. "Into the Potomac. If not, the careers of Robert Englehardt and Donald Gibbs will be over."

"We can't do that," said Englehardt "That's Abuse of Agency!" said Gibbs.

Fletch said, "You'll find a way."

The airport limousine had gone, so Fletch had had to send for a taxi.

He was waiting in front of the hotel with his suitcases.

Don Gibbs came through the gla.s.s door of the hotel, toward him, still looking extremely white.

"Fletcher." His voice was low.

"Yeah?"

The taxi was arriving.

"If you had any suspicion at all Eggers and Fabens weren't from the C.I.A., why did you go through with this job?"

"Three reasons."