Bannerman's Ghosts

by John R. Maxim

  “What, here in the complex? The yard crew comes Tuesdays. Did he ask when the trash is picked up?”

  “Only grass.”

  “Um…Anton,” said Molly, “I’m not sure I see the threat here.”

  “I was, perhaps, too long KGB. I see at least six conspiracies before breakfast. But if I were Mr. Bourne and I, in fact, was behind this, and I knew that Paul Bannerman was an interested party, I think that I would want some eyes and ears here in Westport. You might check your surveillance tapes, Molly.”

  “You think they’ll hit us on a Tuesday? Disguised as a yard crew? Sub-machine guns disguised as leaf blowers?”

  “Molly…indulge me. Look through the tapes.”

  “Just kidding,” Molly told him. “And I will. Last few days?”

  “It would take hours, I know, and it is probably time wasted. Perfect strangers go in and out every day. I fully understand your reluctance.”

  “Anton, I’ll look. Just as soon as I can.”

  “Where is Carla? Still with Cassie?”

  “Until Paul gets back.”

  “Then when she’s free,” said Zivic, “ask Carla to do it. She has a good eye and good instincts.”

  “I will.”

  “Have Carla talk to me. I will give her their descriptions. And tell Paul that he’s had quite a number of calls. I’ve dealt with most of them myself, but there are some he should return. Among them, our esteemed secretary of state.”

  “I know,” said Molly. “His office called last night. The call is still on Paul’s machine.”

  “Not his office. He, himself. Twice more, he has called. When this man calls himself, it’s urgent business.”

  “I’ll tell Paul.”

  Zivic asked, “And Elizabeth? How is she doing?”

  “Very quiet,” said Molly. “A little numb, I think. Anton, I’ve got another call coming in. It’s Paul. He must have some news.”

  The news was of the baby. A son, as expected. It had arrived about two hours earlier. There had been some concern about the baby’s respiration. Paul had waited before calling until that concern was resolved. Mother and child now both doing well. Susan especially. It had been easier than with Cassie. He said that she’d urged him to go home, see Elizabeth. She understood the state that Elizabeth must be in. But he’d stayed with her until she had fallen asleep, until the nurse took the baby from her arms.

  “He’s on his way?” asked Elizabeth.

  “We’re his first stop. Ten minutes.”

  Elizabeth was already on her feet when he entered. She forced a smile and a greeting. “Good to see you again, Paul.” She said, “You have a son. You must be thrilled.”

  “I am. Very much so. Elizabeth, please sit.”

  “And Susan? She’s comfortable? Is there anything I can bring her?”

  “She’s just fine. And I appreciate…”

  “Have you chosen a name?”

  Bannerman caught a signal from Molly who was standing, arms folded,

  at the parlor’s far end. He understood the signal to mean, “She’s trying to let you know that she’s thinking past herself. It’s not easy for her. Let her run with it.”

  “Um…actually, no. We’re ruled out my own name. We don’t want him known as someone’s ‘Junior.’”

  “Yours especially,” said Elizabeth.

  “It does carry some baggage. He should be his own person. We also thought about Raymond, which is Susan’s father’s name. When he was a cop, the New York tabloids called him ‘Raymond the Terrible.’ There might be a little baggage there as well.”

  “That, or he’d go through his childhood called Ray-Ban.”

  Bannerman smiled. “I never thought of that. Good catch.” He paused for a moment before speaking again. He said, “We kicked around several suggestions this morning. Now we’re leaning toward Martin. That was Susan’s idea.”

  Elizabeth, for a moment, looked as if she’d been deflated. She rocked on her heels. Her mouth fell open. Bannerman realized that he’d failed to grasp the depth of emotion that Kessler’s name might elicit. He turned toward Molly. “Will give us a few minutes?”

  Molly signaled again. She touched a hand to her ear and turned her thumb toward the attic. She was asking, “May I listen?”

  He gave a faint nod.

  She asked, “Want anything? Coffee?”

  “Elizabeth?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Well, sit down, please,” said Bannerman. “We’ll talk about Martin.”

