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Author's note: If you are looking for wall-to-wall sex, look elsewhere. 
This book is a romance with a business setting. Beyond that, the sex is 
comparable to - or less than - what one would find in almost any work of 
popular fiction.

Permission is granted to post on any free site, as long as the copyright 
statement is included. Please advise the author of any such postings.

Comments are welcome and encouraged. Please address me at 
morg105829@aol.com.

I hope you enjoy the book. My plan was to post a chapter each weekday; 
however, Eli has been having problems, so ASSM has not been posting 
daily. As a result, I am uploading the remaining chapters now.  This is 
chapter 15 of 16.

Six-Month Turnaround

Copyright 1992, 1998 by Morgan. All rights reserved.

Chapter 15

It was a Monday evening in late August. Cliff was trying to watch a 
preseason Monday Night Football game while Sandy was trying to distract 
him. They were both having fun when Sandy's phone rang. It was Sam 
Johnson calling from his car out front. There was trouble at the plant, 
and he wanted them to return with him to the plant at once. He offered 
to take them in his car. Sandy put her clothes back on with some 
reluctance, and Cliff rearranged his. 

As they drove towards the plant Sam explained what had happened. One of 
his rooftop teams had seen two men cutting through the wire in the rear 
of the plant. They were allowed to come through the fence and move well 
away from the wire before the floodlights were turned on. The men were 
told to stand still while guards were called. Instead, they drew guns 
and started shooting. Sam said, "It wasn't their brightest idea. The 
guys I have on the roof are all veteran snipers from Vietnam days. As 
one of them told me one time, he's heard enough incoming rounds to last 
him. Anyway, my men smoked them. I think one is dead and the other was 
hit pretty hard. We'll see."

When they reached the plant, there seemed to be dozens of police cars 
with their emergency lights casting blue and red beams of light all 
around. As they reached the location where police cars were 
concentrated, they found the patrol sergeant calling for the bomb squad. 
The lawmen knew each other. The sergeant greeted Sam and introduced 
himself to Cliff and Sandy. Smiling at Sandy he said, "You look even 
better in person than you do on TV. I saw you interviewed about that 
stock corner thing. I'm very pleased to meet you. The guys who are down 
apparently have enough explosives with them to level this place. Miss 
Donnell, someone doesn't like you very much."

Meanwhile, Sam checked his men. They were all in position and very 
alert. Sam looked on while his men gave their statements to the police. 
When they finished up, Sam took one more look around and then drove them 
back to the apartment. Sandy asked him if he could join them for a beer. 
He grinned and accepted.

They entered the apartment and saw the football game was still on. Sandy 
said, "I know when I'm not wanted!" She brought out beer and pretzels, 
and went back for cheese and crackers. Green Bay was playing the Jets in 
a preseason game at the Meadowlands and the Packers were winning. In 
spite of what she said, Sandy was an avid football fan. All three were 
watching the game closely right to the end which came about eleven. The 
Packers had hung on to win. Sandy produced more beers, and the three 
relaxed. Cliff was the first to speak. "Sam, it never occurred to me to 
ask. Were those guys you picked up tonight identified?"

"I didn't make them," Sam replied. "And that reminds me: As far as I 
know, there's no make on that killer from last month, either. This whole 
deal bothers me. For that matter, I haven't heard of an identification 
of that substance he had. Last I heard, it was being sent to the FBI 
crime lab. One thing is for damn sure: somebody doesn't like you a whole 
lot! But there's something in our favor: There have been two attempts in 
thirty days. Both attempts left bodies on the ground. It sounds weird, I 
know, but it makes it a hell of a lot easier to keep my men on their 
toes. There's nothing quite like shots being fired to maintain a guy's 
concentration." He got out of his chair. "I had better get back to the 
car. Thanks very much for the beer, Sandy. I enjoyed it. Good night, 
folks."

