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"Don't give me the vengeance is mine martyr routine," Pitt said abruptly. "Besides, you still don't know who was directly responsible ."
"Min Koryo Bougainville," said Casio, spitting out the name.
"Who else could it be?"
"The old girl might have given the orders," said Pitt, "but she didn't dirty her hands. It's no secret she's been in a wheelchair for ten years. No interviews or pictures of her have been published since Nixon was President. For all we know, Min Koryo Bougainville is a senile, bedrinden vegetable. Hell, she may even be dead.
No way she scattered bodies over the seascape alone."
"You're talking a corporate hit squad."
"Can you think of a more efficient way to eliminate the competition?"
"Now you're insinuating she's a member of the Mafia," grunted Casio.
"The Mafia only kill informers and each other. The evil beauty of Min Koryo's setup is that by murdering crews in wholesale lots and stealing vessels from other shipping lines, she built her assets with almost no overhead. And to do it she has to have someone organize and orchestrate the crimes. Don't let your hate blind you to hard-core reality, Sal. You haven't got the resources to take on Bougainville alone."
"And you do?"
"Takes two to start an army."
There was another silence, and Pitt thought the connection might have been broken.
"You still there, Sal?"
"I'm here," Casio finally said in a thoughtful voice. "What do you want me to do?"
"Fly to New York and pay a visit to Bougainville Maritime."
"You mean toss their office?"
I thought the term was 'breaking and entering."' "A cop and a judge use different dictionaries."
"Just employ your talents to see what you can find of interest that doesn't show up in the computers."
"I'll bug the place while I'm at it."
"You're the expert," said Pitt. "Our advantage is that you'll be coming from a direction they won't suspect. Me, I've already been marked."
:,Marked?" asked Casio. "How?"
"They tried to kill me."
"Christi' muttered Casio. "How?"
"Car bomb."
"The bastards!" he rasped, "I'll leave for New York this afternoon."
Pitt pushed the telephone across the bar and returned to his booth. He felt better after talking to Casio, and he finished the sandwich. He was contemplating his fourth Manhattan when Giordino walked up to the table.
"A private party?" he asked.
"No," Pitt said. "A hate-the-world, feel-sorry-for-yourself, downin-the-dumps party."
"I'll join it anyway," Giordino said, slining into the booth.
"The admiral's concerned about you."
