(1982) The Almighty (43 page)

‘But Mr. Armstead,’ she interrupted, ‘I was there, I saw it

happen. I saw them kidnap Carlos.’

‘Did you?’ Armstead exhaled a cloud of smoke. ‘Victoria, forgive me, but I’m an old hand at this sort of thing, and you are new and relatively inexperienced. In’ my day, I’ve attended too many murder trials where five eyewitnesses give five different descriptions of the murderer. I mean, we’re all only human -‘

‘Mr. Armstead, believe me.’

‘I do believe you. But my natural instinct to step into something like this warily, to be cautious before becoming involved, made me want to speak to you first. The fact is, I think this has possibilities for a front-page lead. That’s why I brought you all the way here. To determine for myself whether we are onto something. So let’s start from the beginning. You were on the Rue de Paradis, keeping an eye on the Rue Martel-‘

‘Keeping an eye on the hideout Carlos was using.’

Armstead held up his cigar hand. ‘One moment, Victoria. The last information we had was from Nick Ramsey, after he was picked up and overheard someone in the Carlos gang saying they were moving. And, indeed, when I notified the Surete they staged a raid on No. 12 Rue Martel, and the apartment was already empty. Carlos had moved on.’

‘But I found out he had only moved next door.’

‘How did you discover that?’

‘Why, from -‘ She looked at Armstead blankly. ‘I thought I’d told you. Maybe I forgot to. Anyway, after Nick got to Washington he recalled something he had overlooked telling you - it had slipped his mind - and we were talking and he told me about it. The member of the Carlos gang who had mentioned moving also mentioned that they were moving to No. 10.1 remembered that there was a No. 10 next to the old hideout at No. 12.’

‘Enterprising of you, Victoria, but a long shot. There must be countless house numbers in Paris designated as No. 10. The terrorist could have meant any one of them in any one of dozens of other streets.’

‘Yes, he could have,’ conceded Victoria, ‘but he didn’t. He meant No. 10 Rue Martel, next door. Which was what Nick and I had reasoned. Why should the Carlos gang members

expose themselves to public view by moving around the city? Wouldn’t it be safer to move right next door? As it turned out, that’s what they did.’

‘How can you be sure?’

‘Because I saw Carlos himself, their leader, leave the building.’

Armstead sucked at his cigar. ‘Victoria, how do you know it was Carlos? Have you ever met or seen him.in person?’

‘Of course not,’ replied Victoria, exasperated. ‘But earlier, when we were on the terrorist series, Nick described him to me and showed me photos of him in clippings. I was almost sure it was Carlos. Finally, after a few days, I decided to make absolutely sure. I went to our Paris bureau, took out all the photographs on file, and there was a recent picture of the man I had seen step into the Rue Martel and get kidnapped.’

‘What made you think he was being kidnapped?’

‘Because -‘ Victoria faltered. ‘He - he got into a taxi, in the back seat like a passenger, and sat in the middle. Then the taxi started off, suddenly swerved into a second driveway and disappeared. In seconds it backed out, and I could see that on either side of the back seat there were two other men, and Carlos, who had been in the middle, couldn’t be seen. They’d obviously pushed him down to the floorboard, were holding him by force.’

‘You didn’t see that happen?’

‘No - no I didn’t, but it was obvious.’

Armstead remained skeptical. ‘Maybe it was Carlos still sitting up in the back seat, only he had moved over to one side when the taxi went into the driveway to pick up another passenger. Isn’t that possible?’

‘It’s possible,’ Victoria had to admit, ‘but I don’t think that’s what happened.’

‘You don’t think that’s what happened,’ repeated Armstead. ‘And after that?’

‘I ran for my car and was able to follow the taxi to the Left Bank, the Rue de Seine, and the Rue Jacob. The hideout of the other gang - the one that had abducted Carlos.’

‘You saw this so-called other gang carry Carlos into their hideout?’

‘No - no I didn’t. I was parking.’

‘Did you ever see any members of the so-called other gang?’

‘Once. But not really. I saw two men leave in the taxi. I wanted to follow them, but a policeman was giving me a parking ticket. They got away.’

‘If we showed you some photographs of terrorists in various gangs, do you think you could identify those two men?’

‘I’m afraid not. I didn’t really get a clear look at either one. They moved out so fast.’

‘But you still think members of another terrorist gang are holding Carlos? I wonder why they’d risk it?’

‘I can’t imagine.’

