thing would take terrible photographs of Val’scrudest work and send the pictures back to her sisterand cousins in Cermany, writing outrageous lies thatspoke of museums and galleries and insanecommissions.
“The crazy Berlinerin,” her father would sayfondly in his heavy Gallic accent. “You should haveseen her during the war. She frightened us all todeath! We half expected she would return toheadquarters some night with a drunken Goebbelsor a doped-up Goring in tow, then tell us if wewanted Hitler to give her the word!”
Her father had been the Free French liaisonbetween the Allies and the German underground inBerlin. A rather stiff Parisian autocrat whohappened to speak German had been assigned to thecell in the Charlottenburg, which coordinated all theactivities of Berlin’s underground. He frequently saidthat he had more trouble with the wild Fraulein withthe impetuous ideas than he had avoiding the Nazis.Nevertheless they married each other two monthsafter the armistice. In Berlin. Where neither hisfamily would talk to hers, nor hers to his. “We hadtwo small orchestras,” her mother would say. “Oneplayed pure, beautiful Viennese Schnitzel, the othersome white cream sauce with deer droppings.”
Whether family animosities had anything to dowith it neither ever said, but the Parisian and theBerlinerin immigrated to St. Louis, Missouri, in theUnited States of America, where the Berlinerin haddistant relations.
The stark reality. Nine years ago, after she hadsettled in New York from Paris, a frightened, tearfulfather had flown in to see her and had told Val aterrible truth. His beloved crazy Berlinerin had beenill for years; it was cancer and it was about to killher. In desperation, he had spent nearly all themoney he had, including unpaid second and thirdmortgages on the rambling house in Bellefontaine, tostem the disease. Among the profiteers were clinicsin Mexico; there was nothing else he could say. Hecould only weep, and his losses had nothing to dowith his tears. And she could only hold her fatherand ask him why he had not told her before.
“It was not your battle, ma cherie. It was ours.Since Berlin, it was always we two. We fought thentogether; we fight now as always as one.”
Her mother died six days later, and six monthsafter that her father lit a Gauloise on thescreened-in porch and mercifully fell asleep, not towake up. Valerie could not cry. It was
a shock but not a tragedy. Wherever he was hewanted to be there.
So Valerie Charpentier looked for a job, apaying job that did not rely on the sales of anunknown artist. What astonished her was not thatemployment was so easy to find, but that it had verylittle to do with the thick portfolio of sketches andline drawings she presented. The second advertisingagency she applied to seemed more interested inthe fact that she spoke both German and Frenchfluently. It was the bme of corporate takeovers, ofmultinational alliances where profits could be madeon both sides of the Atlantic by the same singleentities. Valerie Charpentier, artist-in-residenceinside, became a company hack on the outside.Someone who could draw and sketch rapidly andmake presentations and speak the languages andshe hated it. Still, it was a remarkable living for awoman who had anticipated a period of yearsbefore her name on a canvas would meansomething.
Then a man came into her life who madewhatever affairs she had had totally forgettable. Anice man, a decent man even an excitingman who had his own problems but did not talkabout them, would not talk about them, and thatshould have given her a clue. Joel, her Joel, effusiveone moment, withdrawn the next, but always withthat shield, that facade of quick humor which wasoften as biting as it was amusing. For a while theyhad been good for each other. Both were ambitiousfor entirely different reasons she for the in-dependence that came with recognition, he for thewasted years he could never reclaim and eachacted as a buffer when the other faceddisappointment or delay. But it all began to fallapart. The reasons were painfully clear to her butnot to him. He became mesmerised by his ownprogress by his own determination, to the exclusionof everything else, starting with her. He never raisedhis voice or made demands, but the words were iceand the demands were increasingly there. If therewas a specific point when she recognised thedownhill slide, it was a Friday night in November.The agency had wanted her to fly to West Berlin; aTelefunken account required some fast personalservice and she was elected to calm the churningwaters. She had been packing when Joel came homefrom work. He had walked into the bedroom oftheir apartment and asked her what she was doing,where she was going. When she told him, he hadsaid, " You can’t. We’re expected at Brooks’ housein Larchmont tomorrow night. Tal
hot and Simon’ll be there too. I m sure they’ll talkinternational. You’ve got to be there.”
