Chapter 6
"Oh, shit!" Roman Crandale groaned, coming awake to the drilling of the telephone rings into his tired brain.
Roman rolled, stretched for the phone in the darkness and brought it to his ear and mouth.
"Yes?" Roman mumbled sleepily.
"I have a collect call for Mr. Jonathan Beenuter," the male operator's voice said.
"Tell him it's from Matthew White," a voice from the opposite end of the line intruded.
"From Mr. Matthew White," the operator obliged. "Will you accept the charges?"
Roman was already throwing back the blankets. He came up to a sitting position on the edge of the bed, reaching for the lamp on the table.
"I'm afraid you must have the wrong number," Roman said, checking the clock. It was almost four o'clock in the morning. "There's no Mr. Beenuter at this address."
There was the sound of a disconnection in Roman's ear, and he hung his own telephone receiver back on its hook.
Trouble! There was some kind of trouble!
Roman got dressed, going into the bathroom just long enough to splash his face with cold water. He then left his apartment, taking the elevator to the garage.
He drove several miles away, found a pay telephone booth at random and stopped his car. In the booth, he dialed the Vancouver, Canada number direct, waiting for the operator to interrupt with a request for the proper change.
The phone on the other end rang. Cary Janner must have been sitting on the phone, because he answered in the middle of the first ring.
"This is Mr. Beenuter," Roman said.
"Word at this end is that certain factions have been made aware of the possibility of our present operation and are preparing to move," Cary answered.
"They have specifics?"
"Sources say no," Cary answered. "But, there has been a good deal of activity. I'm suggesting we move early."
"How early?"
"As soon as possible if you can handle at that end."
"Move, then," Roman said.
The phone went dead. Roman waited for the dial tone and then dialed a local number.
Someone answered by repeating verbally the number Roman had just dialed.
"Mr. Torper, please. This is Alex," Roman said.
There was a short pause.
"What number are you calling from, Alex?" a voice asked finally.
Roman gave the number of the phone in the booth, waited for the man on the other end to verify his receipt of the number before Roman hung up.
Less than two minutes later, the phone in the booth rang, and Roman answered it.
"Roman?" the voice on the other end queried.
"We're moving the stuff tonight," Roman said. "Canadian authorities are suddenly restless. I thought they'd been handled."
"Goddamn it!" the voice on the other end erupted. "Goddamn, shitting, sonofabitch! Call me back in an hour, will you?"
"Sure," Roman replied. "Just remember that things are on 'go' as of a few minutes ago, and I'll have to get my ass up to the cabin."
"A hour, Roman. An hour. And, I guarantee you that someone in Canada is going to get hell!"
The phone went dead as the person on the other end of the line broke the connection.
Roman left the booth, walking across the street to a restaurant for breakfast and coffee.