It was late morning on a sunny Sunday in the Mohave. The relative humidity was in the single digits and the cloudless sky the color of blueberries. The nights were growing cold, and the days warmed up quickly. Rain was rare in the winter months, but the wind picked up considerably when storms moved through to the north. First from the southwest as the storms approached, then it would come around the compass 180° and blow from the northeast as the storms passed, an icy cold wind that was born in the Utah high country, and it often persisted for days.
…But the weather conditions were warm and tranquil on December 7, 1941. A calm before the storm of sorts, because halfway across the Pacific Ocean the events about to transpire would change world history forever.
Melvin was washing the Buick with a bucket and sponge when Kaylee walked out on the front porch. He could tell from the worried expression on her face that something terrible had happened. “Melvin, you need to come inside,” she called out to him.
“What is it, Kaylee? What’s wrong?”
“The Japanese are bombing Hawaii.”
Melvin hurried inside to find Kaylee sitting close to the radio with the volume turned up. The announcer was repeating a summary of the events taking place on Oahu. It was a surprise attack on the Pearl Harbor naval base by hundreds of Japanese fighters. Several battleships and destroyers had sustained extreme damage, a few of them were sunk. Three airfields on the island had been hit as well. The announcer went on to say it was lucky that the three Pacific fleet aircraft carriers, the Enterprise, Saratoga, and Lexington, were all out to sea when the sneak attack commenced.
Melvin stood within inches of the cathedral shaped Zenith table radio, listening intently to the big mono speaker as the announcer related the astonishing events taking place in Hawaii. Sitting on the sofa, Kaylee reached for his hand, and he acquiesced, gazing into her wide eyes, speechless.
The telephone rang, startling both. Kaylee rose out of her seat to pick up the handset and Melvin turned the volume down on the radio. “Hello.”
“Top of the morning to you, my dear.” It was Javernick.
“Hi, Claude.” She was relieved to hear his friendly voice.
“Have you heard the news?”
“Yes, Melvin and I are listening to the radio.”
“Would you put him on, please?”
She gave Melvin the handset.
“Hello, Claude.”
“Good morning, Mel.”
“What a shock. Kaylee called me inside to listen to the report a few minutes ago.”
“To be honest, I’m hardly surprised. It was inevitable and it means we’re at war with the Nazis now as well.”
“What do you suppose will happen next?”
“A long and ugly fight. FDR will make a formal declaration of war within a few hours I predict. We’ll be fighting the Japanese to the west and the Third Reich to the east.”
“Can we win it?”
“We have no choice. We must win to save ourselves and the rest of the world from the worst kind of tyranny imaginable. The silver lining is the British will feel a sense of relief, because they’ve needed our engagement badly ever since Paris fell to the Nazis. We’ll need to make a military alliance with Josef Stalin as well.”
“And fight the Japanese at the same time.”
“Yes, it will test American mettle and resourcefulness like never before…You’re 39 now, Mel?”
“Yeah.”
“You’re probably too old to be drafted, but we’re going to lose a portion of our employees to the military within days. Elias is a sergeant in the Army reserves, he’ll be called up quickly, and Cash and Flint are in the reserves too. Jace and Conor are both prime candidates for the draft, so before long, Uncle Sam will be decimating our security staff.”
“Do you still want to take the sub out this afternoon?”
“Yes, Professor Culpepper is here, and we’ve already upgraded the turbochargers on the hydroelectric equipment. We’ll use the sub to check the outflow on the bottom of the lake and we can do some exploring as well. It’ll be Dewey’s first time in a submarine. He’s looking forward to it.”
“I’m going to eat lunch with Kaylee and then head out there. She may want to come along as well.”
“I’d feel honored by her presence.”
Melvin made double-decker club sandwiches for lunch with bacon, lettuce, tomato, and melted cheese on turkey, his specialty. The telephone rang yet again as they were sitting down to eat, and Kaylee picked up the call. It was Bonnie Knox. Her brother was in the Marine Corps reserves, and she said he’d already received a call from his commanding officer, telling him to prepare for deployment.
After finishing the conversation, Kaylee hung up the phone, and went back to eating her sandwich, though Melvin had already finished his during her longwinded talk with Bonnie. “Do you think the Japanese will invade the mainland?”
“Not sure, Kaylee.”
“But do you think it’s possible?”
“Let’s hope not. We’ll see what Claude says and Professor Culpepper is visiting—he’s super smart and may have some insight.”
“He’s British, isn’t he?”
