(1982) The Almighty (44 page)

In those stunning moments of revelation, Victoria could

see the whole truth. It was too shocking, even horrifying, to believe, but it was the truth, there could be no other. It was coming to her - who Mark Bradshaw was; why she and Nick had always been sent to scenes where terrorism was about to happen, to file advance background stories where terrorism would occur; how the Record had obtained exclusive stories on the kidnapping of the Spanish king and abduction of the UN secretary-general and theft of the Dead Sea scrolls and murder of the Israeli prime minister and near kidnapping of the Pope in Lourdes; why Carlos was not being picked up and jailed; why she had abruptly been ordered to leave Paris and return to New York.

All this made sense if - she tugged at the steering wheel, breaking out of the traffic, and pulled up against the curb to hear her heart thumping and her senses telling her the ultimate truth - if Edward Armstead was behind everything, was himself the mastermind and promoter of his own terrorist gang, was himself the real Bradshaw secretly spewing out all those circulation-building and power-making scoops and exclusives.

It had to be Armstead, none other. It couldn’t be, but it had to be.

The logic was there, and the certainty. But not the proof.

How to prove it?

If only she were an experienced investigative reporter, she would know which way to turn. But then it occurred to her that if she wasn’t one, she knew one, and it was to him she must turn.

She must call Nick Ramsey as speedily as possible.

Pulling away from the curb, she slipped her Ford into the train of traffic once more, and trembling with excitement, she sought a public telephone.

Because it was so difficult to find both parking and a public telephone, Victoria considered going on to her own studio apartment on West Seventy-third Street. But she realized that it might take too long and she could miss Nick Ramsey, and that wouldn’t do, not right now. She remembered telephone booths nearby, and easy parking, and she turned off Park Avenue, crossed Fifth, maneuvered her way to Rockefeller Plaza. There she braked before the NBC

Building, left her Ford and a generous tip with the doorman, and ran inside to find a telephone booth.

In minutes she was putting through her call to the New York Record bureau in Washington, D.C.

Nick Ramsey was still at work.

‘Are you free to talk?’ Victoria wanted to know.

‘For you, anytime,’ he said. ‘Just sitting here trying to wind up a backgrounder on the President’s conference in London.’

‘Listen to me, Nick -‘

‘Hey, what’s up? You sound pretty excited.’

‘I am excited, ready to burst. I’m in New York-‘

‘How come? I thought you were calling from Paris. What’s going on?’

She tried to be as quick as possible. ‘Nick, your tip led me to Carlos. I saw him kidnapped by another gang.’

‘You actually saw that? Why would anyone want to - or dare to?’

‘I don’t know. I reported it to Dietz, and the next thing I knew I was ordered to return to New York and tell it all to Armstead. I did. He didn’t believe me, but promised to look into it. If my story is confirmed, I’ll share a by-line with Mark Bradshaw.’

‘With Bradshaw? But he doesn’t -‘

‘You know, I know, but Armstead isn’t aware that we know. That put me onto it. How could I have been so blind? It was right under my nose. The real truth. Who’s behind the latest terrorist wave - who’s writing those exclusives for the Record -‘

‘I’m listening,’ she heard Ramsey say. There was no chiding in his tone. She tried to picture him at the other end, telephone pressed to his ear, countenance serious and sober, grimly prepared to hear her out. ‘Go ahead, Vicky,’ he added.

Encouraged, she went on. She poured out everything that was on her mind. She omitted nothing. Even as she spoke, her certainty grew. Not once did Ramsey interrupt or challenge her. He was fully attentive as she built her case. At last she was through, and she wanted his response.

‘There you have it, Nick,’ she concluded. ‘There you have it all.’

A short silence followed. ‘Edward Armstead,’ he murmured finally. ‘So you think it’s Armstead.’

‘I know it’s Armstead.’

‘But if he did it, why - why would he do it? He has all the money in the world.’

‘He doesn’t have identity, or didn’t have-when he took over. You yourself told me that once. He has to be somebody. He wants power. And he seems - I don’t know - a little mad.’

‘Could be,’ said Ramsey, but a doubt had surfaced. ‘Yet, it can’t be. You’ve made a case. But somehow the thought of it seems farfetched. Armstead hiring mercenaries, employing terrorists, committing criminal acts, murdering - it just doesn’t seem possible.’

‘Anything is possible, Nick, anything. The logic is there. You can’t dispute the logic. There is no other explanation.’

