jg.thepartner-第6部分

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　〃Not　hurt？　I've　been　trying　to　kill　him　for　five　hours。〃
　〃Just　do　as　I　say。　Put　him　back　together。　Drug　him。
　Start　toward　Asuncion。　Call　me　every　hour；　on　the　hour。〃
　〃Whatever。〃
　〃And　find　the　woman。〃
　Patrick's　head　was　lifted　gently　and　cool　water　was　poured　on　his　lips。　The　ropes　were　cut　from　his　wrists　and　ankles；　and　they　very　slowly　removed　the　tape　and　the　wires　and　the　electrodes。　He　jerked　and　twitched；　moaning　words　no　one　could　understand。　A　shot　of　morphine　was　pumped　into　his　well…worn　veins；　then　a　light　depressant；　and　Patrick　floated　away　again。
　At　dawn；　Osmar　was　in　the　airport　at　Ponta　Pora　waiting　for　a　flight　that　would　eventually　get　him　to　Rio　by　the　end　of　the　day。　He　had　made　contact　with　people　in　Rio。　He　had　pulled　them　out　of　bed　with　promises　of　big　bucks。　They　were　supposed　to　be　on　the　streets。
　SHE　CALLED　her　father　first；　just…after　sunrise；　a　time　of　the　day　he　always　enjoyed　on　his　small　terrace　with　his　newspaper　and　his　coffee。　He　lived　in　a　small　apartment　in　Ipanema；　three　blocks　from　the　shore；　not　far　from　his　beloved　Eva。　His　apartment　building　was　over　thirty　years　old；　making　it　one　of　the　oldest　in　the　poshest　section　of　Rio。　He　lived　alone。
　He　knew　from　her　voice　something　was　wrong。　She　assured　him　she　was　safe　and　would　remain　so；　that　a　client　in　Europe　suddenly　needed　her　for　two　weeks；　and　that　she　would　call　every　day。　She　went　on　to　explain　that　this　particular　client　was　perhaps　a　bit　shady　and　very　secretive；　and　therefore　he　might　send　representatives　to　poke　around　in　her　past。　Don't　be　alarmed。　It　was　not　unusual　in　international　trade。
　He　had　several　questions；　but　he　knew　there　would　be　no　answers。
　The　call　to　her　supervising　partner　was　much　more　difficult。　The　story　she　had　rehearsed　delivered　well；　but　there　were　huge　gaps　in　it。　A　new　client　had　called　late　yesterday；　a　referral　from　an　American　lawyer　she　went　to　school　with；　and　she　was　needed　immediately　in　Hamburg。　She　was　taking　an　early　flight。　The　client　was　in　telemunications；　with　plans　for　a　large　expansion　in　Brazil。
　The　partner　was　half…asleep。　He　asked　her　to　call　later　with　more　details。
　She　called　her　secretary　with　the　same　story；　and　asked　her　to　postpone　all　appointments　and　meetings　until　she　returned。
　From　Curitiba；　she　flew　to　Sao　Paulo；　where　she　boarded　an　Aerolineas　Argentinas　flight　to　Buenos　Aires；　nonstop。　For　the　first　time；　she　used　her　new　passport；　one　Danilo　had　helped　her　acquire　a　year　earlier。　She　had　kept　it　hidden　in　the　apartment；　along　with　two　new　credit　cards　and　eight　thousand　dollars　in　U。S。　cash。
　She　was　Leah　Pires　now；　same　age　but　different　birthday。　Danilo　didn't　know　these　details；　he　couldn't　know。
　She　certainly　felt　like　someone　else。
　There　were　many　scenarios。　He　could've　been　shot　by　bandits　making　a　routine　heist　along　a　rural　road。　Happened　occasionally　along　the　Frontier。　…He　could've　been　grabbed　by　the　shadows　from　his　past；　tortured；　killed；　buried　in　the　jungle。　Maybe　he　talked；　and　if　he　did　maybe　her　name　got　mentioned。　She　could　spend　the　rest　of　her　life　on　the　run。　At　least　he　had　warned　her　of　this　in　the　beginning。　Maybe　he　didn't　talk；　and　she　could　remain　Eva。