“Yup. Well, he’s an American citizen now, but he was born and raised in London.
They walked over to the marina after lunch. Nick Lococo’s construction crew had taken the weekend off, but Melvin noticed they were making good time on the new buildings. “Things are going to change fast,” he said as he unhitched the mooring rope and then started up the boat’s motor. “Lots of men will be going into the service and the factories will be cranking out all the stuff they need—jeeps, rifles, ammunition—everything they need to win the war. Claude said we’ll end up short-handed at the casino in no time.”
“You won’t get drafted, will you Melvin?”
“Probably not.”
“But you’re registered, aren’t you?”
“Yeah, I had to after that law they passed last year.”
“I hope you don’t have to go.”
“Well, if they do call on me, I’ll need to go in, but Claude said I’m probably too old.”
“I may need to keep working full time. Johnny could have a hard time finding anyone to replace me on the switchboard.”
“We’ll all need to pull together and do what it takes to win.”
They didn’t see many boats on the ride to the casino. It was a quiet day on the lake. Almost no wind and the surface was flat as glass. The low winter sun cast long shadows on the bare rock peaks and Melvin thought it strange how peaceful and serene it was when the whole damn planet was at war now.
***
The casino’s hydroelectric power system was different than others, because the outflow was evacuated into the bottom of the lake, where there was significant resistance from the extreme water pressure. Normally, the outflow from a hydroelectric plant was below a dam, so the only resistance was friction with the atmosphere, hardly enough to slow a fast moving downhill current. Conversely, the outflow from the casino was faced with an almost impenetrable wall of water, pressurized by not only the pull of gravity, but also the 500 feet of water above it. H2O is relatively heavy, a gallon weighs over eight pounds, and water pressure increases the deeper you go—at a depth of 500 feet it’s more than 250 pounds per square inch.
Though the water captured at the surface was traveling close to 90-mph when it reached the bottom of the intake tubes, the resistance to the outflow would have made the system unfeasible without help from another one of Professor Culpepper’s inventions. To compensate for the resistance, he’d added turbochargers that maintained the water’s velocity once it had cleared the turbines and was returned to the lake. They were powered by a small percentage of the electricity produced by the massive armature coils in the generators, so their use barely affected the efficiency of the overall system.
As a result, the system maintained its 90-mph velocity because the water was pumped out of the exhaust tubes as quickly as it entered the intakes on the surface of the lake. The turbocharged system created whirlpools at the intakes as the water rushed into the tubes and began its descent. Barriers with steel grates had been erected to keep boaters away from the fast-moving water. If a fish was unlucky enough to be sucked into one of the tubes, it would disintegrate by the time it reached the high-speed turbine blades.
At the bottom of the lake, the exhaust tubes were extended 100 feet away from the exterior of the casino. The rapidly moving water was certain to cause erosion, and the extensions were designed to insure it didn’t damage the structure’s foundation. The extensions also put the streams of fast-moving water beyond the added faux coral reef and electric fish.
Professor Culpepper’s latest angle involved an upgrade to the turbochargers. Javernick thought the system might not be able to handle the load in the future because of the proliferation of electronic devices. Before long, the age of television was set to dawn. It was only a matter of time before every hotel room would have its own TV, and the sports book would broadcast live events on video screens. He also wanted to put more lighting on the docks in the wake of the failed robbery.
The upgraded equipment increased the speed of the water as it left the turbines. The original turbochargers were designed to push the water out of the system as quickly as it entered and was based on the velocity of water after it fell 500 feet. The new upgrade increased the speed of the water leaving the turbine apparatus to 125-mph, so the outflow was drawing water from the surface faster too, it relied on a siphoning effect.
The result was an increase in kilowatts produced by the generators because the armature coils were spinning faster, meaning more juice for electronic devices and brighter lights for the docks and rooftop sign.
***
Melvin climbed behind the controls of the submarine and Kaylee took the co-pilot’s seat. Javernick and Professor Culpepper settled into the passenger seats behind them. Once he pulled out of the slip, Melvin pulled back on the dive stick, and they headed for the bottom of the lake. He turned on the headlights as the water darkened. Without artificial lights, it was hard to see much of anything at a depth of 500 feet. The lighting directed at the faux coral reef created a luminescent cocoon around the casino, but beyond it, the depths of the lake were as dark as a moonless night.