‘I can’t think of a better one,’ Ramsey admitted. ‘Suppose everything you’ve said is true. What can you do about it? What can you do without proof?’

‘I can go to the police, try to have them investigate.’

‘They’d throw you out on your ear. You know it.’

‘I know it,’ Victoria confessed miserably. T do need proof. I guess that’s why I’m calling you. I need help. Maybe you can suggest something. What would you do if you were in my shoes?’

Ramsey was intent now. ‘The first thing I’d do is look out for myself, proceed with caution, watch every, step I make. Because if you are anywhere near the truth, Vicky, you’re in danger of treading on a land mine. If Armstead is involved, he already has you marked as a threat. Perhaps that’s why he brought you home. If you persisted, got too close to him, Armstead might be forced to - to eliminate you.’

‘Fair warning,’ said Victoria. ‘But the next step. If you were me, what would you do next?’

‘Well…’ The utterance trailed off. ‘Proof, you want proof. Almost impossible to imagine where you could find it. However, there are two sources, both close to Armstead, and - this is my guess - with not too much love for him. One is his wife Hannah. She’s had a bad time with him for years, especially in the last year or two. Have you met her?’

‘I’ve heard of her.’

‘The other is Kim Nesbit. Does that ring a bell?’

‘A faint one. She was a Broadway actress, a singer, something, and Ezra J. Armstead’s mistress.’

‘That’s all vou know?’

‘That’s all.”

‘Now she’s Edward Armstead’s mistress. He inherited her from his father.’

‘You’re kidding.’

‘You better believe me. Kim’s in bad shape, I hear. Armstead has treated her abominably. The word gets around. I don’t know how she feels about him right now. She might feel loyal. She might feel angry, vengeful. If you get lucky, you might hit pay dirt.’

‘And if I’m unlucky?’

‘She might pass on to Armstead what you’re doing.’

‘I’ll take my chances. Now I’ve got to find them.’

‘I have Hannah and Edward Armstead’s penthouse address right here. And Kim Nesbit’s condo address.’

‘How do you know all this?’ she said.

‘I’m an investigative reporter, remember? On any job, I always make it a policy to investigate my boss first.’

‘Okay, the addresses.’

He read them to her and she wrote them down.

‘I suggest you start with Kim,’ he said.

‘Exactly what I intend to do. Thanks, Nick - I miss you.’

‘I miss you too. I wish I could be there to give you a hand, but you know I’m off for London the day after tomorrow. If you need me, I’ll be at the Athenaeum Hotel -‘

‘Okay.’

‘Better yet, if you need some fast advice or help, call the White House and ask for Sy Rosenbloom. He’s on the President’s staff, an aide in the West Wing, and he’ll be staying behind. Your father knows him and likes him. Sy is one of my closest friends. We were roommates in college.’

‘Sy Rosenbloom. I’ll remember. Are you going to tell him what’s going on?’

‘No, not that. Certainly not at this point. But he already knows about you, and he knows we’ve worked together. Of course, if things get rough and you’re in real trouble - if you need advice, help, someone to bail you out - you can tell him everything, the whole thing. But always try to get me first.’

‘I will. Have a good trip, Nick.’

‘Never mind about me. It’s you I’m concerned about. You will be careful?’

‘Very.’

‘When are you starting after the proof?’

‘Tonight, Nick. In exactly one minute.’

There were two surprises awaiting Victoria after she rang the condo doorbell.

The first was that Kim Nesbit, apparently having used the peephole, opened the door herself. The other was that Kim Nesbit appeared to be so young. Victoria had expected someone much older. After all, she had been the mistress of Armstead’s father. Yet, in the unlighted entry hall, attired in Oriental kimono and pajamas, her features smooth, her flaxen hair as long and light blond as Victoria’s own, she seemed astonishingly girlish.

‘The guard downstairs told me you were with the paper,’ Kim said.

‘I am,’ said Victoria.

‘What do you want with me?’

‘I’d like to speak to you briefly, if I may.’

Kim Nesbit remained suspicious. ‘What about?’

Victoria felt uneasy, but knew she would have to be forthright. T understand you’re a friend of Mr. Armstead.’

‘Friend, ha. Maybe I am a friend. What about it?’

For the first time Victoria sensed that Kim might be drunk. ‘I hoped that I could discuss him with you.’

‘This isn’t an interview, is it?’