　Perhaps　Danilo　was　still　alive　somewhere。　He　had　promised　her　they　wouldn't　kill　him。　They　might　make　him　beg　for　death；　but　they　couldn't　afford　to　kill　him。　If　the　American　authorities　found　him　first；　it　would　be　a　matter　of　extradition。　He'd　picked　Latin　America　because　of　its　historical　reluctance　to　extradite。
　If　the　shadows　found　him　first；　they　would　beat　him　until　he　told　them　where　the　money　was。　That's　what　he　feared　most…the　coercion。
　She　tried　to　nap　in　the　Buenos　Aires　airport；　but　sleep　was　impossible。　She　called　his　home　again　in　Ponta　Pora；　then　the　cell　phone　and　the　apartment　in　Curitiba。
　In　Buenos　Aires；　she　boarded　a　flight　to　New　York；　where　she　waited　three　hours　then　caught　another　one　to　Zurich　on　SwissAir。
　THEY　LAID　HIM　across　the　rear　seat　of　the　Volkswagen　van；　and　wrapped　a　seat　belt　around　his　waist　so　he　wouldn't　bounce　off。　The　roads　ahead　were　rough。　He　was　dressed　in　his　running　shorts　only。　The　doctor　checked　the　heavy　gauze　bandages…eight　of　them　in　all。　He　had　covered　the　burns　with　ointments　and　shot　antibiotics　into　Patrick's　blood。　The　doctor　took　the　seat　in　front　of　his　patient；　and　tucked　his　little　black　bag　between　his　feet。　Patrick　had　suffered　enough。　He　would　protect　him　now。
　A　day　or　two　of　rest　and　more　painkillers；　and　Patrick　would　be　on　his　way　to　recovery。　The　burns　would　leave　small　scars；　which　would　probably　fade　with　time。
　The　doctor　turned　around　and　patted　him　on　the　shoulder。　He　was　so　pleased　they　hadn't　killed　him。　〃He's　ready；〃　he　said　to　Guy　in　the　front　seat。　A　Brazilian　driver　started　the　van　and　backed　away　from　the　cabin。
　They　stopped　every　hour；　precisely　every　sixty　minutes；　so　the　antenna　could　be　raised　and　the　cell　phone　could　work　around　the　mountains。　Guy　called　Ste…phano；　who　was　in　his　D。C。　office　with　Hamilton　Jaynes　and　a　top　official　with　the　State　Department。　The　Pentagon　was　being　consulted。
　What　the　hell　was　going　on；　Guy　wanted　to　ask。　Where　did　the　feds　e　from？
　In　the　first　six　hours　they　traveled　a　hundred　miles。　At　times；　the　roads　were　almost　impassable。　They　often　fought　with　the　phone　trying　to　get　Washington。　At　two　in　the　afternoon；　the　roads　improved　as　they　left　the　mountains。
　THE　EXTRADITION　ISSUE　was　sticky；　and　Hamilton　Jaynes　wanted　no　part　of　it。　Important　diplomatic　strings　were　pulled。　The　Director　of　the　FBI　called　the　President's　Chief　of　Staff。　The　American　Ambassador　to　Paraguay　got　involved。　Promises　and　threats　were　made。
　A　suspect　with　cash　and　resolve　can　stifle　extradition　from　Paraguay　for　years；　if　not　forever。　This　suspect　had　no　money　on　him；　and　didn't　even　know　what　country　he　was　in。
　The　Paraguayans　reluctantly　agreed　to　ignore　extradition。
　At　four；　Stephano　instructed　Guy　to　find　the　airport　at　Concepcion；　a　small　city　three　hours　by　car　from　Asuncion。　The　Brazilian　driver　cursed；　in　Portuguese；　when　told　to　turn　around　and　head　north。
　IT　WAS　DUSK　when　they　entered　Concepcion；　and　it　was　dark　when　they　finally　found　the　airport；　a　small　brick　building　next　to　a　narrow　asphalt　strip。　Guy　called　Stephano；　who　instructed　him　to　leave　Patrick　in　the　van；　with　the　keys　in　the　ignition；　and　walk　away　from　it。　Guy；　the　doctor；　the　driver；　and　another　American　eased　away　slowly　while　looking　over　their　shoulders　at　the　van。　They　found　a　spot　a　hundred　yards　away；　under　a　large　tree　where　they　couldn't　be　seen。　An　hour　passed。
　Finally；　a　King　Air　with　American　registration　landed　and　taxied　to　the　small　terminal。　Two　pilots　emerged　and　went　inside　the　terminal。　A　moment　later；　they　walked　to　the　van；　opened　the　doors；　got　inside；　and　drove　it　to　a　spot　near　their　airplane。