  He said, “That baby’s name business; that was clumsy of me. This wasn’t the right time to mention it.”

  She had not regained her color. She asked. “Why would you do that?”

  “Do what? Name him Martin?”

  “No, I mean…in his memory? Would this be in his memory?”

  “Oh, gosh, no,” said Bannerman. He realized why she’d seemed faint. “That was more than clumsy. Martin’s not dead. I understood that Molly had told you.”

  A sigh of relief. “She did, but for a moment I thought something else had happened. I guess I’m still having trouble coming to grips with him being alive in the first place.”

  “Alive as of this morning. There has been direct contact. He has not, however, been told that you know or that you’re here in Westport with us.”

  He said, “Elizabeth, I can’t give you the time that this deserves. I’ve got to pick up my daughter and get back to Susan and I need to make some calls before that. I’m going to try to encapsulate this. Oh, and because I’d rather not go through it twice, Molly’s listening in from upstairs. Do you mind?”

  “Not so far.”

  “If we get to an area that you’d rather keep private, say the word and she’ll switch off at once.”

  Elizabeth nodded. “It’s okay.”

  “Do you need to hear how they got Martin off that boat?”

  “The Israelis?”

  “Navy divers, but at Tel Aviv’s request. The Mossad had been trying to find Martin for months. They’d heard about that terrorist attack on your island and they knew, by whatever means, that Martin was involved. Do you need to know how they found out?”

  “I can guess. The same people who kept our names out of it.”

  “Correct.”

  Elizabeth asked, “But why did they want him? I mean, I would have thought…”

  “That they’d want you? Not for this. It was Martin or no one. Do you know the name, Jonas Savimbi? Angola?”

  She nodded. “Rebel leader. He’s dead now.”

  “Replaced by a man named Dumas Duganga, but it’s Savimbi who got this ball rolling. Savimbi was a Marxist when it paid to be a Marxist. He was trained in both Russia and East Germany. The Russians trained him in communist doctrine. The East Germans trained him in insurgency tactics and in how to set up an intelligence network. For the latter, Martin Kessler was one of his instructors. Meeting Martin was a long-waited thrill for Savimbi. You’ll recall that Martin was a national hero in the GDR and beyond.”

  She made a face. “Martin’s comic books. I know.”

  Bannerman’s eyes went hard for a beat. He said, “Elizabeth…Martin was never a joke. He’s one of the best men I’ve known.”

  She had to look away. Her eyes were moistening again. She said, softly, “I know that. I do.”

  “So did Savimbi. He admired Martin Kessler. Kessler wasn’t one of those turgid ideologues that could put half the trainees to sleep in ten minutes. Kessler thought for himself; he didn’t go by the book; he was always refreshingly honest.”

  She made a feeble gesture with her hand. “Could we go on?”

  He pulled out a handkerchief. He handed it to her. “Skip ten years. Savimbi runs Eastern Angola. He’s made a deal with the Israelis. The Israelis want his diamonds and they want his arms business. Savimbi doesn’t trust them. He’s learned not to trust anyone. He’s been cheated and exploited by just about everyone who wanted a piece of Angola. If this sounds like sympathy for Savimbi, it
isn’t. He was intelligent, charismatic, but he killed on a whim. In any case, he said that he’d deal with the Israelis if they could produce the one white man he did trust. He would only deal with them through Martin Kessler.”

  “But a German? Why a German? There must have been other…”

  “He wanted Kessler. He wanted the man. Being German, however, was apparently a factor. Jonas Savimbi had been heard to remark that the Germans knew how to deal with Jews.”

  Elizabeth squeezed the handkerchief. This was going too quickly. She reversed that same gesture. She said, “Wait, please. Back up.”

  She asked him how Martin could have possibly survived a bullet and all that radiation. Bannerman said, “There are only three hospitals in the world that specialize in radiation sickness. One’s in Oak Ridge, Tennessee, one’s in Kiev, Ukraine and the third is outside Tel Aviv. The Israelis didn’t think that he could survive either, but they wanted to take their best shot.”

