The Almighty

by Irving Wallace

  "Okay, that explains it, Gus," he was saying. "I wish it had worked, but it didn't. Like Cooper said, you can't win them all. Just tell him for me not to fret. Maybe the next one will be easier. Tell him to stand by."

  Setting down the phone, Armstead saw Dietz hovering in the doorway.

  "Hey, Harry, what are you doing here? You're supposed to be taking the day off."

  "I've been hanging around waiting for you. I knew you had this call coming from Pagano, and I was waiting for you to be finished with it." He entered the office and went thoughtfully to one of the chairs before Armstead's desk and sat in it uneasily. "Did he tell you what went wrong in Lourdes?"

  "It was just an impossible setup. They got the lights out and had their men in place, but there was a mass of people, too many people, who got out of hand. Also, too much security around the Pope. It became high-risk so Cooper aborted it. I hate to face our first complete miss, but I wouldn't want them to try anything they couldn't finish."

  "Agreed," said Dietz.

  Armstead studied his associate's face. "Something else seems to be troubling you, Harry. What's on your mind?"

  "A couple of things I wanted to mention."

  "I'm listening."

  Dietz slid forward in his chair, assuming a confidential air. "I suppose you know Time magazine has been prying into your affairs."

  "Bruce Harmston has that under control. He's even encouraged them. Up to a point. They won't find out much."

  "I don't know. That's playing with fire."

  "They won't," said Armstead with finality.

  "All right. If Bruce is looking over their shoulder, I won't worry." Dietz hesitated. "But there's something else—"

  "Yes?"

  "Do you realize that the new girl on your staff, Victoria Weston, has been snooping around, trying to find out about Mark Bradshaw?"

  Armstead grinned. "I'm afraid she won't get very far."

  "She already made a call from Paris, got Mrs. Crowe in personnel to ask your secretary where Bradshaw might be found."

  Armstead waved it off. "Aw, that's only natural. Jealous of someone who broke several big stories ahead of her. She wants to meet him, find out how it's done. You and I know she's not going to get anywhere."

  "Still—" said Dietz. "Chief, I don't like it. I don't like all this curiosity. You've pulled off some great ones without a ripple. I say call it quits while you're ahead."

  "Aren't you being a bit of a worrier, Harry? It's foolish to quit when you're on top of the world."

  "I'd advise it," said Dietz gravely.

  Armstead's euphoria dissolved before his associate's gravity. Armstead nodded. "Very well, Harry, let me sleep on it. Let's see what tomorrow brings."

  Tomorrow brought Time magazine.

  An ebullient Edward Armstead arrived in his office, a copy in his hand. He saw that Diets was seated in front of the oak desk, waiting for him.

  Beaming, Armstead held up the magazine, pointing to the portrait sketch of himself on the cover, the vaporous, indistinct face of a second man in the distant background (presumably the elusive Bradshaw) and the boldface cover line. The cover line read: JOURNALISM'S ALMIGHTY. "Have you seen it, Harry?" Arm-stead boomed out. "Not bad, eh?"

  Dietz lifted a magazine off his lap. "I have it. I read the piece."

  Going to his desk, Armstead continued to be enchanted with the cover. "I guess it looks like me. A little jowly, maybe."

  "The portrait is good enough," Dietz assured him. "It represents you as vigorous, fresh, farseeing."

  "I suppose I couldn't do better myself," said Armstead, settling into his swivel chair. He continued to contemplate the cover with pleasure. "'Journalism's Almighty," he read. "Almighty. How do you like that?"

  "It's true," said Dietz.

  Armstead shook his head in wonder. "Not even my father ever had that."

  "Have you read the story inside?" Dietz inquired.

  "Of course. Pretty fair-minded, I thought. Even Hannah liked it."

  For a moment Dietz looked puzzled, but then seemed to remember. "Your wife read it?"