* * *

On Saturday morning, Sandy had an early appointment at the beauty 
parlor. She was going to sneak out but decided it would get the 
detectives on duty in trouble. She had learned that Sam was an ex-major 
in the Marine Corps. She decided he could strip flesh from bones with 
his voice and she didn't want to be the cause of it, so she called the 
number she had been given. The voice at the other end said very 
pleasantly, "Please wait, Miss Donnell." A moment later, the voice came 
back and said, "You will be taking your car from the garage, ma'am?" 
Sandy said she would be, and the voice said it was clear to proceed. 
Sandy thought it was a lot of cloak and dagger nonsense, but she played 
the game. Her beauty parlor was located in a shopping mall. After 
parking in the large parking area she walked towards the entrance.

Suddenly, an arm grabbed her around the neck from behind, and she felt 
something sharp at her back. Then she heard the word she had been told 
to expect: "Drop!" She did exactly what she had been told. Letting her 
body go limp she dropped straight to the ground while ignoring the sharp 
object. Instantly, shots rang out and a heavy body fell on top of her. 
Even covered as she was by the body on top, she could still hear more 
shots fired, then the squeal of tires followed by the sound of a car 
crash. Seconds later, the body lying on top of her was pulled off.

Again it was Sam Johnson. Although she was starting to shake, she 
managed a grin. "For Heaven's sake, Johnson, don't you ever go home? And 
what did I do this time?"

He looked her over and whistled softly. "Sandy, I'm afraid you're going 
to need a new blouse. And maybe we better get you to a hospital. I think 
he nicked your back with his blade."

Sandy glanced at the body lying on the ground and quickly turned her 
head away. Magnum bullets had torn the assailant to shreds. "Sam 
Johnson, we will do no such thing! I'm fine, and... Holy cow! I'm late 
for my appointment. They'll cancel me." Sandy sprinted off. Sam waved 
and two Pinkertons, one of them a woman, ran after her. Sam was both 
concerned and amused. Sandy had done it perfectly even though he had 
been unable to get her to rehearse. He smiled as he thought about the 
police reaction. He could hear sirens already racing to the scene. The 
man who had grabbed Sandy was dead. Three Pinkertons had been shooting, 
including himself. Sam knew he and at least one of the others used .357 
Magnums so the assailant was in pieces. My God! he thought, She didn't 
even blink. This is a girl worth guarding!

When the police arrived, they took the two men in the getaway car into 
custody while the morgue wagon was on its way to retrieve the assailant. 
On this investigation, the patrol sergeant quickly gave way to a 
lieutenant of homicide, Lemuel Collins. Clearly, the Milwaukee Police 
Department was getting tired of the attacks involving Murphy 
Manufacturing. Sam explained what had happened. He said he was in charge 
of a bodyguard detail covering Miss Donnell and told how she had been 
grabbed from behind. "Lieutenant, it looked like a kidnaping. It's the 
only reason I can think of for two guys in the getaway car. We yelled at 
Sandy to drop, and she did. I think her back was cut by his knife on the 
way down. As soon as she was out of our firing line, three of us cut 
loose. I think we may have overdone it a bit. The guy is shot to rags. 
Anyway, we have the other two. Now I would love to know where they 
intended to take her."

"Where is Miss Donnell now? At the hospital?" Collins asked.

Johnson grinned and shook his head. "No, sir. At the beauty salon over 
there. That's why she's here. She ran in afraid she would lose her 
appointment."

Collins looked at him strangely. Finally, he decided Johnson wasn't 
kidding. "Shall we have a talk with the intended victim?" They walked 
over to the beauty parlor and waited while the operator finished with 
Sandy. Finally she emerged from the shop. As they walked over the female 
Pinkerton was assuring her that Cliff would love her hair. Sam 
introduced her to Lieutenant Collins who walked around her looking and 
then said, "Tell me I'm seeing things. Miss Donnell, is your blouse 
being held together with Scotch tape?"