　Patrick　was　gently　removed　from　the　back　of　the　van　and　loaded　onto　the　turboprop。　An　Air　Force　medic　was　on　board；　and　he　immediately　took　possession　of　the　prisoner。　The　two　pilots　returned　the　van　to　its　original　spot　in　the　parking　lot。　Minutes　later；　the　plane　took　off。
　The　King　Air　refueled　in　Asuncion；　and　while　it　was　on　the　ground　there　Patrick　began　to　move。　He　was　too　weak　and　sore　and　groggy　to　sit　up。　The　medic　gave　him　cold　water　and　crackers。
　They　refueled　again　in　La　Paz　and　Lima。　In　Bogota；　they　transferred　him　to　a　small　Lear；　which　flew　at　twice　the　speed　of　the　King　Air。　It　refueled　on　Aruba；　off　the　coast　of　Venezuela；　then　flew　nonstop　to　a　U。S。　Navy　base　outside　San　Juan；　Puerto　Rico。　An　ambulance　took　him　to　the　base　hospital。
　After　almost　four　and　a　half　years；　Patrick　was　back　on　American　soil。
　
　Five
　THE　LAW　FIRM　Patrick　worked　for　before　he　died　filed　for　bankruptcy　protection　a　year　after　his　funeral。　After　his　death；　the　firm's　letterhead　properly　included　him：　Patrick　S。　Lanigan；　1954…1992。　He　was　listed　up　in　the　right…hand　corner；　just　above　the　paralegals。　Then　the　rumors　got　started　and　wouldn't　stop。　Before　long；　everyone　believed　he　had　taken　the　money　and　disappeared。　After　three　months；　no　one　on　the　Gulf　Coast　believed　he　was　dead。　His　name　came　off　the　letterhead　as　the　debts　piled　up。
　The　four　remaining　partners　were　still　together；　attached　unwillingly　at　the　hip　by　the　bondage　of　bankruptcy。　Their　names　had　been　joined　on　the　mortgages　and　the　bank　notes；　back　when　they　were　rolling　and　on　the　verge　of　serious　wealth。　They　had　been　joint　defendants　in　several　unwinnable　lawsuits；　thus　the　bankruptcy。　Since　Patrick's　departure；　they　had　tried　every　possible　way　to　divorce　one　another；　but　nothing　would　work。　Two　were　raging　alcoholics　who　drank　at　the　office　behind　locked　doors；　but　never　together。　The　other　two　were　in　recovery；　still　teetering　on　the　brink　of　sobriety。
　He　took　their　money。　Their　millions。　Money　they　had　already　spent　long　before　it　arrived；　as　only　lawyers　can　do。　Money　for　their　richly　renovated　office　building　in　downtown　Biloxi。　Money　for　new　homes；　yachts；　condos　in　the　Caribbean。　The　money　was　on　the　way；　approved；　the　papers　signed；　orders　entered；　they　could　see　it；　smell　it；　almost　touch　it　when　their　dead　partner　snatched　it　at　the　last　possible　second。
　He　was　dead。　They　buried　him　on　February　11；　1992。　They　had　consoled　the　widow　and　put　his　rotten　name　on　their　handsome　letterhead。　Yet　six　weeks　later；　he　somehow　stole　their　money。
　They　had　brawled　over　who　was　to　blame。　Charles　Bogan；　the　firm's　senior　partner　and　its　iron　hand；　had　insisted　the　money　be　wired　from　its　source　into　a　new　account　offshore；　and　this　made　sense　after　some　discussion。　It　was　ninety　million　bucks；　a　third　of　which　the　firm　would　keep；　and　it　would　be　impossible　to　hide　that　kind　of　money　in　Biloxi；　population　fifty　thousand。　Someone　at　the　bank　would　talk。　Soon　everyone　would　know。　All　four　vowed　secrecy；　even　as　they　made　plans　to　display　as　much　of　their　new　wealth　as　possible。　There　had　even　been　talk　of　a　firm　jet；　a　six…seater。
　So　Bogan　took　his　share　of　the　blame。　At　forty…nine；　he　was　the　oldest　of　the　four；　and；　at　the　moment；　the　most　stable。　He　was　also　responsible　for　hiring　Patrick　nine　years　earlier；　and　for　this　he　had　received　no　small　am