  "She wanted to find out about me." Armstead laughed coarsely. "Yes. Even the old bag liked it. What did you think, Harry?"

  "Impressive, no question. Maybe a little snotty about Bradshaw, about our treating him like a prima donna, withholding information about him as if we're afraid we'll lose him to a competitor, but overall an impressive piece. It's brought in a swarm of telephone calls. Estelle has recorded most of them for you to handle when you have time." He reached to the desk top for several memos. "I brought in a few of the more important ones I thought you'd want to see right away."

  Armstead took them.

  "You'll see one call was from Hugh Weston, the President's press secretary, with President Callaway's congratulations and a presidential invitation to dinner at the White House the night before he leaves for London."

  Armstead had found the phone message. "How do you like that?"

  "I think Weston wants an answer right away. The President is having in a number of media bigwigs, but you'd definitely be the star. I didn't know if—if you'd want to go."

  Armstead looked surprised. "Wouldn't miss it for anything in the world." Armstead fingered the magazine lovingly. "So you found the story, the proffle, impressive?"

  "Very." Dietz paused. "Only thing that troubles me a little—it could lead to more prying around in your affairs. Did you give any more thought to what we discussed yesterday?"

  The publisher's expression had sobered. "You mean the advice you gave me? Yes, I have." He sat back in his swivel chair and met Dietz's eyes squarely. "You're right," he said, "I've decided to take your advice. I'll quit—but only after one more big one, thebig one."

  "Chief, I'm not sure of that one."

  "I am," said Armstead, without equivocation. "I'm on the upside. A man in my position doesn't go out with a miss, with a failure like Lourdes."

  "But nobody knows about that."

  "I know it, Harry. I won't let myself go out with a whimper. I'm going out with a huge topper. I want my last act to be a big bang." His expression creased into a smile. "I know what I'm doing, Harry. You can trust the Almighty."

  Dietz was resigned. "Whatever you say."

  "The last one," Armstead promised. "And I say let's get moving on it fast."

  "Very well."

  Armstead was all business now. "Pagano should be back in Paris. Get him for me. I want to tell him to arrange one more meeting for me with Cooper—in Paris, tomorrow night at the Lancaster."

  Dietz frowned. "Chief, I want to caution you. Our nosy girl reporter Victoria Weston is in Paris right now, standing by for an assignment. I wouldn't want her to see you."

  "No chance," said Armstead airily. "I'll be in the Lancaster only one night, and never leave the hotel. If it worries you, I'll ship the Weston girl off to London and have her stand by there."

  "Better."

  "Meanwhile, first things first. Get Pagano for me. And on your way out tell Estelle to book me on the Concorde's early ffight tomorrow morning." He winked at Dietz. "The last one, Harry. I promise you."

  At daybreak Victoria was snuggled in her bed, fast asleep, when she stirred, reacting to some distant sound. Gradually the sound penetrated, half awakened her. Opening her heavy-lidded eyes, she listened and realized it was the bedside telephone persistently ringing in her ear.

  She struggled to a sitting position on the mattress, trying to clear her head, and her hand groped for the phone receiver. She had hold of it, dropped it, retrieved it, and brought it to her mouth and ear.

  "Hello."

  "Hi, Vicky. It's Nick. I know you're an early riser, but—did I wake you up?"

  "No," she lied.

  "I think I did." He paused. "My God, just looked at the time. It's almost midnight here, so it must be nearly dawn in Paris."

  "Never mind, Nick. It's good to hear from you at any time. What is it? Something up?"

  "Not exactly. Well,
maybe yes, maybe no. I wasn't satisfied with the way our last conversation ended,"

  "How did it end?"

  "You were wondering how Armstead was getting all those beats he's been crediting to the nonexistent Bradshaw. I said I wanted to think about it, and I'd be in London in a week or so with the President. I said I'd try to sneak an afternoon off to come over to Paris and talk to you. And you said—"

  Victoria was fully awake now. "I said, 'I'm going on—right on until I solve this, no matter what."

