The Unlucky Seven: A Gil Yates Private Investigator Novel - Hardcover

Boyle, Alistair

Hardcover

ISBN 10: 1888310774 ISBN 13: 9781888310771

Publisher: Allen a Knoll Pubs, 1997

Synopsis

Do seven powerful people rule the world? Control all of our actions? Someone thinks so, and is systematically sending bombs to kill each of these seven wealthy and influential men. Three are dead already by the time mega-priced, contingency private investigator Gil Yates arrives on the scene.

Yates is hired by media mogul Harold Mattlock, one of the unlucky seven who becomes next on the hit list. The P.I. solicits the help of Wiggy, a stunning expert on the conspiracy of seven theory, to help find the killer. They barnstorm to Washington, D.C., New York City, San Jose and San Francisco, uncovering bizarre truths about the victims, the survivors, their giant corporations and associates.

Are they quick enough to save the remaining targets? Gil and Wiggy bring it all together in a heart-stopping finish that will have all Gil Yates enthusiasts cheering for more.

About this title

About the Author:

Alistair Boyle is the author of the critically acclaimed Gil Yates Private Investigator series, including The Missing Link, The Con and The Unlucky Seven. He currently lives with his wife in suburban Los Angeles.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.:

The Unlucky Seven is the third Private Investigator Novel in a series. This is the first chapter.

I was putzing my palms and cycads at the moment Harold Mattlock was plugging into my telephone company-provided message system.

He was one of the richest, most powerful men in the world, and that, believe it or not, was what prompted him to call personally.

And he had the grace to add to his message, "You have been highly recommended."

The only thing was, I knew what he wanted. It was in all the papers, on all the news shows, and I knew that it was the challenge of a lifetime. He wanted something I would never dream of doing in my humdrum life as Malvin Stark, beleaguered property manager. But as Gil Yates, private eyeÑwell, things almost as strange have happened.

...
So I called, and was I astonished at the royal treatment I got. From the big man himself (in the top seven by some reckonings). He was knocking himself out just to make my acquaintance. No commitments, just a little chat. He would fly out to see me and send a limo for me - all at my convenience. Yes, he had many commitments, but there wasn't one he wouldn't change for me.

Could you say no to that?

I didn't either. Except I told him to skip the limo. I didn't want anyone to know where I hung out. One look at Tyranny Rex, the wife, or Daddybucks Wemple, the father-in-law/boss, that slab of flab, and, goosewise, I'd be cooked.

"I never dreamed there could be anything this outrageous," he said. "Not until we started seeing the news reports that linked that bomber with this crazy conspiracy stuff. Seven of us! Rule the world! Imagine anything so stupid?" Mattlock's upper lip was curling. That seemed to be as emotional as he got. "I do know Gideon Golan, the Federal Reserve Board chairman, but the idea that Giddie and I would ever take it into our heads to rule the world is ludicrous. I know all the jokes about the president being less important than Chairman Golan, but don't believe it."

"Do you know any of the others?"

"Some, met others. I'm sure you realize we don't meet clandestinely and plan nefarious schemes for taking advantage of the citizenry."

He even sounded like a history professor.

"Did you know Winston Chambers, the CIA head?"

"Met him once or twice."

"Bob Fenster?"

"He was one of our advertisers."

"A big one?"

"Oh, yes. He's got quite a large company."

"United Motors, Philip Carlisle?"

"Also major advertisers. I have paid calls on both gentlemen to express my appreciation for their considerable business. We never spoke of ruling the world." He looked away. "Now they are gone." In a moment, he looked back at me as though he couldn't quite place me. "Let's see," he said, abstractly, "who else is there?"

"The mutual fund guy."

"Oh, yes. If I ever met him, I don't remember. I certainly don't know him."

"They are large advertisers too, aren't they?"

"Yes, but I don't think what's-his-name? the boss-bothers with that," Mattlock said. "At any rate, I didn't call on him like I did the others."

"Other than a conspiracy crank, can you think of anyone else who might have it in for the seven of you?"

He shook his head without thinking. "No one," he said.

"You have anything at all to go on?" I asked.