Sandy smiled at him, "I'm sorry, Lieutenant, but it's the best we could 
do. Does it really look that bad? It's not bleeding through the fabric, 
is it?"

Collins started to laugh. "Miss Donnell, you absolutely take the cake! 
You're the victim of an attempted kidnap. The assailant is shot to 
pieces right on top of you. And then you use Scotch tape... and 
Band-Aids?" Sandy nodded as Collins continued, "...to fix the damage."

Sandy looked at Sam. "Would it be an awful lot of trouble to swing by a 
hospital on the way back? I think Cliff would kill me if I didn't at 
least go through the motions of being checked."

Collins asked, "Miss Donnell, would you mind if I joined you? This whole 
thing is becoming a major-league embarrassment to our department, and we 
don't like being embarrassed." Sandy agreed and a caravan, led by 
Lieutenant Collins with his flasher on, drove up to the emergency room 
of a nearby hospital. In addition to Collins there was a patrol car and 
two cars of Pinkertons. Collins escorted Sandy in, explained the 
situation and turned Sandy over to a nurse. The female Pinkerton, Sally 
Ellsworth, accompanied Sandy into the examining room. A doctor came into 
the room and told Sally that relatives had to wait out front.

Sally said, "I am not a relative. I'm police, and I'm staying here!"

The doctor was startled, but acquiesced. Sandy carefully took off the 
remains of her blouse and then the doctor looked at the long scratch. 
"What did you scratch yourself on?" he asked.

Sally answered, "She didn't scratch herself. An assailant, now very 
dead, did it to her this morning. It was a knife or an ice pick. I 
didn't stick around to find out which."

The doctor visibly paled but regained his composure. He asked Sandy 
about tetanus shots and, when she couldn't recall when she last had one, 
gave her another. He put some antiseptic on the scratch and smiled. 
"Young lady, I gather you were very lucky. There shouldn't be any mark 
at all, and you probably you won't even get a scab. The only possible 
risk is tetanus, and we've taken care of that."

Sandy put her bra back on and carefully put on her shredded blouse. She 
thanked the doctor, and she and Sally went back outside. When the whole 
crew went back to the apartment, Sandy asked if they would give her a 
few minutes alone with Cliff. She told Sam she would call him on his car 
phone.

When she let herself in, Cliff was still sleeping so she shook him 
awake. He peered up at her, bleary-eyed. Suddenly, the events of the 
morning hit her, and she started to cry. Instantly Cliff was wide awake. 
"Honey, what happened? What's the trouble?" She went into his arms and 
continued to cry. As he held her, he felt the Scotch tape holding her 
blouse together.

Finally, she regained control and told him about the events of the 
morning. "Cliff, Sam and the police are outside waiting. Would you mind 
letting them in while I clean up a little?"

He got dressed quickly and let the others in while she went to the 
bathroom to clean up. Cliff called Sam, and a few minutes later he 
arrived and introduced Lem Collins. Cliff had made coffee for the group 
when Sandy joined them after washing her face and putting on a new 
blouse.

Collins started off. "Mr. Fitzpatrick, frankly, we're baffled. I have 
never seen a case with more people in custody and less knowledge on our 
part. We have the guy who killed the Pinkerton man and tried to sabotage 
your machine. We have the survivor of the two who tried to blow up your 
place. We have two guys from the getaway car today. In addition, we have 
two fresh bodies in the morgue. But we haven't identified anyone! 
They're *all* still carried as John Does. I have been on the force for 
over twenty years, and this has never happened before. More to the 
point, I can't find any indication of it ever happening *anywhere* 
before. Not even the FBI has been able to get a make on these clowns 
yet! Do you or Miss Donnell have any ideas? Any place to start?"

"We have a suspicion, that's all. We don't have a shred of evidence," 
Sandy said. "We suspect Ezra Stiles, the attorney who is trustee of my 
estate until the first of October. As I said, there is no evidence. 
However, Cliff and I and some of our friends came to the conclusion by 
working backward from a motive. He's the one we came to. He knows the 
company."