She had looked at him, at the quiet desperationin his eyes. She did not go to Germany. It was theturning point; the downhill race had begun, andwithin a brief few months she knew it was quickeningto its finish. She quit the agency, giving up authorityfor the dog days of free-lancing, hoping the extratime she had to devote to him might help. It did not;he seemed to resent any overt act of sacrifice, nomatter how hard she tried to conceal it. His periodsof withdrawal multiplied, and in a way she felt sorryfor him. His furies were driving him and it wasobvious that he disliked what was happening; hedisliked what he was but could not help himself. Hewas on his way to a burnout and she could not helphim, either.
If there had been another woman, she could havefought, staking out her claim and fiercely insisting onthe right to compete, but there was no one else, onlyhimself and his compulsions. Finally, she realized shecould not penetrate his shield; he had nothing leftfor anyone else emotionally. That was what she hadhurled at him: "Emotional burn-out!” He had agreedin that quiet, kind voice and the next day he wasgone.
So she took him. Four years, she demanded, theexact amount of time he had taken from her. Thosefour years of heady generosity were about to come toan end, Val reflected, as she cleaned her brushes andscraped the palette. In January they were over, thelast check, as always, posted by the fifteenth. Fiveweeks ago, during lunch at the Ritz in Boston, Joelhad offered to continue the payments. He claimed hewas used to them and was making more in salary andbonuses than he could spend soberly. The money wasno hardship, and besides it gave him a certain statureamong his peers and was a marvelous ploy to avoidprolonged entanglements. She had declined,borrowing words from her father or more likely hermother, saying that things were far better than theywere. He had smiled that half-sad yet still infectioussmile and said, “If they turn out otherwise, I m here.”
Coddamn himl
Poor Joel. Sad Joel. He was a good man caughtin the vortex of his own conflicts. And Val had goneas far as she could go to go further was to deny herown identity. She would not do that; she had notdone it.
She placed her brushes in the tray and walkedto the glass doors that looked over the dunes andthe ocean. He was out there, far away, stillsomewhere in Europe. Valerie wondered if hehad given a thought to the day. It was theanniversary of their marriage.
To summarize,Chaim Abrahms was molded in thestress and chaos of fighting for daily survival. Theywere years of never-ending violent skirmishes, ofoutthinking and outliving enemies bent on killingnot only whole sabre settlements but the desertJews’aspirations for a homeland as well as political free-dom and religious expression. It is not difficult tounderstand where Abrahms came from and why heis what he is, but it is frightening to think aboutwhere he is going. He is a fanatic with no sense ofbalance or compromise where other peoples withidentical aspirations are concerned. If a man has adifferent stripe, whether of the same species or not,he is the enemy. Armed force takes precedenceover negotiations in all matters, and even those inIsrael who plead for more moderate stands basedon totally secure borders are branded as traitors.Abrahms is an imperialist who sees anever-expanding Israel as the ruling kingdom of theentire Middle East. An appropriate ending to thisreport is a comment he made after the well-knownstatement issued by the Prime Minister during theLebanon invasion: “We covet not one inch ofLebanon.” Abrahms’ reply in the field to histroops the majority by no means sympathetic wasthe followi
ng.
“Certainly not an inch! The whole damnedcountry! Then Gaza, the Golan, and the West Bank!And why not Jordan, then Syria and Iraq! We havethe means and we have the willi We are the mightychildren of Abraham!”
He is Delavane’s key in the volatile Middle East.