They inspected the hydroelectric system’s exhaust tubes with the sub’s headlights. The apparatus was on elevated framework, but the 125-mph velocity of the water exiting the tubes kicked up plumes of sediment, particles of dirt that had settled out of the reservoir’s inflow. The Colorado and the Virgin were both muddy rivers, particularly in the spring and early summer when they were swollen with mountain snowmelt.
Melvin followed the plumes, and after a couple hundred yards, they dropped off. There wasn’t any serious erosion to be concerned with, just relocation of the water borne sediment that had washed into the lake. That was the main point of the inspection, and with it successfully accomplished, they set out on an exploration of the main channel of the submerged Colorado, traveling downstream towards Hoover Dam.
Javernick pointed out Roland’s abandoned steamboat landing to Professor Culpepper as they passed it. Roland had left the log buildings standing, and they could see how they were beginning to rot and fall apart in the depths of the lake. After having a look, Melvin continued piloting the sub downstream, through the narrowing walls of what was once Boulder Canyon.
The Pearl Harbor attack was fresh on everyone’s mind, and it soon came up in conversation. “Kaylee asked me earlier if I thought the Japanese would invade us here on the mainland, and I wasn’t sure what to say,” said Melvin, turning in his seat to make eye contact with Javernick and Professor Culpepper.
“Highly unlikely,” said Professor Culpepper. “Japan is a much smaller nation than the United States and their military is already over-extended in East Asia. They don’t have the manpower to launch a land invasion in North America on their own.”
“I agree, Dewey,” said Javernick. “Hirohito may have bitten off more than he can chew. He’s clearly relying on his alliance with Hitler in taking us on.”
“Do you think the Germans will attack us here at home?” said Kaylee.
“Hard to say, but let’s hope not,” said Professor Culpepper. “The Nazis have been wreaking havoc with their U-boats in the North Atlantic, but at the same time, they have a problem with the Russians on their eastern front. If Hitler and Stalin had remained allies and the Russians had joined the Axis, we’d have a much bigger threat on our hands.”
“It’s going to be a long fight,” said Javernick, “but I think we can win it. Much of it will depend on America’s ability to mobilize our industrial base, but with the Russians on our side, as well as strong allies like the British and Australians, I think we’ll have the upper hand.”
“Time will tell, Claude. An alliance with the Russians involves significant risk. The Soviet Union’s totalitarian government has more in common with the Nazis as compared to the free society we enjoy here in the west. Another concern is development of advanced weaponry. German scientists might come up with something we’re unable to counter…I wouldn’t be too quick to declare victory.”
The attack on Pearl Harbor had come suddenly with no warning, and it left Kaylee with a feeling of helpless anxiety. Listening to Javernick and Professor Culpepper talk about it gave her hope that everything would turn out all right. It was good to be among well-educated friends, and Claude’s perpetual optimism softened the shock of the Japanese attack.
Melvin had yet to tell Javernick about the microfilm they’d found in the guest house. He thought it was a good time to bring it up, with Kaylee aboard the sub. “Kaylee found something unusual in your guest house when we were visiting the nut ranch.” He paused, looked towards her and raised his eyebrows.
She took the queue: “I was looking at the assortment of canned goods and spices in the pantry, and I found a leather satchel on the top shelf. There were film cannisters inside it and I hope you don’t think I was being too nosy, but I decided to take a look at what was on the film.”
“It was developed?”
“Yes, and I found a way to slide it through the gate on the projector in the main house.”
“So, what was on it?”
Kaylee paused to gaze at Melvin and then looked back towards Javernick. “We couldn’t figure out what it all meant, but there were photographs showing written pages. Every one of them had a top-secret stamp. Some of them had mathematical formulas and others had diagrams that looked like rockets.”
“Why, that sounds highly unusual, Kaylee.”
“We didn’t spend much time trying to read it all, because it was beyond anything either one of us ever studied in school. Melvin said we better put it back where I found it and tell you about it.”
“Dewey and I will be flying back out there tomorrow morning. I’ll have a look at it when we arrive.”
“I apologize if you think I was being nosy.”
“Nonsense, my dear. I’ll get to the bottom of it tomorrow and see what your quite natural curiosity has turned up.”
They followed the submerged river channel all the way to Hoover Dam. It was over 700 feet tall, and on the upstream side, there were four penstock towers that supplied the hydroelectric plant with water. The towers were eighty feet in diameter and the pipes inside them delivered the rapidly descending water to the power plant’s immense turbine blades, a much grander version of the hydroelectric system at the casino.