‘No, it’s something personal,’ Victoria said hastily. ‘It’s really something I’d like to discuss with you in private.’

Kim looked her over. ‘Ed didn’t knock you up, did he?’

‘Oh, God, no. Nothing like that.’

‘All right,’ said Kim grudgingly, ‘come on in.’

Victoria walked past Kim through the dark entry, to be blinded by the white brightness of the large living room. Kim, behind her, said, ‘Sit down anywhere. Would you like a drink?’

Victoria shook her head. ‘No, thanks.’

There were three pillow-strewn green sofas, and Victoria chose the one to her left. She watched Kim go to the bar, retrieve a half-finished drink, come toward her. Victoria could see that the woman’s gait was unsteady, and the harsh lighting in the living room had aged her considerably. She

was disheveled, and there were lines of discontent in her face.

Kim sat down on the middle sofa, took a slow swallow from her glass, and set it on the coffee table.

‘What about Ed Armstead?’ said Kim. ‘What do you want to know, and why?’

Victoria’s fingers worried her purse. ‘I’m not sure how to begin,’ Victoria said.

‘Just begin,’ said Kim.

‘I work for Edward Armstead, as you know. I’m one of the new reporters at the Record. I went to Europe for him, with another reporter, to research a series on modern-day terrorism, and some other stories. During that period, and recently, a lot of things happened that made me worry a little.’

‘Worry about what?’

‘About Mr. Armstead himself. I - I don’t know how to say it. I want to be honest with you, but I’m a little afraid. I’m afraid you might repeat to Mr. Armstead what I have to tell you.’

‘And he’ll fire you?’

‘Something like that.’

‘I don’t know what you have on your mind, or if I can help you with it. But one thing for sure. You can be as honest as you like. You don’t have to worry about me repeating anything. Repeat anything? I’m not speaking to the bastard anymore. I hate his guts.’ She picked up her glass, took another swallow. ‘What’s the bastard done to you? Go ahead, tell me.’

‘Nothing. He’s done nothing to me personally. But I am concerned about what he may be doing to other people.’

Kim seemed to have misunderstood. ‘He’s done plenty to me, to his wife and to me. Neglecting us, abusing us. He’s a bastard. Most people don’t know it, but he’s a real bastard.’

‘I don’t know anything about that,’ said Victoria. ‘I meant, the way he’s been treating people worldwide. The harm he may be doing them. I’m referring to his interest in terrorism. He seems to be close to terrorists, possibly condoning, possibly even inspiring, some of their activities. Certainly, he knows more about each recent terrorist act than anyone else. He seems to be writing about it as it happens. He’s the first in print with each event. It leads me to believe he has some terrorist connection.’

Victoria had been more direct than she had intended, but she felt that she could trust this woman, and was now relieved that she had put it on the line. She waited for Kim’s reply.

Kim was finishing her drink. ‘Terrorists’ mumbled Kim vaguely. ‘You think he has something to do with them?’

T want to know what you think, Miss Nesbit.’

Kim contemplated her empty glass. ‘Power,’ she said. ‘He likes it. He’d trample on anyone for power.’

‘Do you mean that?’

‘He’d do anything for power.’

‘Like what?’

‘He’d kill for power.’

Victoria was not sure that Kim was sober enough to know what she was saying. ‘Can you prove it?’ Victoria asked.

Kim relapsed into silence for a spell. ‘I can tell you plenty -‘ she muttered. She raised her head. ‘- but I won’t.’

‘You won’t?’

‘I can’t.’ With effort, she managed to rise. ‘You better go.’ She headed to the bar, weaving, to pour another drink.

Victoria came up swiftly and followed her. ‘If you don’t feel well, maybe we can talk another time.’

Kim set her glass on the bar. ‘Another time, yes. I’m going to lie down.’

Victoria was scribbling on her pad. She tore the page out and pushed it into Kim’s hand. ‘Let me give you my address and phone number,’ Victoria said. ‘I’ll be there almost every evening.’ She sought Kim’s attention. ‘I hope you consider what we’ve been discussing, and get in touch with me.’

‘Maybe,’ said Kim. ‘Goodbye.’

Entering the luxurious lobby of the On Fifth Towers, Victoria went straight to the uniformed guard at the table.

She had to make sure that Armstead was not in the apartment. ‘Has Mr. Armstead come home yet?’ she inquired. Flipping open her red wallet, she showed her press pass. ‘I’m with Armstead Communications.’