She explained the Board meeting on October first and the corner in 
Murphy stock. She finished by saying, "Lieutenant, let's be honest: 
Murphy Manufacturing is a small company. We've been listed on the 
exchange for a lot more years than I've been alive. Similarly, there 
have been one million shares outstanding since before I was born. Why 
the movement now? What's different? The only thing different is Cliff 
Fitzpatrick."

She then explained the loss of the Magna business, the Kaga contract, 
and Kelly's input. "So you see, a short sale was a pretty good move... 
if you didn't know about the Kaga contract, our export plans, and the 
Stores Southern Division. Finally, we have reason to believe Stiles was 
blinded when we fired the treasurer, Purcell, and then the personnel 
director, Budd. Worst of all, from his position, the loss of his eyes 
couldn't have come at a worse time. He had knowledge of the losses, but 
he didn't know about the offsetting gains." She looked at the two 
detectives and asked, "Does any of that make sense to you?"

"Miss Donnell, it's scary. Have you mentioned your suspicions to anyone 
else?" Collins asked.

"Yes, Lieutenant. To Sam Johnson. Sam, have your people found anything 
yet?"

"Sandy, I'm embarrassed. My people keep running into blind alleys. I 
agree with the Lieutenant. We've never encountered anything like this 
before. And we're not alone.

"Lieutenant, you might as well know that the FBI is on the case, too. 
The SEC brought them in because of possible Federal securities law 
violations. The last I heard, there is still no word on who is caught in 
the corner on Murphy stock. I understand they tracked a huge chunk of 
the short sales to a bank in the Cayman Islands. All anyone could get is 
it is acting as the agent for a Cayman Islands Trust and cannot reveal 
the names of the principals because of the country's bank secrecy laws. 
In some cases they're tougher than the Swiss, and this is apparently one 
of those cases. The Swiss will give the government a hard time on tax 
cases, but they are murderous on securities fraud. In fact the Swiss are 
a hell of a lot tougher than we are. Over there, you go to jail and they 
throw the key away.

"Lem," Sam said, "what about the guys you've got in custody? It's 
utterly inconceivable there are no records - not even a traffic ticket, 
for chrissakes. Those guys aren't ama teurs, I guarantee it. Why, in 
hell, can't we get a make?"

The phone rang and Sandy answered it. "Lieutenant, it's for you." She 
gave him the phone and he identified himself. Then he listened and a 
smile started to appear for the first time. He thanked the caller and 
hung up.

"This may be the break. Remember that material the first guy had? The 
stuff that looked like very fine-grain sand but wasn't? My God," he 
reflected, "It's been like everything else in this case... in our hands 
but we don't know what we have. Anyway, that was the lab. They just 
heard from the FBI. Incidentally, the Feds must be taking this case 
seriously, too, if they're working Saturdays. It seems that is very 
nasty stuff. It comes from a very small company in Minnesota. Mr. 
Fitzpatrick, do you have a Bill Stevens working for you?"

Cliff was immediately concerned, "Yes, of course. Why?"

"No trouble, sir. The lab says they gave him a small quantity of the 
stuff, and they need it back. The Feds want it, and they want it all! 
Apparently it's a very rare material: There's only one company in the 
world known to make it. For purposes of sabotage, it couldn't be better. 
It is gritty and will chew up machinery like sand. But it can become 
explosive. In the spot where the guy was going to put it there's 
apparently an oil sump. This stuff - and they didn't even tell us its 
name - blends with the oil and starts wearing at the bearings and such. 
But then, when the machine is going flat out and heating up - high 
production volumes - the stuff, mixed with oil, becomes explosive. Very 
nasty stuff.