On the bottom of the lake, Melvin used the sub’s headlights to follow the network of roadways that were used to build the dam. The engineers had used diversion tunnels to divert the river’s flow around the site when it was under construction, and they could see how the tunnels had been plugged up with thousands of tons of rock. Professor Culpepper said it looked like they’d used explosives to collapse them.
The underwater scene was something few others would ever see because no one else had a freshwater submarine to explore the depths of the reservoir. If a problem cropped up on the dam that needed to be inspected or worked on, the Bureau of Reclamation would need to bring in special diving equipment.
They made it back to the casino late in the afternoon. Melvin and Kaylee took off in the boat to visit their special spot above Saint Thomas. They’d watch the sunset before heading home, part of their normal Sunday routine. Professor Culpepper told Javernick he wanted to rest in his room for a bit and he’d meet him for dinner on the casino level later. Javernick visited the administration office and found Roland reviewing paperwork.
“Working on Sunday?” he said as he walked through the doorway.
“Hey there, Claude…Yeah, I’m trying to figure out how we’re going to run the security without Elias and his men. We might need to hire some extra help.”
“Could be tough finding anyone with the war effort getting underway.”
“That’s what I’m thinking too. How would you feel about asking Nick Lococo for help finding qualified men?”
“Well, that’s a possibility, but wise guys are eligible for the draft too.”
“Good point.”
“I’m headed down to the casino, let’s close down the office for the day, and I’ll buy you a drink.”
“Sounds like a plan, Claude. It’s been a long day; I could use a cold beer.”
They took the elevator down to the casino level. Business was extremely slow, the place looked like a ghost town. They found Eunice and Rose sitting at the bar drinking gin and tonics. It was the first time Javernick had talked to either one since word of the Pearl Harbor attack had broken that morning.
“Those Japs have a lot of nerve bombing us on a Sunday morning,” said Eunice.
“I agree,” said Javernick as he took the empty seat next to her. “Not much respect for our traditional day of rest.”
Lonnie poured Javernick a glass of bourbon and set a mug of draft beer on the bar in front of Roland.
“We’ll be losing a lot of men in the next few months. I was just talking to Roland about maintaining an adequate security staff.”
“How much does it pay?” said Eunice.
“How much does what pay?”
“Plain-clothes security.”
“It varies according to your qualifications,” said Roland.
“My pappy taught me how to shoot a pistol when I was ten, and Rose here knows Jujitsu. The whorehouse is liable to get real slow with all the menfolk headed off to war. I’d volunteer in a minute to be a house detective.”
“Me too,” said Rose. “It sounds like an exciting job.”
“What do you think, Claude?” said Roland, grinning.
“I think it’s a fine idea. Women will be taking all sorts of jobs that are normally done by men. It could be the answer to our evolving employment problem.”
“I’m all for it, then,” said Roland. “Why don’t you ladies show up at the administration office tomorrow morning. I’ll call the sheriff’s office and see about getting you certified for deputy’s badges.”
“Hot damn!” exclaimed Rose. “I always wanted to be a cop.”
The next day, Javernick flew his Bellanca Aircruiser back to the nut ranch. After landing on the dirt airstrip, he gave Professor Culpepper a ride home in his V-16 Cadillac. Upon returning to the ranch, he decided to walk over to the guest house and look for the leather satchel that Melvin and Kaylee had mentioned, but he was unable to find it.
Back at the casino, Melvin was sitting at his desk when the telephone rang. “Hello.”
“Hi, Melvin.”
“Hi, Kaylee.”
“I have a long-distance call from Claude in California.”
“Okay, go ahead and put him through.”
There was a pause, and Melvin could hear Kaylee plugging in the audio jack.
“Good day, Melvin.”
“Hi, Claude. Are you back at the ranch?”
“Yes, I am. A sensational day for air travel, and we made it in record time.”
“Elias received his orders and he’s getting ready to leave.”
“That was fast.”
“Yep, he’s taking Cash and Flint with him too. They’re bound for Melbourne, Australia.”
“Godspeed and good luck to them. Give all three of them my best.”
“I’ll do that, Claude.”
“The reason why I’m calling is I went to the guest house to look for the satchel you mentioned, and I was unable to find it.”
“It was on the top shelf in the pantry. I know she put it back.”
“It’s not there now.”
“That’s strange.”
After talking to Melvin, Javernick walked down the tree-lined drive to check in with his caretaker, Dale Preston. It was a cool day, and all the leaves had fallen from the sycamores and black maples. He found Preston in the orchards, pruning an almond tree with a pair of long handled loppers.
