To Save a Son

by Brian Freemantle

  It would have been Elizabeth, Franks supposed. Ahead of Rosenberg he said, “Is that why you’ve staged all this today?”

  “No,” said Tina. “And it isn’t staged. Something staged means something that isn’t meant, a performance. And I mean what I am saying.”

  To Franks, Rosenberg said, “It all comes down to you. Ronan’s scared you’ll back off and he’ll lose his case, like the others that have been lost against these guys before.”

  “I know,” accepted Franks, still looking at Tina. She met his gaze unflinchingly.

  “So what are you going to do?” said Rosenberg.

  Franks came to the other man at last. “What I always intended to do,” he said. “Give evidence and get convictions against them.”

  Rosenberg looked briefly to Tina and then back to Franks again. “And go into the protection program afterward?”

  “Yes,” said Franks.

  There was another prolonged silence.

  “Which means that you and Mrs. Franks will be separating?”

  “That’s exactly what it means,” agreed Franks at once.

  On their way back to Scarsdale, Tina said, “You going to take Maria with you?”

  “I don’t know,” he said.

  “Do you love her?”

  “I don’t know that either.”

  “I think you’ve behaved like a bastard,” she said. “An absolute bastard.”

  Franks snorted a laugh bitterly. “That’s the most ridiculous part,” he said. “All I tried to do was behave as I thought I should have done.”

  27

  Franks moved out of Scarsdale that night, late, because before he left there was a lot to do. He called Maria first, from his bedroom, although he didn’t suppose Tina would have intruded into any of the downstairs rooms. Maria asked him what he was going to do and he told her, and she said she guessed she couldn’t stay on any longer at Scarsdale, either. It hadn’t occurred to him until then but he said no, he guessed she couldn’t.

  “Can I come with you?”

  Franks didn’t respond at once to the question. In Manhattan he’d fantasized about her joining him, but he wasn’t sure whether he wanted her with him.

  “I see,” she said from the other end of the line.

  “No, you don’t,” said Franks quickly. “I was thinking of the danger, because of everything that’s happening. Whether I could expect you to run the risk.”

  “I’m prepared to,” she said immediately.

  “All right,” agreed Franks. “And thank you. I’ll arrange it with Tomkiss. I’m leaving them to find a place.”

  “I’m not sorry,” blurted Maria. “About it coming out, I mean.”

  “Neither am I,” said Franks, knowing that was what she wanted him to say.

  “I just didn’t want to hurt Tina. To hurt anybody,” said the woman.

  “Neither did I,” said Franks. So why had he done it in the first place? Hadn’t he sneered a long time ago at men who had to prove something by sleeping around? Yes, thought Franks; a long time ago.

  “What shall I do?” asked Maria, relying on him.

  “Just come to wherever the FBI people take you,” said Franks. “I’ll be there.”

  “Everything is going to work out okay,” she said.

  That used to be his reassurance, remembered Franks. To Tina. He said, “Sure. I know it is. I’ll see you later.”

  He told Tomkiss what he wanted, alert for the man’s reaction because people’s reaction to him seemed important these days. The FBI agent just nodded and said sure, he’d fix it, and how long would he be? Franks asked for an hour. Tina and Elizabeth were with the children when he went to their adjoining rooms. Without being asked—without any conversation whatsoever—both the women withdrew. David looked up at him soberly and said, “Mommy’s been crying.”

  “Has she?” said Franks, surprised.

  “Is she worried about Poppa?” asked Gabriella.

  “Yes,” said Franks, seizing the excuse. Hurriedly he said, “I’m going away.”

  “Where?” frowned the boy.

  “Work,” lied Franks. “You know how I have to go away.”

  “So you’ll be back?” pressed David.

  He couldn’t lie, Franks decided. Or tell the truth, either. He wedged himself onto Gabriella’s bed and pulled her onto his lap, blinking the sudden blur from his eyes. “Probably not for a long time,” he said. “I’ve got a lot to do and I’m going to be very busy, so you mustn’t expect to see me for a long time.”

  “How long?” demanded David.

  “I’m not sure, not yet,” said Franks. “So while I’m away you’ve got to be the man of the house. Look after Mommy for me.”

  “What about all the men?” asked the girl. “Are they going away too?”

  “No,” said Franks. “They’ll still be here. You’ve got to look after Mommy inside the house.”

  “Is that why Mommy was crying, as well as about Poppa? Because you’re going away?” pressed David.

  “I should think so,” said Franks. Why—having sought to feel emotion for so long—was he embarrassed about it now? He nuzzled his face into Gabriella’s hair, so that David wouldn’t see how close he was to tears, and said, “I want you both to be good now. Understood?”

  “Sure,” said David.

  “Do everything that Mommy tells you.”

  “Why can’t we come with you?” asked Gabriella. “We used to, when you went away to work before.”

  Would there be a divorce? Arrangements about access and things like that? It was the usual procedure, Franks knew; but his circumstances weren’t usual. It was something he was going to have to discuss with Rosenberg. To the child he said, “This is a very difficult job. You can’t come, not this time.”

  “Not at all, not later?” persisted the girl.

