Death Instinct - Jed Rubenfeld [188]
“It sure is, Miss,” answered Littlemore, voice crackling, “and Betty too. Is Doc there?”
“I’m here,” said Younger. “What is it?”
“You wouldn’t believe this house we’re in. Guy who owns it owns the Washington Post. Wife owns the Hope Diamond. It’s a big Christmas party. Secretary Houston invited us down. Harding’s here. There’s so many senators you’d think it was the Capitol. Lamont’s here too. Looking pretty blue—like a guy who lost millions at the track. But you know what? Things are picking up. In the country, I mean. They got dancing girls here from New York. They’re playing a new kind of music. Something in the air. The twenties may not be as bad as I thought.”
“You took the Treasury job again?” asked Younger.
“Nope. We’re just guests. Betty’s the one who likes Washington now. Probably because Harding’s been all over her the whole night.”
“What about you and that Mrs. Cross?” replied Betty.
“Not interested,” said Jimmy.
“She is,” replied his wife. “The harlot.”
“Did you call for any particular reason?” asked Younger.
“It’s Christmas, Doc.”
“Merry Christmas.”
“Everybody’s giving out presents here,” said Littlemore.
“You’re not the only ones,” replied Younger, looking at the diamond on Colette’s finger, which had once belonged to his mother.
“Guess what?” said Littlemore. “You got a present too.”
“I did?” asked Younger. “From whom?”
“Houston. He asked me if you found the gold with me. I said yes. Then he asked me if you were a law officer.”
“Why?”
“Well, they finally dug it all up, and Lamont swears the gold doesn’t belong to Morgan, and Houston swears it doesn’t belong to the Treasury, so officially it doesn’t belong to anybody. It’s unclaimed. They got laws for that. They call it treasure law. The law is that unclaimed gold goes to the finder—unless he’s a law officer. I told him you definitely weren’t a law officer. Told him you were more a law breaker.”
There was silence on the line.
“Did you hear me, Doc?”
“All the gold goes to the finder?”
“Unless he’s a law officer,” said Littlemore.
“How much was there?”
“A little over four million.”
“I can’t accept it,” said Younger. “It belongs to the United States. Tell him I give it back to the Treasury.”
“I already did.”
“You did?” asked Younger.
“I knew you wouldn’t accept it.”
“Yes, but you might have let me exercise my own generosity.”
“There’s something you don’t know,” said Littlemore. “Back in October, Lamont over at Morgan tried to sneak into the country two million dollars of Russian contraband gold. Customs caught him, but Houston secretly had the Treasury take delivery of it. That was illegal, but Houston didn’t want Morgan to take a two-million-dollar loss; he thought it would be bad for the country. Houston was going to have the Treasury pay Morgan for that gold until he found out Lamont was behind the September sixteenth robbery.”
“What are you talking about, Littlemore?” asked Younger.
“Bear with me here. Houston’s not going to pay Lamont a dime for the Russian gold now. The Treasury’s just going to keep it. Lamont can’t object, because the Russian gold was contraband in the first place. So Houston only needs two million more for the Treasury to be made whole.”
“I think I’m following you,” said Younger. “The Treasury is short two million dollars in gold. What’s the point?”
“Point is, when I told Houston you wouldn’t accept all that gold we found, he says, well, the Treasury’s only short two million, so why don’t we use the European rule?”
“Which is?”
“Finder gets half. Government gets half.”
Again there was silence.
“I’m not taking anything you don’t get,” said Younger. “As a matter of fact, you weren’t a law enforcement officer when we found it. Houston had just fired you.”
“I mentioned that to him.”
“What did he say?” asked Younger.
“You and I are splitting two million dollars of gold. Merry Christmas.”
AUTHOR’S NOTE
THE WALL STREET BOMBING of September 16, 1920, would remain the most destructive act of terrorism in the United States until the Oklahoma bombing of 1995. Unlike the