“How’d the harvest turn out, Dale?”
“Not bad, Claude. Sales are up. I can go over the numbers with you if you’d like.”
“There’s no rush, it looks like you’re plenty busy.”
“Yeah, this is the best time of year to prune, when the sap is down in the root structures.”
“Did you meet Melvin and Kaylee when they were here?”
“Rita invited them over for dinner one night. We had a great time.”
“I thought you’d like them.”
“Mariska sailed in and out one day when Mel and Kaylee were at the beach.”
“Mariska was here?” said Javernick with a note of surprise.
“Yeah, I didn’t have a chance to talk to her. Looked like she was in a hurry.”
“On her motorcycle?”
“She was. Didn’t see me on her way in, but she noticed me out here pruning on her way out.”
“Did she stop?”
“Nope. She waved, but like I said, she was really moving on her bike. If she’d stopped in to chat, I would have asked her to slow it down…Couldn’t have been here more than 15 minutes before she was back on the road. I could hear that big Indian roar when she was shifting gears going over the pass.”
Javernick’s mind was on Mariska as he walked back up the drive towards the main house. There was something about her that didn’t add up—the story she’d told him about her background. It seemed odd that someone with her obvious intelligence would end up working in a traveling circus. She was extremely bright and that was one of the things he liked about her. That he could talk to her about anything without losing her. Especially current events.
He thought about the lineman he’d encountered on the pass that day when he’d driven into L.A. to meet with Lococo and Civella. The one with the British accent and the defensive demeanor. The van was there in the morning, and still parked in the same spot when he’d returned in the afternoon. Earlier that same day, Mariska had told him that she thought she was under surveillance by British intelligence because her brother was a major in the Hungarian Army.
And now the satchel that Kaylee had found in the pantry had vanished. What was on the film? Kaylee said it looked like mathematical formulas with diagrams of rockets and every page was stamped top secret.
When he reached the main house, Javernick went inside and poured himself a glass of bourbon. He lit a panetella and took a seat in his study to think things over. Why was it necessary for Mariska to race in and out of the nut ranch on her motorcycle? She was indeed Hungarian, a country that was allied with the Nazis. She was also awfully brusque with her friend Vazul. She talked down to him like he was her servant, it was unmistakable. Could Mariska be some type of espionage agent?
***
Inspector Alvin Cockburn and Lieutenant Blake Keene were on their way to visit Special Agent Curtis Dudley in downtown L.A. The United States had entered World War II as an ally of Great Britain, so they needed to notify the Americans about their continued surveillance of Sarkozy and Dobos. That’s what was in their latest orders from Baker Street.
Sarkozy’s move to the casino had thrown them for a loop. The closest place they could find to stay was in Vegas, over fifty miles away. When Cockburn had requested the funds to buy a boat, Ellsworth had at first been reluctant to send him the money, but once he’d learned how remote the casino was, he went along with the plan. Cockburn bought a used runabout with an outboard motor. It was quick on the water, and he could re-sell it when the time came to vacate.
Masquerading as fishermen, they circled the property and watched the hotel tower from a distance with a telescope. More than once, they observed Mariska on the penthouse level’s exterior decks, cleaning the windows in Javernick’s residence or sitting with a book on the deck outside her own quarters.
Keene suggested a trip inside, but Cockburn vetoed the idea. Mariska might recognize him from the bungled mailman stunt, and Cockburn himself had talked to Javernick on the pass above the nut ranch. The closest they ever went was buying gas at the floating filling station, and Cockburn did his best to hide his strong British dialect when he talked to Mariska’s assistant.
The investigation was stagnating, and with the yanks entering the war as a British ally now, the time had come for Cockburn to lay his cards on the table. They needed to notify the Americans about everything they’d been up to.
The FBI’s L.A. office was in a generic government building in the heart of downtown, on Figueroa Street, not far from Nick Lococo’s construction office. Cockburn asked Keene to stand outside and help him park the bulky Chevy van. The mirrors gave him a limited view and the parking spaces were extremely tight on the busy city street. A variety of cars and trucks raced by them as he pulled in close to the curb. The pace in the fast-growing city seemed more frantic than normal, and it was obvious that the war effort was fueling the urban haste.
Keene dropped a few coins in the parking meter, and on the way inside, they were approached by a young paperboy hawking copies of the L.A. Times. He wore a tweed ivy cap, with the bill angled low to protect his eyes from the bright sunlight. He held up a fresh copy of the newspaper and carried more in a messenger bag. “Extra, extra! Read all about it, the world at war, can the allies beat the axis?!”