‘Neither can I,’ said Armstead with an air of finality. ‘It is possible they may have been some extramural feuding between gangs. But I doubt it. I strongly doubt it. I can’t see anyone monkeying around with Carlos. Still, someone might. For that reason, I’ll follow through.’

Victoria was not ready to be dismissed. T was hoping you’d send me back, let me follow through.’

Armstead put the stub of cigar in an ashtray. T appreciate your persistence, Victoria. But in this case I don’t think it’s justified. We’ll look into the matter in Paris on our own, use someone who’s on the scene. We have plenty to keep you busy right here.’

‘I’m sure you have.’ She rose, gathering up her raincoat and purse. ‘I’m sorry this didn’t work out.’

‘If it does, you’ll be the first to be informed and to be given a share of credit. Take the rest of the day off, and come back to work in the morning.’

‘Thank you, Mr. Armstead. I want to spend a little time at my desk, see what’s piled up. Then go back to my apartment and unpack and get some sleep.’

‘You can use a company car until you get your own.’

‘Thanks again.’

Before leaving editorial, Victoria had stopped at her desk to check and sort out the accumulation of mail that had been unattended since her departure for Europe. It had taken her fifteen minutes to clean off her desk and fill her wastebasket as

she discarded junk mail, publicity handouts, outdated interoffice memos.

Finishing, dispirited by her interview with Armstead, she stepped into the aisle, about to depart, and bumped into Harry Dietz, who was hurrying back to his office. He caught her, steadied her, and apologized.

Releasing her, Dietz seached her face. ‘Hey, why so gloomy, Victoria? Isn’t it good to be back home?’

‘Well-‘

Dietz nodded understandingly. ‘I know. Mr. Armstead filled me in briefly on your talk. Listen, we all make assumptions, mistakes. But in case there is anything to it, he’ll follow through. You can depend on him. If it works out, he’ll give you due credit. I promise, you’ll share the by-line with Bradshaw. How’s that?’

Without waiting for her reply, Dietz hastened off.

Going to the elevator, Victoria tried to mimic his question in her head: How’s that?

Getting into the elevator, she angrily replied to his question with her answer: Fuck off, Mr. Harry Dietz.

Stepping out of the elevator into the lobby, she halted, reviewing what Dietz had told her.

He’ll follow through. You can depend on him. If it works out, he’ll give you due credit. I promise, you’ll share the by-line with Bradshaw.

With Bradshaw.

There was no Bradshaw. They knew it. She knew it. But -they did not know she knew it.

Plainly, it was all a sham. Whatever Armstead had promised her, he had not meant. He had not believed her story at all. He had merely dusted her off.

Her anger mounted at the injustice of it. Armstead and Dietz, they were treating her like a child, an inexperienced cub reporter.

Yet, she had seen the happening in Paris, seen it with her own eyes, and trusted what she had seen. She was not wrong. They, the big shots, the know-it-alls who knew nothing, they were wrong. Suddenly she wanted to show them up, prove herself.

There was a public pay phone near the exit. It was vacant. Victoria made her way to the booth, closed herself inside, and

located her personalcredit card. When she had it, she put through a longdistance call to Paris.

Fifteen minutes later, in his own office on the sixth floor of the Armstead Building, Harry Dietz received an unexpected telephone call that disturbed him. After listening, Dietz said, ‘No, I don’t know anything about this. Maybe the chief does. Let me see if Mr. Armstead is in. If he is, I think you should speak to him. Let me put you on hold.’

Dietz pressed the hold button, came to his feet, strode to the private door leading to the publisher’s office, knocked sharply and looked in. Armstead was at his desk and alone. Dietz let himself into the office and hurried to the publisher’s side. ‘Chief, there’s a call -‘ Armstead cocked his head questioningly. ‘- I have a call from our Paris bureau, from Sid Lukas, that perhaps you’ll want to take.’

‘Sid Lukas?’ Armstead noted the time on his desk clock, and calculated the hour in Paris. ‘At this time? What’s going on?’

‘Let him explain,’ urged Dietz.

Dietz went to the front of the desk and perched on the end of a chair while the puzzled Armstead depressed the button on his telephone console and lifted the receiver. ‘Sid?’ said Armstead.

‘Mr. Armstead, I didn’t want to bother you, but Mr. Dietz thought you might be able to help.’ ‘About what?’

‘Victoria Weston’s call ten minutes ago. I gather she’s in New York again. I just missed her call, but she left a message. I gather it was vital or I wouldn’t have bothered.’

