the couch and began pacing the steel gray carpet. "LePage was a professional, right? He was supposed to know what he was doing, right? He was a good diver, you said. He didn't mind getting his hands dirty, if necessary. Didn't mind the rough stuff. And he knew his way around a gun.
Hell, he was supposed to be a professional mercenary. Nothing was going to go wrong last time, but it did. The guy fell on his head in a pool of water and drowned. What kind of professionalism is that?"
Fitzpatrick sighed with the weary patience of one who had suffered unjust accusations all his life and had risen above them. "He wasn't my man. I hired him for you on the recommendation of an acquaintance whose business is making such arrangements. LePage supposedly had excellent credentials.
Unfortunately, something went wrong. Maybe he proved unreliable or maybe he wasn't as good as he claimed. I'm told that cave diving is extremely hazardous."
"You said he was an expert!"
"Even experts have problems, I've learned. Cave diving is dangerous, especially for a man diving alone.
That's why he demanded so much up front, if you'll recall." Fitzpatrick was trying to be patient.
"And that money is gone. Vanished. Who knows what the hell he did with it before he took that swim?"
"Calm down and stop rehashing it. It's over, Dan. This is hardly the sort of thing one can take to the Better Business Bureau."
"I don't want any mistakes this time."
"Since you're planning to manage the next attempt yourself, I'm sure there won't be any problems,"
Fitzpatrick said soothingly. "Just be patient a few more days. When the Slaters leave, you'll have half the island to yourself. No one will pay any attention to you. You'll be able to take your time and do it right.
I've made sure you have good men this time. Real pros."
"What if the two guys you've hired aren't any more reliable than LePage?"
Fitzpatrick sighed again. "I've hired the best I could find, Dan. Guthrie and Vaden come highly recommended. They've been around and they honor contracts. There are no guarantees in this sort of thing. We're paying them well and they understand that the bulk of the commission isn't to be deposited to their accounts until the box is retrieved. This time you'll be on site to supervise. That's all we can do to guarantee their, uh, professionalism."
"We aren't paying them well, I'm paying them well." Renner paused in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows of his apartment. The smog was as thick as molasses outside his window. "It's got to work this time, Artie. It's got to work."
Fitzpatrick paused and then asked bluntly, "What if there's nothing in the box after all these years, Dan?
Have you thought of that?"
"I've thought of it."
"And?"
"And it doesn't matter. I've got to know."
"You know what your problem is, pal? You never learned that sometimes it's better not to know all the answers."
"Give me a for instance," Renner challenged.
There was another pause and then Fitzpatrick admitted, "Offhand I can't think of any."
Renner nodded. "That's because there aren't any. It's always better to know the answers. And Artie, this answer could be big. Very, very big."
"Don't forget that twenty-five years ago people had a different idea of what constituted big money,"
Fitzpatrick advised blandly.
"My mother," Daniel Renner stated, "knew what constituted big money in any decade. And she was even better at figuring the value of gemstones."
Fitzpatrick sucked in his breath. "You really believe the payoff was in emeralds?"
"My father was a certified genius, Artie. I checked into it. Michael Wyman was no fool. My mother's diary says he made the deal for stones, not cash. I believe it." Renner was aware of a strange sense of pride in the unknown man who had been his father. His old man had made a deal to end all deals. Big time. Talent definitely ran in the family. The emeralds constituted Wyman's legacy to the son he had never seen and who did not bear his name. Renner
Hell, he was supposed to be a professional mercenary. Nothing was going to go wrong last time, but it did. The guy fell on his head in a pool of water and drowned. What kind of professionalism is that?"
Fitzpatrick sighed with the weary patience of one who had suffered unjust accusations all his life and had risen above them. "He wasn't my man. I hired him for you on the recommendation of an acquaintance whose business is making such arrangements. LePage supposedly had excellent credentials.
Unfortunately, something went wrong. Maybe he proved unreliable or maybe he wasn't as good as he claimed. I'm told that cave diving is extremely hazardous."
"You said he was an expert!"
"Even experts have problems, I've learned. Cave diving is dangerous, especially for a man diving alone.
That's why he demanded so much up front, if you'll recall." Fitzpatrick was trying to be patient.
"And that money is gone. Vanished. Who knows what the hell he did with it before he took that swim?"
"Calm down and stop rehashing it. It's over, Dan. This is hardly the sort of thing one can take to the Better Business Bureau."
"I don't want any mistakes this time."
"Since you're planning to manage the next attempt yourself, I'm sure there won't be any problems,"
Fitzpatrick said soothingly. "Just be patient a few more days. When the Slaters leave, you'll have half the island to yourself. No one will pay any attention to you. You'll be able to take your time and do it right.
I've made sure you have good men this time. Real pros."
"What if the two guys you've hired aren't any more reliable than LePage?"
Fitzpatrick sighed again. "I've hired the best I could find, Dan. Guthrie and Vaden come highly recommended. They've been around and they honor contracts. There are no guarantees in this sort of thing. We're paying them well and they understand that the bulk of the commission isn't to be deposited to their accounts until the box is retrieved. This time you'll be on site to supervise. That's all we can do to guarantee their, uh, professionalism."
"We aren't paying them well, I'm paying them well." Renner paused in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows of his apartment. The smog was as thick as molasses outside his window. "It's got to work this time, Artie. It's got to work."
Fitzpatrick paused and then asked bluntly, "What if there's nothing in the box after all these years, Dan?
Have you thought of that?"
"I've thought of it."
"And?"
"And it doesn't matter. I've got to know."
"You know what your problem is, pal? You never learned that sometimes it's better not to know all the answers."
"Give me a for instance," Renner challenged.
There was another pause and then Fitzpatrick admitted, "Offhand I can't think of any."
Renner nodded. "That's because there aren't any. It's always better to know the answers. And Artie, this answer could be big. Very, very big."
"Don't forget that twenty-five years ago people had a different idea of what constituted big money,"
Fitzpatrick advised blandly.
"My mother," Daniel Renner stated, "knew what constituted big money in any decade. And she was even better at figuring the value of gemstones."
Fitzpatrick sucked in his breath. "You really believe the payoff was in emeralds?"
"My father was a certified genius, Artie. I checked into it. Michael Wyman was no fool. My mother's diary says he made the deal for stones, not cash. I believe it." Renner was aware of a strange sense of pride in the unknown man who had been his father. His old man had made a deal to end all deals. Big time. Talent definitely ran in the family. The emeralds constituted Wyman's legacy to the son he had never seen and who did not bear his name. Renner
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