The daily paper cost a nickel. Cockburn flipped the young lad a dime. “Keep the change,” he said as he took the newspaper and slipped it inside his attaché case.
“Thanks, mister!” and he went back to hollering, “Extra, extra! Read all about it!”
There was a long list of bureaucratic agencies on the building’s directory, and Cockburn found the FBI on the fifth floor between the IRS and US Marshals Service. The elevator was slow, and they were about to use the fire stairs instead, but finally they heard it arrive with a resonant chime.
“A tonic E,” said Cockburn.
“Excuse me?” replied Keene.
“The elevator chime. At Baker Street it’s a tonic C, brighter and higher pitched.”
“Very interesting,” replied Keene with a hint of sarcasm. Cockburn was well-known for taking note of minor details, an idiosyncrasy that Keene found curious and at times a bit irritating.
When the elevator door slid open, they were greeted by a uniformed attendant. “What floor, gentlemen?” he said as they stepped inside the otherwise vacant car.
“Fifth Floor, please,” said Cockburn.
The lift machinery groaned, and the car began its slow upward climb. The attendant remained silent and eyed the two Brits inquisitively. They were headed for the federal law enforcement floor, where US Marshals sometimes boarded the elevator with hand-cuffed prisoners in tow…They didn’t look like criminals, must be some kind of cops.
They found Dudley’s assistant, Special Agent Lester Lightfoot at a receptionist’s desk in the small and sparsely furnished FBI office. “May I help you with something?”
“Yes, we’re here to see Senior Special Agent Curtis Dudley,” said Cockburn.
“And you are?”
“Inspector Alvin Cockburn and Lieutenant Blake Keene. We do have an appointment and appear to be right on time.” He glanced at his wristwatch. “Actually seven minutes early.” Cockburn was quick to notice his watch was four minutes faster than the wall clock in the office—his attention to minutiae again. He was certain it was the FBI clock that was off, not his watch, because he was also a stickler for precise timing. He set his expensive Swiss watch to not only the exact minute, but also the exact second.
Lightfoot activated an intercom device that sat on his desk. “Inspector Alvin Cockburn and Lieutenant Blake Keene here to see you, sir.”
“Thank you, Agent Lightfoot. Please show them in,” came the abrupt response on a scratchy speaker.
Lightfoot rose and walked towards a closed door. “Right this way, gentlemen.” He opened the inner office door and held out his hand. After Cockburn and Keene had walked through the doorway, he gently pulled it shut and returned to his receptionist station.
Dudley was seated behind a polished cherrywood desk. He lifted one eyebrow as he surveyed the two Brits. “Senior Special Agent Curtis Dudley, commanding officer of the Los Angeles branch of the Federal Bureau of Investigation.” He remained seated and failed to offer his hand, looking over the two Brits with suspicion.
“Inspector Alvin Cockburn,” with a small, forced smile as he took a seat on an extremely uncomfortable hard-backed chair.
“Lieutenant Blake Keene.” Cockburn’s partner took the other spartan seat after moving it to a slight angle with his knee.
“You gentleman are British spies,” said Dudley from his luxurious, padded office chair on wheels.
“SOE intelligence operatives,” responded Cockburn. He’d instructed Keene to remain silent and let him do the talking.
“How long have you been in the States?”
“A few months.”
“A few months? And you’re just checking in now?”
“Well, Special Agent Dudley, we entered your country quite legally, and considering the sensitive nature of our investigation, my superior decided we should keep our presence confidential.”
“What are you investigating?”
Cockburn opened his attaché and produced an 8″ x 10″ black and white photograph and handed it to Dudley. “That’s Mariska Sarkozy. A Hungarian national and suspected Nazi spy.”
Dudley’s eyes lit-up as he took the photo. He sat back in his chair and whistled. “Suspected Nazi spy and hot tomato too.”
“Yes, she’s quite the looker isn’t she. Sarkozy is a professional dominatrix from Budapest. That’s where she became acquainted with Colonel Heinrich Von Ingersleben a senior Nazi Army officer from Leipzig.” Cockburn handed Dudley a photo of the German. He took a quick look at it, tossed it on his desk, and went back to ogling Mariska.
“This Hungarian gal is a professional dominatrix? Wow, that sounds intriguing, gentlemen.” He acquired a devilish grin. “She’s been giving the kraut the business with the Marquis de Sade stuff? Holy cow.” Dudley was fascinated by Mariska’s photo; he couldn’t take his eyes off it.