  "That's what I'm calling to find out about. What you've been doing—"

  "I've been shopping, overeating, waiting for an assignment, and trying to think, in that order."

  "But have you gone on with your investigation?" Ramsey pressed.

  "I've done nothing more," she replied. "I've been stymied. I don't know which way to turn."

  "Maybe I can help you," Ramsey said. "I don't know either, but let's see. I've been giving your theory some serious thought."

  "Yes?" she said eagerly.

  "Your theory is that Armstead has some inside contact with a terrorist gang. I don't think that's true, but I don't know any other possibility. So let's say I go along with you. If our boss has made contact with a gang, I still believe it has to be the Carlos crowd. It's the only one I know of capable of staging all those recent operations. I know you disagree."

  "Nick, I'm open to anything at this point. Okay, let's say the Carlos crowd. Even though Armstead told us he followed through with the Sreté and tried to have them arrested and missed them."

  "Honey, along with your theory goes the theory that Armstead is a liar. He didn't try to have Carlos arrested because Carlos is the source for his stories."

  "I'm going along."

  "Then hear this. If the Carlos gang is involved with the Fourth Estate, perhaps I can help you. A long shot. But maybe I can unstymie you and get you going again."

  "How possibly?"

  "Let me tell you what happened to me an hour ago. I was up here in the press building alone, having a late drink—"

  "Naturally."

  "—when I decided to write down everything that happened when Carlos kidnapped and interrogated me. So I started writing—"

  "Are you finally going to file a first-person piece on your encounter?"

  "I still wouldn't dare. No, nothing like that. I—" He suddenly sounded embarrassed. "—I got an idea about doing a novel about a character like Carlos. In no way as trite as it sounds. A fresh approach."

  "That's wonderful, Nick!"

  "Forget I ever mentioned it. When it's done, and if it's good, I'll accept congratulations." He hurried on. "Anyway, in the interests of making the novel authentic, I made up my mind to set down all the facts about my meeting with the real Carlos. So I had just started to write when bingo, something happened."

  "What?"

  "Remember, after Carlos released me I told both you and Armstead that I heard someone say the gang was moving to a new hangout the next morning. Well, I'd forgotten, simply didn't recall until I was writing things down, that there was more to it, that I'd overheard a fragment more."

  Victoria had her ear clamped to the phone, and was listening intently. "Go on, go on," she encouraged Ramsey.

  "The Carlos terrorist who said they were moving the next morning also said, 'We're moving over to No. 10. We'll be holing up there.' Of course, none of them gave much of a damn what they were saying in front of me, because I'd been brought in blindfolded, and was being taken out blindfolded, and didn't have the slightest idea where I was in Paris." Ramsey paused. "But you did. You knew where they'd taken me."

  "Off the Rue de Paradis, to an apartment at No. 12 Rue Martel."

  "Was there a No. io Rue Martel?"

  "There certainly was, next door!"

  "A long shot, Vicky, a long shot—but wouldn't it be logical—?" She felt feverishly high. "It would, it sure would."

  "I don't like sending you there, but if you're going on—"

  "I'm going on, Nick."

  "Then go take a look. But not alone. I want you to take someone with you, Sid or one of his staff. Promise me that."

  "I—I'll try to take someone," she said.

  But she knew that she wouldn't. She was going to prove she could do something important on her own.

  "Yes, do that," he was saying. "Take a good look. Who knows? But don't get too close. I don't want to lose you."

  "You care?" she asked, happy as an idiot.

  He avoided a reply. He said sternly, "Keep this is mind. You're not after Carlos."

  "I'm after bigger game," she said quietly.

  "Keep in touch," he said. "Bonne chance."

  It was a gloomy, rain-swept night in Paris, and most of the life in the Champs-Elysées district was indoors.

  Not far off the main artery, the Hotel Lancaster stood in illuminated splendor. It seemed that every guest's room or suite was brightly lighted except for the windows of one suite on the third floor.