"There are two points here: First, there is only one known producer. 
Second, this is *very* sophisticated stuff. For security reasons - and 
I'm damned if I know what it's made for - no mention has ever appeared 
in a general interest magazine or anywhere else. In other words, some 
joker didn't just happen to find out about it. He had to look and look 
very hard. We just may have a break. Sam, one final question: How hard 
are you folks riding Stiles? This is absolutely off the record, but you 
private investigators have been known to do things that get us civil 
servants cut off at the knees.

Sam smiled. "We're riding him hard, and about to ride him even harder. 
Lem, my people - the top management of the agency - are taking this case 
very personally. We come out of a long tradition, too. We were President 
Lincoln's intelligence service, remember. But let's put it this way: 
We'll be able to tell you the brand of cigarettes he smokes, if he ever 
smokes.

"Last question for you, Lem. When do you think someone will have 
something on the stuff? And who's chasing it? The FBI?"

"I guess so. Hell, I hope so. I don't really know. Sam, let's get out of 
these people's hair. Thanks very much for your time, and Miss Donnell, 
that was a remarkable bit of work this morning. Sam told me about it. It 
is absolutely the correct procedure, but it almost never works in real 
life. I'm sure glad it did this time!"

"Lieutenant," Cliff said, "Before you leave, I have one more question. 
In your opinion - and in yours, too, Sam - was this a kidnaping or a 
murder attempt? Your answer is important."

"Sir, I think it was a kidnaping. How about you, Sam?"

"I agree. Why, Cliff?"

"It may relate to the voting rights question with the stock. We suspect 
Ezra Stiles, and we told you why. As a result, we haven't asked him 
about the will provisions. Lieutenant, wills are on file at the 
courthouse. Could you find out what the will provisions are with respect 
to ownership - and most particularly voting rights - on the Murphy 
stock? Let's face it: The stock has got to be the key."

"I understand. I'll see what I can do. Let's go, Sam."

"Are you in a rush?" Sandy asked. "I have a brainstorm I would like to 
try out on you. And since it's probably nothing but a waste of time, 
I'll even throw in lunch. Can you stay awhile?"

Lem shrugged and said, "This is my only case. They're very serious about 
it downtown. I have time. How about you Sam?"

Sam chuckled, "I'm the bodyguard detail. This keeps me closer to the 
body I'm supposed to be guarding. What's your idea, Sandy?"

"First, let me review a few things you guys have said or inferred: Sam, 
your people are on Ezra like a blanket but you haven't found anything to 
link him to the crime. Has there been anything at all suspicious?"

"Not really, Sandy. No."

"What do you mean by 'not really'? It sounds like something isn't quite 
right," she persisted.

"Well there are a few strange-sounding phone calls, but they're all to 
other directors. It could be we just don't know your business as well as 
we should."

Sandy beamed. "Perfect! Now listen: What if Stiles plays the role with 
others that Purcell and Budd were playing for him? An information 
source.. a go-between? What if it's a group of directors? Murphy has a 
small board. There are only seven members. Now, in the years Stiles has 
been running things, there have been three new directors elected: Homer 
Cartwright, Palmer Metcalf, and Luke Foster. They're all from out of 
town. Foster is in Chicago, and Metcalf is in Minneapolis. When Sam 
mentioned Minnesota as the location of the company that makes the stuff, 
it started me thinking. Finally, Cartwright is in Miami. What if there's 
a real cabal rather than a single mastermind? Does any of this make 
sense?"

She had an additional idea. "One more thing: The car this morning. Where 
did it come from?" She smiled at Cliff and said, "Honey, could you lend 
me twenty dollars?"

Cliff grinned and gave her two tens. "Now you guys see why she's so rich 
and I'm so poor! She only spends my money!"

Sandy ignored his jibe. "I'll bet you each ten dollars that the car was 
stolen - probably from some suburban driveway - this morning. Further, 
if your guys look, Lieutenant, they'll find a rental car parked less 
than a block away. Remember, you have to have some kind of 
identification to rent a car. All their ID will be in the rental car, 
probably in the glove box. If my guess is correct no one had any ID, 
right? None of the others did." Sam and Lem looked at each other and 
shook their heads. Each reached into a pocket and took out his shield 
case and handed it to Sandy.