Cockburn glanced at Keene—he looked like he was trying to suppress laughter. The senior British asset rolled his eyes and pulled another photo out of his attaché. “This is Vazul Dobos, another Hungarian national. He accompanied Sarkozy to the States.”
“Uh, huh.” Dudley leaned forward to take the photo, took a quick look and tossed it on his desk next to Von Ingersleben’s pic. Then he sat back in his chair and went back to eyeballing Mariska. “So, what’s the Sarkozy dame doing in L.A.?”
“Currently, Sarkozy and Dobos are working and residing at the Rioville Underwater Casino and Hotel in Nevada.”
“Claude Javernick’s place? You’re kidding me.”
“No, I’m quite serious. When we initially caught up with Sarkozy, she was working for Javernick as a housekeeper at his Thousand Oaks nut ranch.”
“Is Javernick aware of her true identity?”
“Apparently, she told him they were circus performers. It’s unlikely he knows about her connection to the Nazis.”
“The FBI has Javernick under investigation for his ties to the mob.”
“We’re aware that he’s friends with Lou Civella and Nick Lococo.”
“How are you aware?”
“Through telephone conversations.”
“You tapped his phone?”
“Yes.”
“Did you come up with anything? I mean, any dirt on Javernick or the mob boys?”
“That’s beyond the focus of our investigation, Agent Dudley.”
“I realize that Inspector Cockburn, but did you hear any mention of illegal activity when Javernick was talking to the Kansas City mob?”
“Not that I recall.”
Dudley feigned exasperation. “Then what about Sarkozy and Dobos? Any illegal activity from the Hungarians?”
“Nothing concrete, but we watched them case the UCLA rocket propulsion laboratory in Anaheim.”
“When?”
“Late October.”
“There was a burglary at the UCLA laboratory in late October. They’re doing research with an Army grant. Top secret stuff. We investigated the break-in.”
“Was anything missing?”
“It didn’t appear there was, but it was obvious that several files had been disturbed.”
“Sarkozy may have a way of conveying the information to the Nazis. A compact camera and microfilm perhaps.”
“Makes sense, now that we know who we’re dealing with. So, you watched them case the place?”
“Yes sir, we did.”
“Can I get that in an affidavit that I can take before a judge?”
“I don’t see why not. My orders from the home office are to cooperate with our American allies in any way possible.”
“Perfect, Agent Cockburn. With your testimony I should be able to get arrest warrants for both. Now that we’ve entered the war, it’s an obvious national security issue.”
“We can certainly aid your department in any way required.”
“All right then, I’ll get you gentlemen in on the operation. We’ll raid Javernick’s casino, and you can help me with the interrogations once we have the Hungarians in custody.
***
Fat Chuck Rizzo had asked Bosko Chiodo to put the tool bag holding Branigan’s decapitated head in one of Lou Civella’s refrigerated boxcars for the trip to L.A. In considering it later, Chiodo decided to take extra precautions. What if railroad inspectors decided to look inside the boxcar? If Branigan’s head was found it would be a nightmare, and likely implicate the Meatman in the clip, so he came up with a more secure method of transporting it.
Chiodo bought beef from Civella for his chain of grocery stores. Sometimes he’d make partial trades with frozen fish. He obtained good deals on seafood from a fleet of commercial fishermen based in Nova Scotia. A Canadian merchant ship brought the fish up the St. Lawrence Seaway and delivered it to him in Cleveland.
The latest shipment of Kansas City beef arrived two days after Adriano whacked Branigan, and Chiodo had several crates of whole haddock ready to ship to L.A. He opened one of the crates and removed enough of the frozen fish to make room for la testa. Then he grabbed the tool bag out of the meat locker, and after putting on rubber gloves, he carefully pulled Joey the Bum’s frozen head out of the bag. The small diameter entrance wound between his eyes was not hard to see. The slug had made a much bigger exit wound, shattering a portion of his skull on the back of his head. Branigan had an expression of bewilderment frozen on his face. He died with his eyes open.
Chiodo positioned Branigan’s head in the center of the crate, nestled into the frozen haddock. Then he completely buried it with the fish he’d removed and returned the lid to the top of the wooden crate. After using a hammer to re-sink the nails, he grabbed a thick red lumber crayon and wrote, frozen fresh in Cleveland on the top, so Civella’s crew would know which crate Branigan’s head was hidden in. Next, two grocery store workers helped him load the crates into the refrigerated boxcar. They stacked them two deep in a corner, with the special delivery buried in the middle.