  Elizabeth shook her head. “He had a measured exposure of 1,000 rads. No one can survive 1000 rads.”

  Bannerman shrugged. “Then he didn’t have 1000. It might have been a misreading; he might have been partly shielded. The Israelis think it was more like 400, but even that level is usually fatal. Elizabeth, he nearly died several times. The bullet was the least of his problems.”

  “But then he got well?”

  “Not entirely, no. But he got well enough after six or eight months that he could get around on his own. His hair grew back in; he regained some weight; he had some dental work done for the teeth that fell out. He thanked the Mossad for saving his life, but he had no interest in this thing with Savimbi. He left. He said he wanted to go skiing.”

  She remembered. “Davos?”

  Bannerman nodded. “He was strong enough to teach. He wanted to do it and he needed to work. He was broke. I’m told he’d left you all his diamonds.”

  Elizabeth brought her hand to her mouth as if to stop herself from asking the question that was forming. “John Waldo said that one of the twins…”

  “Saw him there? Yes, he did. Martin ducked him.”

  “He said that Martin was seen with a woman.”

  “I heard that,” said Bannerman. “He’d have had women students.” He said, “Let’s not get off the track.”

  She looked at him. “Paul, was he there with a woman?”

  “Elizabeth…”

  “Was he?”

  “It was not what you’re thinking. The woman he was seen with could indeed have been some student, but, yes, he was there with a woman named Sara. She used the name, Sara Latham. She pretended to be English. She pretended to be in Davos on vacation. She was actually Mossad; her real name was Sara Gleissman. She’d been assigned to befriend him and stick close to him until the Israelis could come up with a package that might change his mind about Angola.”

  “So, you’re saying she seduced him.”

  “I can promise you, she didn’t.”

  She flared. “You can promise? How the hell would you know? Is it because you think he’d stay faithful to me? He dropped me out of his life.”

  She stood up. She was embarrassed. She had not meant to blurt that. She glanced toward the ceiling, knowing Molly had heard it. She turned away, hiding her face.

  Bannerman rose with her. He placed his hands on her shoulders. He said, very gently, “Now you listen to me. She’d have tried that, sure, but it wasn’t going to happen. Martin would have known that she was Mossad from the moment that she made her first overture. Martin Kessler wasn’t new at this, Elizabeth.”

  “Was she attractive?”

  “I assume so. They wouldn’t have sent…” He paused and heaved a sigh. He said, “This is ridiculous. Sara and Martin? Put it out of your mind. Why her and not you? The answer is neither. Martin was impotent, Elizabeth.”

  She didn’t speak for a moment. “The radiation,” she said softly.

  Bannerman turned her. He sat her back down. “And as to why he never got word back to you, it was not just his loss of that function. I would guess that there were any number of factors. Your new life was one. You’d made it clear that his presence was destructive of that life.”

  She had started to deny it. “That was only until…”

  “Until the day you thought he died?”

  Her chin came up. “You wait just a damned minute.”

  “Elizabeth, I’m trying to explain where his head was. I’m not making a judgement about it.”

  “And anyway…destructive? Destructive is right. You know Martin. He’s a train wreck. He can’t help it; it’s his nature. But he was sweet…and he was loyal…and…”

  “I know you had mixed feelings. You made that clear to Molly. But Martin has his pride and that was just as clear to me. He’d liked to have had future with you, but he knew that he probably didn’t have one at all.”

  Bannerman briefed her on the long-term effect of ionized radiation at that level. A probable depletion of red and white blood cells. Irreversible damage to various organs including bone marrow and kidneys. A high likelihood of developing leukemia, among any number of cancers. The impotence may be treatable, but he’s almost surely sterile.

  He said, “Elizabeth, he would never be a burden to anyone. Not even to me, although he could have come here. Not to Harry Whistler; he could certainly have gone there. Most of all, not to you. He had nothing left to offer.”

  “That’s what you think?”

  “That’s what he thinks, Elizabeth.”

  The tears came again. “Then he’s a damned fool.”

  “So am I, then,” said Bannerman. “I’d have done the same thing.”