Armstead was at once alert, staring at Dietz. ‘Go on, Sid.’ ‘I was in Lyons on a story,’ said Lukas, ‘and just got back to Paris. Thought I’d drop by the office to see if there was anything essential on my desk before going to the apartment. I checked out our message service, and there was one message that sounded critical. A longdistance from Vicky Weston. I figured she was still at her desk, so I called her there. When there was no answer, I asked to be transferred to Mr. Dietz, who felt I should speak to you.’

‘Here I am,’ said Armstead. ‘What do you want to know?’

‘I was hoping you could fill me in on Vicky’s message. It’s a bit cryptic. I guess she didn’t want to leave the full message with the service.’

‘What’s the message?’ asked Armstead, although his expression indicated that he knew.

‘The message says, “Tell Mr. Lukas I had to leave Paris in the middle of an important story. No one believes I have it, but it’s true. Remember when I was going through the terrorist photos in your office two days ago, and we discussed the leader? I know where he is right now. I think you should follow through. I’ll be back in my apartment in an hour. Phone me at any time after that for full details. Victoria Weston.” And she left her phone number.’ Sid Lukas paused. ‘Of course, she was referring to Carlos. She knows where he is. That could be pretty important, all right. I could use the details this minute. I was hoping you could help me. If not, I can get the details from her a little later. Do you know anything about this, Mr. Armstead?’

Armstead forced a chuckle. ‘Sid, sorry to burst your bubble, but it’s a phony. Yes, I saw Miss Weston today. She spilled the whole thing to me. I pointed out she’d been misled, and was trying to mislead everyone else. I proved it to her, and told her to forget it.’

‘Then why in the hell is she bothering me?’ Lukas complained.

‘Because she’s like all kid reporters,’ said Armstead. ‘She wants to prove herself, make it overnight. She’s obsessed with the idea that she saw someone who looked like Carlos, when in fact we happen to know Carlos is in Tripoli right now. There you have it. Ignore Vicky’s fantasy. Forget the whole thing.’

‘All right, Mr. Armstead. Thanks. Sorry to trouble you. But geez, I don’t know what to say to her when I call her tonight.’

‘Don’t bother calling her. You don’t have to. Go to sleep.’

‘Okay. Maybe I’ll give her a call anyway, just to be courteous. I’ll be polite, but double-talk her.’

Armstead contained himself. ‘Whatever you like, Sid. If you want to call her tonight to be polite, go ahead. Anyway, sorry the story didn’t shape up.’

The second Armstead hung up, Dietz was leaning against the far side of the desk, his face anxiety-ridden. ‘You’re not

letting him call her, Chief? My God, she might persuade him to look into it - he might get the Surete to the hideout on the Rue Jacob, and they’d not only find Carlos, they’d find Cooper and our whole crowd - and they’d find us. We’d -‘

‘Calm down, Harry,’ said Armstead. ‘Victoria Weston is not going to get any call from Sid Lukas tonight or any night.’

‘Why not?’

‘Harry,’ Armstead said with a smile, ‘she’s going to be dead. And you’re going to see to it right now.’

After the telephone call to Paris from the lobby, Victoria had gone down to the Armstead Building garage to borrow a company car. The last available car was on a grease rack, and Victoria had been delayed a half hour while a mechanic finished servicing it. Once in possession of the Ford, she drove it out into the thick of the Park Avenue traffic.

She was eager to return to her apartment and not miss the call from Sid Lukas. She knew that he would call once he got into Paris from out of town and checked his message service. The chance for a scoop on Carlos was an opportunity Sid would not be able to resist. He would call, all right, and she wanted to be there when the phone rang. It would be worth anything to show up those arrogant nitwits, Armstead and Dietz, and prove that she was no simpleton, but someone as smart as, if not smarter than, the two of them.

Stalled by the traffic, starting and stopping constantly, Victoria had time to relive her interview with Armstead and short meeting with Dietz, and she was again smarting at their treatment.

Imagine their daring to try to con her into believing they would follow through on the Carlos story, and Dietz saying that Bradshaw would be doing it.

Bradshaw. That Dietz would pretend he existed, and got them all those sensational scoops when she knew -

That instant, she knew.

She felt the goose pimples grow on her arms, and her fingers clenched the steering wheel more tightly as her body went rigid. It was coming to her in a rush, the incredible answers to the questions that she had been asking herself in these last weeks. Like a streak of lightning throwing a bright, stark light on a dark area, illuminating all that had been hidden so long.