Except for the fish, the boxcar was empty on the return trip to Kansas City. When it arrived, workers at Civella’s slaughterhouse loaded up pallets of frozen beef and pork that were bound for L.A. The train made it to the Pacific coastline the next day.
Civella was standing outside his Manhattan Beach meat locker with Marco “the Shrimp” Di Stefano when Nick Lococo arrived. Branigan’s frozen head had been located by the men unloading the boxcar and they’d propped it up on top of the crate. The Meatman led the way as they went inside to have a look.
It was a gruesome scene. The inside of the locker was icy cold, and they could see each other’s frosty breath. A string of bare lightbulbs on the low ceiling illuminated the windowless space, and the salty smell of the frozen haddock was overpowering.
“There’s the sonofabitch that shot Vinny and Roselli,” said Di Stefano, gazing at Branigan’s frozen mug. He warmed his cupped hands by blowing on them and then rubbing them together.
“Rizzo nailed him?” said Lococo, thrusting his own hands deep in the pockets of his leather jacket.
“Yep,” said Civella. “Behind Dry Tom Sweeney’s place in Irishtown Bend. Falanga’s brother Adriano was the trigger man. Caught him unaware before sunrise. On his way to the house to take a shit.”
“Dumb motherfucker,” said Di Stefano. He lifted his chin to spit in the direction of the macabre trophy, but it fell well short.
“So, what do you do with it now?” said Lococo, surveying the frozen atrocity with a look of disgust.
“Give it to Jerry La Rosa for deep sea disposal. I just wanted to confirm his identity because of the size of the payout. Make sure they whacked the right idiota.”
“That’s Joey the Bum all right.”
“Hey, I have something I need to tell you about, Nicky,” said Di Stefano to Lococo.
“What’s that?”
“I was talking to one of your foremen, Ruiz, he drove in from Vegas this morning. Said he was on Hacienda Avenue, and they saw a crew forming up a foundation for a new nightclub.”
“A nightclub on Hacienda? That’s news to me.”
“Ruiz said he stopped in and asked who was building it, and the guy said Viscuso Construction of Chicago, Illinois.”
“Where on Hacienda?”
“Just east of the Boulevard, about two blocks. That’s KC turf, ain’t it?”
“Damn right it is.” Lococo looked towards Civella. “What’s that slippery guinea trying to pull now?”
“Maybe you ought to call him and find out,” said Civella.
“Might require a personal visit.” Lococo reflexively put his hand inside his jacket and laid it on his holstered pistola.
Civella could see the anger building in Lococo’s dark eyes. “I’ll call him for another sit-down then, Nick. Before the situation gets out of hand. I told Leo Triolo we have peace in Vegas, so let’s make an effort to talk it out.”
“Where do you want to have the sit-down?”
“Javernick’s casino?”
“Yeah, okay. I’ll call Claude and see if I can arrange it.”
After removing the haddock from the crate and leaving Branigan’s decapitated head inside, Di Stefano re-nailed the lid shut. He summoned Carmine Giordano to help him carry it out to his Chevy Master Deluxe Coupe. They placed it in the trunk with just enough room to close the lid. Twenty minutes later, they were pulling up at La Rosa’s marina in Long Beach.
The bullet hole gave La Rosa’s wise guys an easy way to attach Branigan’s head to a boat anchor. They inserted a long bolt in the entry wound, and when it came out on the other side, they stuck it through the ring on top of the anchor’s shank and used oversized fender washers to keep the nut from pulling out.
They took one of the fishing boats out past the continental shelf where the depth gauge went over 12,000 feet. It may have been close to where they dumped Anthony Falanga’s ice block, but it was hard to tell on the open seas. There were no reference points out there in the middle of the Pacific Ocean.
Jerry La Rosa was close friends with Civella and he knew Vince Scudari well. He took personal responsibility for tossing the anchor overboard, and it disappeared quickly beneath the frothy swells.
Disrespecting a disgraced mobster’s corpse was a hallowed tradition in the Sicilian underworld and Branigan had certainly earned himself the special treatment. He was the last of the renegades to get whacked, and as far as the Kansas City Meatman was concerned, retribution had been served and the case was now closed…But what about Carmello Viscuso disrespecting Nick Lococo’s agreed upon turf? Was there a mob war brewing on Las Vegas Boulevard?