“Have they got a fax machine where you are?”
Charley looked at Sergeant Betty Schneider.
“I need a fax machine number,” he said.
She left the office and returned in less than a minute with the number written on a sheet of notebook paper. He gave it to Isaacson.
“It was sent to you at the Mayflower,” Isaacson said, “marked ‘Please Deliver Immediately.’ They did, and my guy sitting on your apartment sent it out to Nebraska Avenue, thinking I was still there. My guy there read it to me over the phone. So I’ll call out there and have them fax it to you.”
“What the hell is it?”
“I don’t know; I don’t want to know. It’s probably a mistake. ”
“Jesus Christ, Joel!”
What he’s saying, of course, is that he thinks it?
?s from Kennedy. I wonder what the hell it is?
“As soon as I do what I can about the FBI, I’ll let you know,” Isaacson said. “Good job, Don Juan.”
He hung up.
“Your boss?” Chief Inspector Kramer asked.
“A heavy-duty Secret Service guy. Good guy.”
“You think he’ll be able to do something?”
“If anybody can, Isaacson can. But fighting the FBI is like punching a pillow.”
“Uh-huh,” Kramer agreed.
“Can I talk to your undercover guy now?”
Kramer rose from behind the desk and motioned for Castillo to follow him.
They’d barely had time to introduce themselves when Betty Schneider came into the interview.
“Your fax came in, Mr. Castillo,” she said and handed it to him. “It’s addressed to somebody named Gossinger, but I have a hunch it’s intended for you.”
Castillo took the fax from her and read it.
A Fa?. . . . . <<
F?oµ: Poße?to Bo?d?eµo
Pes?de?t G?<
G?a?de Xo??µe? Bea?? & Go?f Peso?t
Xo??µe?, Me???o
Boss
Bosssss
Fo?:SEÑOR KARL W. GOSSINGER