  “I’ll see,” avoided Franks.

  “Promise?” said David predictably.

  Franks swallowed. “Promise,” he said awkwardly.

  “You all right, Daddy?” said David.

  “Gabby’s hair has got into my eyes. Made them water,” said Franks. He put the child back onto her bed and stood up abruptly. “I’ve got to go,” he said.

  “You’re going tonight?”

  “Yes.”

  “Come back as soon as you can,” said Gabriella.

  Franks scrubbed his hand across his eyes, and said, “Your hair really hurts. Remember what I said about being good.” He bent quickly, kissed Gabriella first and then David, who didn’t try to pull away like he normally did.

  Back in the corridor outside Franks had to blink a lot to be able to see clearly, concentrating on the other calls he had to make in an effort to recover from his encounter with the children. He went downstairs to use the telephone in the small sitting room, because the drinks were there, pouring and drinking one in a series of gulps and then making another before moving to the telephone. Podmore seemed to have taken over the de facto chairmanship of the groups in his absence, so Franks bothered only to call him, explaining that he was going to be unavailable at Scarsdale from that night and that any messages should be channeled through Rosenberg. The English lawyer said that the Italian authorities were refusing to reissue health certificates to four of the hotels, and that a labor dispute that seemed to be restricted only to their properties was disrupting business at three of the Spanish hotels. Too, the insurers of the liner were questioning whether to settle the necessary repairs or declare the vessel a write-off. Franks tried to give the instructions on the telephone, hot with frustration at not being able to get on the next plane and personally resolve the difficulties. Which was how he’d always operated and wanted to operate now, troubleshooting the problems as they arose. He made Podmore give an undertaking to remain in close contact with Rosenberg and then called the New York lawyer at home to explain the yet further arrangements he’d made involving the man.

  “There are other things that need to be done,” warned Rosenberg. “If thi
s is going to be an official separation you’ll need to agree on support payments and property division … things like that.”

  “Will you fix it for me?” sighed Franks.

  “I’m sorry it’s happened,” sympathized the American. “Lot of things seem to be happening all at once.”

  “Too many,” agreed Franks. “And thanks.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “I don’t know. I’ll call you, tomorrow.”

  Tomkiss and Sheridan were waiting in the car when Franks emerged. Franks turned, keeping the house in sight through the rear window as the vehicle wound down the driveway. He stayed mat way until it vanished from view and then slumped in the back.

  “It’s all fixed,” said Tomkiss.

  “Good,” said Franks.

  “You familiar with Kingston?” asked the FBI man.

  Franks looked up at the man, paying attention for the first time. “Yes,” he said, distantly. “I know Kingston.” It was the entrance to the Catskills, where Enrico had stopped when they made the trip there as kids, pointing out the Onteora Trail and then circling the reservoir and identifying Mount Tobias and Mount Tremper and the highest of them all, Slide Mountain. It was on the lower hills of Slide Mountain that Enrico had set the crossing challenge and he’d almost been engulfed in the slurry.

  “Borrowed a ‘safe house’ there, from the CIA. You’ll be okay.”

  Franks realized he’d gone from not being scared to being unconcerned what happened to him. “Good,” he repeated automatically.

  The house was not actually in Kingston but two miles south, on the road to High Falls. It was surrounded by a wall and the gate was electronically operated, with an intercom set into the wall. Just inside there was a small gatehouse in which Franks saw the figures of at least two men as they drove through. The driveway was lighted, and in the illumination Franks saw what appeared to be junction boxes or some sort of electronic apparatus and guessed the grounds were protected by sensors as well as human guards.

  Maria was already there. There was a central hallway, with four doors leading off, and she was to the left, in what appeared to be the largest room. She was sitting nervously on the very edge of the couch and as he entered she got up, started toward him and then stopped, uncertain.

  “Hello,” she said.

  “Hello.”

  “I got here about an hour ago.”

  “Yes.”

  “Was it bad?”

  “Not really,” said Franks. “Tina is being very controlled about the whole thing. It wasn’t very easy with the children.”

  “What did you tell them?”

  “That I was going away for a long time on business,” said Franks. He looked around the room and said, “Is there a drink anywhere?”

  Appearing glad of the activity, Maria went to a side cupboard and poured the gin, taking one for herself, too. “That leaves Tina to tell them?” she said as she handed him the glass.

  “Maybe it’s better that they hear it from her,” said Franks, irked by the unspoken accusation. “What happened at the Scargos’?”

  Now it was Maria’s turn to be awkward. “I didn’t tell them anything,” she said. “I just told Mamma that I had to get away; let her think it was something to do with Nicky’s death.”

  He smiled sadly at her. “We’re both a couple of cowards, aren’t we?” he said.

  She smiled back. “Seems like it,” she said.

  “Where are your bags?”

  “Upstairs.”

  “You’ve already chosen our room then?”

  “Our room?”

  “Isn’t it going to be?” he frowned.

  “I wanted to hear you say it.”

  “Nervous?”

  “Very,” she nodded. “Silly, isn’t it? I didn’t feel scared at Scarsdale, but now I do.”