It was nearly noon, the overhead sun beatingdown on the small balcony beyond the Frenchdoors. The late-breakfast remnants had beencleared away by room service; only a silver potremained on the hunt table. They had beenreading for hours since the first coffee wasbrought to
the suite at six-thirty. Converse put down the dossier,and reached for his cigarettes on the table by thearmchair. It is not cliff cult to understand whereAbrahms came from . . . but it is frightening to thinkabout where he is going. Joel looked over at ConnalFitzpatrick, who was seated on the couch, leaningforward over the coffee table and reading a singlepage while making notes on the telephone messagepad; the Bertholdier and LeifLelm dossiers were intwo neat piles on his left. The Navy lawyer had saidpractically the same words to him, thought Converse,lighting a cigarette. I’m beginning to see where you’recoming from…. The inherent question put to Joel’slegal mind was simple: Where was he himself going?He hoped to hell he knew. Was he an inept gladiatormarching into a Roman arena facing far stronger,better-armed and superior talent? Or were thedemons from his own past turning him into his ownsacrifice, leading him into the arena’s hot sand whereangry, half-starved cats waited, ready to pounce andtear him apart? So many questions, so manyvariables he was incapable of addressing. He onlyknew he could not turn back.
Fitzpatrick looked up. “What’s the matter?” heasked, obviously aware that Converse was staring inhis direction. “You worried about the admiral?”
“Who?”
“Hickman, San Diego.”
“Among other things. In the clear light of day,you’re sure he bought the extension?”
“No guarantees, but I told you he said he’ll callme if any emergency heat came down. I’m damnsure he won’t do anything before consulting me. Ifhe tries to reach me, Meagen knows what to do andI’ll lean harder. If need be, I’ll claim point ofpersonal privilege and demand a meeting with thoseunnamed people in the Fifth District, maybe go sofar as to imply they could be part of Geneva. That’dbe a full circle. We could end up with astandoff the release of that flag only with afull-scale investigation of the circumstances. Ironyand standoff.”
“You won’t have a standoff if he’s with them.He’ll override you.”
“If he was with them, he wouldn’t have toldRemington he was going to call me. He wouldn’thave said anything; he’d have waited the extra dayand let it go. I know him. He wasn’t just nonplussed,he was mad. He stands by his people and he
doesn’t like outside pressures, especially Navypressures. We’re on hold, and as long as it’s hold,the flag’s in place. I told you, he’s a lot angrier withNorfolk than with me. They won’t even give him areason; they claim they can’t.”
Converse nodded. " AII right,” he said. “Call it acase of nerves on my part. I just finished theAbrahms dossier. That maniac could blow up thewhole Middle East all by himself and drag the restof us in with him…. What did you think of Leifhelmand Bertholdier?”
“As far as the information goes, they’reeverything you said and then some. They’re morethan just influential ex-generals with fistfuls ofmoney, they’re powerful rallying symbols for what alot of people think are justifiable extremes. That’s asfar as the information goes but the operative wordfor me is the information itself. Where did it comefrom?”
“That’s a step back. It’s there.”
“It sure is, but how? You say Beale gave it toyou, that Press used the phrase “we’ ”the ones we’reafter,’ “the tools we can give you,’ ”the connectionsas we think they are.’ “
“And we went over this,” insisted Joel. “The manin San Francisco, the one he went to who providedthe five hundred thousand and told him to buildcases against these people legally, and togetherthey’d turn them into plain and simple profiteers.It’s the ultimate ridicule for superpatriots. It’s soundreasoning, counselor, and that’s the we.”
“Press and this unknown man in San Francisco?”
“Yes.”
“And they could pick up a phone and hiresomeone to put together these?” Fitzpatrick gesturedat the two dossiers on his left.
“Why not? This is in the age of the computer.Nobody today lives on an unmapped island or in anundiscovered cave.”
“These,” said Connal, “are not computerprintouts. They’re well-researched, detailed, in-depthdossiers that take in the importance of politicalnuances and personal idiosyncrasies.”
“You have a way with words, sailor. Yes, theyare. A man who can forward half a million dollarsto the right bank on an Aegean island can hire justabout anyone he likes.”
“He can’t hire these.”
“What does that mean?”
“Let me take a real step back,” said the Navy lawyer,get
tiny to his feet and reaching down for the single pagehe had been reading. “I won’t reiterate the details ofmy relationship with Press because right now it hurtsa little to think about it.” Fitzpatrick paused, seeingthe look in Converse’s eyes that rejected this kind ofsentimentality in their discussion. “Don’t mistakeme,” he continued. “It’s not his death, not the funer-al; it s the other way around. It’s not the PressHalliday I knew. You see, I don’t think he told usthe truth, either you or me.”