  “No, you wouldn’t. You’d leave Susan?”

  “If I thought she’d be glad to be rid of me, yes. That’s what Martin thought and don’t lay this all on him. You never gave him much reason to think otherwise.”

  It was not the gentlest thing that he could have said to her. But he was tired. They all were. They had a lot on their minds. He knew she didn’t mean that “damned fool” the way it sounded, but he chose not to let it go unchallenged.

  She’d had to leave the room. Use the bathroom. Settle down. Molly came back in, disapproval on her face. She said, “Not smooth. Martin’s name for the baby? Did you expect her to smile and say, ‘Oh, how nice?’”

  A sigh. “Did you come down here just to dump on me, Molly?”

  “No, you had a phone call.” She flashed a slip of paper. “It’s the secretary of state. He’s now called four times. You can reach him at these numbers. He says they’re all secure.”

  “He can wait,” said Bannerman.

  “He sounded pretty upset.”

  “He has reason to be. He can wait.”

  Molly’s hands went to her hips. “Does that go for me, too?”

  He said, “Molly, what I know, I’ve only known since you left. Keep listening. You’re about to hear most of it.”

  She softened a bit. “There have been other calls. Lesko and Elena will arrive here tomorrow. Actually, almost all of them have decided to come early. It’s not just the baby. It’s Roger.”

  “Can you stop them?” he asked. “It could get busy around here.”

  “I think they’ve doped that out. It’s why they’re coming.”

  He grunted.

  “And as for Elizabeth, stop trying to jump past it every time she shows some emotion. Do we need some sensitivity training?”

  “Don’t start.”

  “You tell her, ‘Oh, Sara? Don’t worry about her. Kessler couldn’t get it up if he tried.’”

  “I don’t recall that I put it quite in those terms. In any case, she seems to be handling it so far.”

  “No, she’s not. She will. But it will take her some time.” She said, “That’s not a woman who cries easily, Paul. She’s Elizabeth Stride. She’s hates showing weakness. And she hates that Paul Bannerman is seeing it.”

  “That’s not weakness. Those are feelings. None of us are machin
es.”

  “Then act as if you know that. Slow down, take your time. You can’t do two years in twenty minutes.”

  “Well, I’ll have to.”

  Molly asked, “By the way, why hasn’t Kessler been told?”

  “That she knows? Because she might decide to leave things as they are.”

  “Trust me, she won’t. She will want to see him. She might clobber him, but she will want to see him.”

  He said, “Besides, I’d rather tell him myself. I had given him my word and I’ve broken it. But the real question is, will he want to see her? Keep in mind that from his point of view, nothing’s changed.”

  Molly understood. She said, “I know, and that’s sad. But don’t expect Elizabeth to leave it at that.”

  “As you say, let’s give her some time.”

  “Speaking of people who’ve disappeared on us, we can’t find John Waldo. Nobody’s seen him.”

  “John’s okay,” said Bannerman. “He took a trip. He’ll be back.”

  Molly narrowed one eye. “You can’t mean to Angola.”

  “Not that far. And not for long. He should be back sometime tonight.”

  “You sent him?”

  “He just went. You know John. He comes and goes.”

  “Mostly goes,” said Molly. “Paul, what are you up to? Are you going to make me guess where he is?”

  “Molly, it can wait. Let me finish with Elizabeth.”

  “Are you getting to the part about Artemus Bourne?”

  “Kessler first. Then Bourne. We’ll deal with Bourne later.”

  “I think you just told me where John is.”

  TWENTY SIX

  Bourne’s morning had not been without its annoyances, but no matter; it had ended up brilliantly. It had started off badly with those telephone calls. First there was Quigley of the African desk excusing himself from tomorrow’s Sunday brunch. He gave some tepid excuse, an illness in the family, as if family had ever stopped him before. He’d have come if his mother were dying.

  Two more calls followed. Both from oil executives. Both were men whom he had made rich. These two also claimed illness; one had the flu, the other had wrenched his back playing squash. Neither sounded the least bit convincing.