"The FBI does psychological profiles now on these birds, and I hear they are surprisingly accurate. They tell me he's twenty-five to thirty-five, white, unhappy childhood. Social loner, unmarried, or may have been briefly. Educated, may work in a job that doesn't challenge him." He threw up his hands, "Who knows?" he said, "half the people I know fit a lot of that description."

"Yeah, may save us from looking on an Indian reservation or at the YWCA."

He smiled, grimly.

"Is there anything else you seven have in common?"

He thought a moment. "Wealth," he said flatly, as though it were an unimportant fact of life.

"So, what would you like from me?" I asked.

"As I see it, we have two options," he said. "One is to find him and lock him up." He looked straight at me as though that chore was right up my garden path.

"What's the other?" I murmured - trying meekly to participate in the monologue.

"Convince him his theory is foolish."

"That might be a hard go."

"I know -I know," he said, shaking his head. "A man convinced against his will, is of the same opinion still."

"A-men," I said.

"I'm not a young man," he said, "but I'm not ready to pop off either. I should have fifteen or twenty good ones left in me, if I don't have to spend them looking over my shoulder." Now he looked me square in the eye again. "Can you give them to me?"

Wow, I thought. This dude has been fed some exaggerated tales about me, and he hasn't told me who did the feeding, so I inquired again.

"Depends," I said. "Who recommended me?"

He waved his hand as though that weren't important. "It was a young woman in Interpol who said you had helped them with an art con."

"Jane Eaton," I said.

"Yes," he said. "Is that good, or bad?"

"What?" I was daydreaming about her, "Oh, Jane -good...yes - very good. Jane Eaton was the Interpol moll in charge of art fraud in Zurich, where I wound up on my last assignment. Jane was very good to me - even after she put me in jail."

"Then you'll take the assignment?"

There it was - the inevitable question I couldn't escape. I paused as long as I thought I could get away with, checking myself in the mirror at the same time. "I have been thinking. You know you are asking a gargantuan task of a pretty small guy. Law agencies the world over are trying to catch this guy. No cigarillo so far. I'm not a miracle worker. It would be one costly endeavor, and right at the moment I am not flush with funds."

Mattlock cocked one eye like he was seriously fixing me in a gunsight just to give me the feeling he was all business. Not a lot of humor to him. I guess you couldn't get that rich if you thought things were funny.

"Mr. Yates, let's be frank. I am the sitting duck for not only this deranged bomber, but dozens of scam artists. I could spend ten million a day on people who claim they can protect me. I'm told you are different. You are known as a man who doesn't exude any macho airs, is most unthreatening, but has an uncanny knack for getting the job done. What's more, they say, 'He has the most persuasive, quiet confidence in himself which he backs up by working strictly on contingency. If he doesn't get the pigeon, there is no cigar.' Now that appeals to me, Mr. Yates. I am a man who can pay anything that is asked of me. But let me share with you a lesson I learned early on -ability to pay is no sign of willingness to pay. I didn't get where I am by simply paying at every opportunity. Those opportunities never end."

How to bring the conversation back to money without disappointing this zillionaire? This just didn't seem a case with a high probability for success. And I could spend way more than I ever had.

When in doubt, be humble.

"Mr. Mattlock," I said, and he didn't ask me to call him Harold, "I am flattered by your confidence. But I am not a rich man. My other cases have been within my means, but I don't see me having the funds to stick with something as big and crazy as this."

"So you want an advance -on expenses?"

I nodded.

"Would you dump tens of thousands on someone using an alias with no known address?"

"If I had your money," I said, "and someone was bent on blowing me up, I might let loose of a few thousand."

He seemed to relax. A few thousand was petty cash to him. He must have thought I was going to ask a million up front. "I'll bill you when I need to replenish the funds," I said. "Sort of revolving credit."

"Fair enough. Now, what about the fee if you are successful?"

"What's your life worth to you?" I asked, without putting on any macho airs.

About this edition

• Publisher: Allen a Knoll Pubs
• Publication date: 1997
• ISBN 10: 1888310774
• ISBN 13: 9781888310771
• Binding: Hardcover
• Edition number: 1
• Number of pages: 169