"What's this all about?" she asked.

Lem spoke for both of them. "Since you're the only one using a brain 
around here, you ought to have the badges, too. Just a second. I want to 
show my people how smart their lieutenant is!"

He picked up the phone and made his call. "Sergeant, it's Collins. Did 
you get a trace on the car used this morning? Fine. Send a cruiser out 
to that area. Have the boys start at the house and just go around the 
block. I'll bet there will be a rental car - they're all marked - within 
less than a block. It will probably be up the block on the next cross 
street. When they find it, tell them not to do anything except radio 
their report. You can call me at this number. Thanks."

Collins hung up the phone and turned to Sandy. "You asked if your idea 
makes sense? Make sense! Sandy... may I call you Sandy?... it's 
absolutely brilliant! Now let's see what happens."

In the meantime Sam was on the phone requesting that the three men be 
checked out. "Jack, pay particular attention to Metcalf. That strange 
stuff came from a very small place in Minnesota. See if there's any 
connection."

Sandy prepared soup and sandwiches for lunch. While the foursome were 
eating, Sandy's phone rang. "Lieutenant, it's for you."

The officer took the phone and identified himself. As the person on the 
other end spoke, he started smiling and reached for his wallet. Finally 
he said, "Great work, Sergeant. Now, fax all the ID material we have on 
our John Does to Miami P.D. See if they know these guys. You can reach 
me at the same number for a while longer. I'll call or radio when I 
leave."

Lem had taken a ten-dollar bill from his wallet and given it to Sandy. 
Sam did the same. Sandy took the money she had borrowed from Cliff and 
returned it. "Thank you, dear. Now I want you both to see I pay my loans 
back, so you won't pay attention when he bleats about it again." She 
grinned at Cliff and thanked the officers. "Now tell us what happened," 
she said.

"You called it, Sandy. The car was stolen this morning from a suburban 
driveway. You did everything except give us the damned street address. 
The cruiser found a rental half-a-block away. And guess what? It was 
rented early this morning at the airport. There aren't many flights at 
that time because of noise rules. The only flight - and the one named on 
the car-rental reservation - came in from Miami. I have some guys out 
there now. They're waiting for a guy from the rental company with 
another set of keys. I'm sure you've heard Miami has become something of 
a crime capital. I'll bet we get a make on most of the guys from the 
Miami police. Give us a chance to get our money back, Sandy?"

"Of course, Lem. Are you in, too, Sam?" He nodded. Minutes later the 
phone rang again. Collins took the call. "Bingo! It's all there in the 
glove compartment. ID on all three guys. We don't know if it's real, but 
we will in a very short time. There's something a little odd, though. 
The car was rented for a week on a prepaid basis. The week isn't odd, 
but the prepay is. It came from a travel agency in Chicago, of all 
places.

"What if we find our friend..." Lem checked his notebook and continued, 
"...Foster... made the reservations? It's possible that all the care was 
taken at this end. In other words, very careful about Milwaukee contacts 
- code communication between Stiles and the others, for example - but no 
particular care beyond that. Sam, did your people tape the calls?"

"They sure did! Just give me a minute." Sam picked up the phone and 
called his office. He asked for the technical center, spoke to the 
supervisor, and explained what he wanted. Then he hung up and returned 
to the table. "They're going to sift over the tapes and put all the 
strange-sounding calls on a single tape. I suspect they're going to make 
a hell of a lot more sense now that we know what we're listening for. 
Incidentally, you'll be happy about one thing, Lem: We didn't use phone 
taps. Instead, we used ultra- sensitive noninvasive listening devices... 
all very legal."

Lem picked up the phone and called another number. He identified himself 
and waited. He finally spoke to someone named Bill and asked if he would 
care to join them. He gave the address and hung up.

