Without Honor Read Free Page B

agency through Justice Department channels.
    â€œI resent being toyed with like this, Lawrence,” he cried at the beginning. “You of all people surely understand that to be a policeman … an effective policeman … one needs adequate information. No source must be sacred.”

    It had been a rather constant theme of his, almost from the first, when he began to realize that there was more to this business than met the eye. (Actually from the moment the woman’s photographs had revealed the type of weapons the hijackers carried.)
    A Mahler symphony was playing softly on the stereo in the large, pleasant living room. Trotter had fixed them each a drink, and they sat by the fireplace. It was nearing Thanksgiving and was quite chilly. Danielle had thrown his overcoat carelessly over the back of a chair and had taken up a position on a corner of the couch. His actions and manner were irritating just then.
    â€œThere’s nothing we can do, publicly, that would help us,” Danielle began. His voice was soft. Hoarse. He sounded worn out. “In fact there are certain … shall we say, delicate matters on the burner now.”
    â€œChrist, their shooters were signatures chiseled in stone on the cave walls for the entire world to see,” Trotter shouted. His blood pressure was rising. He could feel it. His face was flushed. “Someone is bound to make the connection.”
    â€œThat is certainly possible,” Danielle said.
    â€œThen what do you expect of me?” Trotter said. Much later he recalled that at that moment he felt as if he were rushing headlong down a narrow, darkly blind alley. At the far end was danger. He knew it. Could feel it. Yet he could not stop himself.
    â€œWe don’t expect anything more of you than what you’ve already done, John. Just your very best effort. It is appreciated.”
    Trotter rolled his eyes. He could not believe his old friend had said that. “Save that for the virgins. Just save it for the kids.”

    Danielle, who at fifty-five was ten years Trotter’s senior, sat forward, his drink cradled in his small, delicate hands. “The agency is out of this investigation as of now.”
    â€œI’m left holding the bag. Is that what you’ve come all the way out here to tell me?”
    â€œLet this business run its natural course—”
    â€œUnnatural, if you ask me,” Trotter interrupted.
    â€œThe hijackers are dead, the maintenance man who supplied the weapons is gone, and the two fine Americans killed in the heat of the moment have been buried. Passions were high. Havana has apologized. Leave it at that.”
    â€œState is pressing.”
    â€œLet them press, John. It will pass.”
    â€œHerbert Danson was by today, actually came by my office, sat me down like a schoolchild, and gave me my ABCs.” It still rankled. “The New York Times is pressing them for more information. It somehow leaked that there were photographs.”
    Apparently unperturbed by this news, Danielle nodded. “I know,” he said. “Donald asked me to stop by tonight to have a little chat with you.”
    This was the payoff then, Trotter thought. They were bloody well trying to buy him off. Christ. “Then have your chat and get the hell out of here.”
    Danielle looked genuinely pained.
    â€œI have an investigation petering out here with holes in it large enough for a Mack truck. Meanwhile, you sit over there in your palace with all the answers. At least point me in the right direction.”
    Danielle nodded sadly, finished his drink, and set the glass down.
    â€œAnother?” Trotter asked, but Danielle shook his head. He seemed to be weighing his words with care.

    â€œNorma will have dinner waiting.” He stood up and got his overcoat.
    Trotter got to his feet. He felt very frustrated, yet here was an old friend whom he had wounded. “Listen, Larry, I’m sorry.”
    Danielle