  Knowing that he should—that he should have the moment he came into the houses—Franks went to her, and took the glass from her so that she wouldn’t spill it, and kissed her. She kissed him back urgently, clutching her arms around his waist. He could feel her shaking and ran his hand through her hair, and said, “Okay. It’s all going to be okay.”

  “I know it is,” she said, trying hard. “I know it is.”

  He was a refugee again, thought Franks. He’d imagined—hopefully—that the attitude had left him forever, but it came suddenly and was as positive as it had been that day on the New York dockside and then back again, in Southampton, meeting a father he’d never known nor learned how to know. More positively, in fact. He felt more completely alone and abandoned than he ever remembered feeling before, and it frightened him, so that he physically shivered. Maria felt it and pulled away, frowning up into his face.

  “What is it?” she said.

  “Nothing.”

  “You shivered.”

  “It was nothing.”

  She remained doubtful, looking up at him expectantly. He said, “Do we look after ourselves here?”

  “It seems like it,” said Maria. “I’ve found the kitchen. The refrigerator’s stocked.”

  “Looks like you’re making supper then,” said Franks, seeking an escape.

  “You sure you’re okay?”

  “Positive.”

  “I don’t want you to say it back—I told you that before—but I think I love you, Eddie Franks,” she said.

  “I think I love you, too.”

  “You didn’t have to say it.”

  “I wanted to.”

  “I wanted you to.”

  That night and the days that followed provided the first release—a relaxation—for what seemed to Franks to be years. He established telephone contact with Rosenberg and through the New York attorney attempted arm’s-length control of the European businesses—frustrated that he couldn’t do more—but that was his only irritation. There was the aphrodisiac of the illicit about his relationship with Maria, but he thought it went beyond that, to something more. Maria never criticized—never questioned him—but was content to listen and understand. He told her about the arrangements he had made to protect the European businesses and how he hoped everything would be over in time for him to be able to solve the difficulties personally. Objectively, she suggested that the bacillus attack and the ship sabotage and the union disruptions might have been created precisely to achieve that: his appearance in an unguarded situation. They spent evenings entwined watching television or listening to music and during the day explored the expansive grounds of the CIA installation. During the third week Franks made the demand to Tomkiss, who said he’d have to get higher clearance, which was given, so they were allowed out of the enclosure and wandered along the Esopus and through Stony Hollow into the mountain foothills. There was always an escort of FBI agents and marshals, but Franks found that in Maria’s company he was able to forget them, as she appeared to be. He confessed to her the contests that Enrico set him and Nicky, and pointed out Slide Mountain and actually tried to find the slurry slip, although he didn’t succeed. They made love every day and often more than once, on the couch in front of the television or actually going to bed in the afternoon. Maria was completely uninhibited, and at her urging he did things with her he would have never considered with Tina. Realizing how highly sexed she was, Franks was astonished she’d remained faithful as long as she had to the unresponsive Nicky.

  He held back from attempting any direct telephone contact with Tina, instead asking Rosenberg to arrange any maintenance that she might need. Tina’s initial reaction was that she didn’t want any support, but Rosenberg persuaded her to engage a lawyer of her own and in consultation with him created an agreement. As well as an interim financial settlement Franks drew from Switzerland, he also made the Scarsdale house over to her in its entirety, the only condition being that she retain the necessary votes that maintained his control in the European shareholding. Tina agreed at once.

  Rosenberg argued against overgenerosity, but Franks was insistent. He inquired through the lawyer whether Tina
wanted to keep the Henley house in England, and when she said she didn’t, instructed the lawyer to place it on the market. Although she said she didn’t want to know, because she considered it none of her business, Franks discussed everything with Maria. On each occasion when they talked about it Maria listened but said very little, careful never to judge what he was doing, even when he asked her for her opinion.

  The trial was set for the last week in July. There were fresh journeys, alone, into Manhattan, for revision and reconsideration of the evidence. Franks used the trips to see Rosenberg as well, and on the last one learned of Podmore’s assessment of the year’s trading prospects. In Italy the business was expected to show a drop of seventy-five percent on the previous year, and two hotels were still so polluted that the health authorities were considering their permanent closure. Trading in Spain was down by forty percent and in France by thirty. Overall, their current year’s business was reduced by fifty percent and the forecast for the following year, unless there was some way of restoring public confidence, was that the decline would exceed that. Repairing the liner, which had taken three months to settle with the insurance company, was being delayed by industrial disputes in the Amsterdam shipyard, and effectively the vessel’s trading potential had to be dismissed for the entire year. Profit forecast, before tax, would certainly show a reduction of four million pounds from the previous year, and the possibility was that the drop would be even greater. If so, then it would be necessary to go into reserves to finance the advertising and refurbishing necessary for the next year. Podmore’s covering letter reminded Franks of the time limit that had been agreed for his returning to England to resume control. Franks instructed the American lawyer to reply that he was fully aware of the timing and would be back, as he had undertaken to be.

  “You can’t promise that,” said Rosenberg. “For God’s sake, Eddie, when are you going to recognize, after all that’s happened, the precautions you’re going to have to take?”