"Who was that?" Cliff asked.

"That's Bill Owen in the local FBI office. He's on the case from the 
Federal side. They are now *very* interested. There's something about 
the stuff that has their interest, there's the securities angle and now 
there's attempted kidnaping. Ever since Lindbergh, they've been death on 
kidnaping. He's coming right over. I hope you two don't mind?"

A short time later the FBI agent arrived. They briefed him on the 
progress they had made, with Lem stressing it all came from Sandy's 
idea. "Do you folks have any plans for today?" Owen asked Cliff and 
Sandy.

"I have taken care of my only date this morning, Bill. I had my hair 
done," Sandy said with a grin.

"Sam, I hate to impose, but I would really like to hit the ground 
running on Monday," the FBI agent said. "The other thing is the 
possibility of getting a break by locating the place they intended to 
take Sandy. My guess is it's in or near Chicago. That makes our 
participation very official. At any rate, Sam, could all of us go to 
your place and listen to the tapes? I think we have to have Cliff and 
Sandy. You said your people weren't sure what they were hearing. With 
these two listening we can drop obvious business calls and concentrate 
on what can't be more than a few others. They probably have a pretty 
simple code, if there's any at all. And my folks in Washington love to 
break codes! Cliff, are you willing?"

"Are you kidding? We're the targets! Of course we're willing! By the 
way, Sam, I didn't have a chance to thank you for taking care of Sandy 
this morning. From what Lem said, it must have been pretty hairy."

"It was all Sandy. She did it just right. Bill, I yelled, 'Drop!' and 
she just dropped like a stone. The guy just stood there like a 
silhouette target on the pistol range... and that's how he ended up. I'm 
going to call our lab and see how they're coming." He picked up the 
phone and made the call. "They'll be ready for us in less than an hour. 
That's about the time it will take to get there. Shall we go?"

The group was set up in a conference room at the Pinkerton office with a 
technician present to handle the special high-speed tape recorder. He 
put on the first tape and explained what they were going to hear. "We 
have Stiles' office covered like a blanket. You'll hear sound shifts and 
changes in background sounds depending on which sound source we used for 
a sound bite. We have at least three to choose from on each. There's one 
thing more: The voice on the other end is going to sound strange. We use 
a special mike and a computer to reconstruct sounds. You can hear the 
words okay, but it does sound a little weird."

The first tape was made on the morning before trading was suspended in 
Murphy stock. They heard him talk to Miami. Cliff was the first to 
speak. He motioned to the technician to stop the tape. "My God, Sandy, 
you are brilliant! He's talking to Cartwright in Miami, and I think 
that's a reference to the Cayman Islands trust. I'll bet Cartwright is 
the contact!" As the afternoon wore on, they heard veiled references to 
all of the things they were concerned with most particularly including 
the sabotage, the attempted bombing, and the kidnap attempt. Although 
Cliff and Sandy recognized them, it was easy to see why the Pinkerton 
agents had missed the connections.

Owen was quickly on the phone, ordering an FBI raid on the suburban 
Chicago Northside location where they planned on holding Sandy. He then 
called the office and was connected to the Special Agent In Charge, the 
SAIC in the FBI's lexicon. He asked for the U.S. Attorney to request 
court permission to put taps on the phones of the four men as soon as 
possible. Because of security laws, interstate kidnaping, and the 
mysterious stuff, there was no lack of Federal jurisdiction. Based on 
the tapes, there was strong evidence of a federal criminal conspiracy. 
When it was all over, they leaned back in their chairs. The law 
enforcement officers were all smiles. "Sam," Owen said, "Your people 
have been doing an absolutely outstanding job on this case. Between the 
Pinkertons and the Murphys, the paid law-enforcement agencies have been 
getting a free ride.

"By the way, that fact is not lost on my SAIC. He's more than a little 
chagrined. As a result, he's on the horn to Washington to make damn sure 
we get into this act in a big way and fast!"



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