“Then you know something I don’t know,” saidConverse quietly.
“I know there’s no man in San Francisco thateven vaguely fits the description of the image hegave you. I’ve lived there all my life, includingBerkeley and Stanford, just like Press. I kneweveryone he knew, especially the wealthiest and themore exotic ones; we never held back on those witheach other. I was legal worlds away, and he alwaysfilled me in if new ones came along. It was part ofthe fun for him.”
“”That’s tenuous, counselor. I’m sure he keptcertain associations to himself.”
" Not those kinds,” said Connal. “It wouldn’t belike him. Not with me.”
“Well, I “
" Now let me step forward,” interruptedFitzpatrick. “These dossiers I haven’t seen thembefore, but I’ve seen hundreds like them, maybe acouple of thousand on their way to becomingfull-fledged versions of them.”
Joel sat up. “Please explain that, Commander.”
“You just hit it, Lieutenant. The rank says it.”
“Says what?”
“Those dossiers are the reworked, finishedproducts of intelligence probes utilizing heavy shotsof military data. They’ve been bounced around thecommunity, each branch contributing its input fromstraight biographical data to past surveillances topsychiatric evaluation and put together by teams ofspecialists. Those were taken from way down in thegovernment vaults and rewritten with currentadditions and conclusions, then shaped to appear asthe work of an outside nongovernment authority. Butthey’re not. They’ve got Classified, Top Secret, andEyes Only written all over them.”
Converse leaned forward. “That could be asubjective judgment based on limited familiarity. I’veseen some very detailed, very in-depth reports puttogether by high-priced firms specialising in that sortof thing.”
“Describing precise military incidents during thetime of war? Pinpointing bombing raids andspecifying regiments and battalions and the currentstrategies employed? Detailing through interviewsthe internal conflicts of ranking enemy officers andthe tactical reasons for shifting military personnelinto civilian positions after the cessation ofhostilities? No firm would have access to thosematerials.”
“They could be researched,” said Joel, suddenlynot convinced himself.
“Well, these couldn’t,” Connal broke in, holdingup the page of typewritten names, his thumb on thelower two columns listing the “decision makers’ fromthe Pentagon and the State Department. “Maybefive or six three from each side at maximum butnot the rest. These are people a
bove the ones I’vedealt with, men who do their jobs under a variety oftitles so they can’t be reached bribed, blackmailedor threatened. When you said you had names, Iassumed I’d recognize most of them, or at least halfof them. I don’t. I only know the departmentalexecs, upper-echelon personnel who have to go evenhigher, who obviously report to these people. Presscouldn’t have gotten these names himself or throughothers on the outside. He wouldn’t know where tolook and they wouldn’t know where to look Iwouldn’t know.’
Converse rose. “Are you sure you know whatyou’re talking about?”
“Yes. Someone probably more than one- deepin the Washington cellars provided these names justas he or they provided the material for thosedossiers.”
“Do you know what you’re saying?”
Connal stood still and nodded. “It’s not easy forme to say,” he began grimly. “Press lied to us. Helied to you by what he said, and to me by what hedidn’t say. You’re tied to a string and it goes rightback to Washington. And I wasn’t to know anythingabout it.’
“The puppet’s in place…. ” Joel spoke so softlyhe could barely be heard as he walked aimlesslyacross the room toward the bright sunlightstreaming through the balcony doors.
“What?’ asked Fitzpatrick.
“Nothing, just a phrase that kept runningthrough my head when I heard about Anstett.”Converse turned. “But if there’s a string, why havethey hidden it? Why did Avery hide it? For whatpurpose?”
The Navy lawyer remained motionless, his facewithout expression. “ I don’t think I have to answerthat. You answered it yourself yesterday afternoonwhen we were talking about me and don’t kidyourself, Lieutenant, I knew exactly what you weresaying. ”I’ll give you a name now and then that mayopen a door . . . but that’s all. Those were yourwords. Freely translated, you were telling yourselfthat the sailor you took on board might stumble onto something, but in case he was taken by the wrongpeople, they couldn’t beat out of him what he didn’tknow.”
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