  In the shaded lamplight of the bedroom of that suite, Edward Armstead tried to stand still as he allowed Gus Pagano to adjust the new ski mask over his head and face. Through the mouth slit, Armstead asked, "How many did you say are here?"

  "Only Cooper and Quiggs this time. They run the show.". "They have any idea of what I'm bringing up?"

  "No," said Pagano. "With an operation of this magnitude, I thought you should be the one to present it."

  "I'm ready," said Armstead.

  Pagano opened the bedroom door, and they went into the small living room with its overstuffed period furniture and fireplace. The room was darker than the bedroom had been, and at first Armstead could not make out the occupants. Finally he spotted them on a two-cushioned sofa on the far side of the room.

  He went toward them with Pagano, shaking hands with both Cooper and Quiggs before sitting down in a straight chair across from them.

  "I want to thank you for everything you've done," said Armstead. "I never dreamed it could go that smoothly."

  "Sorry about Lourdes," Cooper apologized. "I didn't like the odds. Better a miss than a mess."

  "You made the right decision. But all the others were fine."

  "Planning," Cooper said. "We're proud we pulled each one off without detection. We did have six fatalities, five on their side, one on ours, but that's a low rate of loss in this business. We hope you got full value for your money."

  "No complaints," said Armstead. Then, with a lilt of amusement in his voice, "I'm sure you've already guessed why I commissioned the operations and what I've been after."

  "We may have speculated," said Cooper evenly, "but we've never tried to find out. We wouldn't want to be in the position of being tempted to blackmail a client. We feel we've upheld our end, and we're pleased you're happy with your end of the bargain. You've paid us handsomely and we thank you."

  "We all thank you," said Quiggs.

  "Not yet," said Armstead. "It's not quite over with. I have one more job for you, one last one before we thank each other and our partnership is dissolved."

  "One last one," said Cooper. "Fine. I assume it must be an operation of importance to bring you over here personally."

  "It's important all right, the most important job of all," said Armstead, fishing into the pocket of his suit coat. He withdrew a folded sheet of bond paper, and slowly unfolded it. "I don't believe in committing my assignments to paper. Never have, until now. This one I typed out myself after checking in. I wanted every aspect of the operation to be perfectly clear. Once you've read it, I'll tear it up and flush it. Here it is."

  Extending his hand for the sheet of paper, Cooper said, "Sounds like a blue-ribbon one."

  "The most useful one of all, for my purpose," Armstead said.

  Cooper and Quiggs read the typed page together. Armstead glanced at Pagano nervously, and then watched Cooper and Quiggs in silence.

  After they had scanned the page together, Cooper reread it by himself. At last he neatly folded the sheet once, t
wice, and handed it back to Armstead.

  Cooper's soft voice ended the stillness in the room.

  "I'm afraid not," said Cooper. "Can't do it. Not in our line. Too tough."

  Armstead was breathing quickly. "You have to do it. You did the others."

  "This one is different."

  "You can't be objecting to the idea."

  "Christ, no. We don't give a damn about the operation or the victim. They're all more or less the same to us. That's not it. I'm simply saying this one is too difficult."

  "Even for double the money? I'd guarantee you ten million dollars."

  Cooper shook his head. "For no amount of dollars. It is basically a technical problem. We're not equipped to undertake this kind of operation. We couldn't get the plane. We couldn't get the pilot you'd need. In fact, no one could—" He hesitated. "—except, of course, Carlos. I've heard he has this kind of person in Japan. Carlos and his gang could probably pull it off. In fact, I'm sure he could. But not anybody else. Certainly not us."

  Armstead had taken grasp of something. "But you think Carlos and his gang could do it?"

  "I'm certain they could. But they wouldn't."

  "Why not?"

  Cooper spoke with evident sincerity. "Put it this way. Me and my boys, we're in business. We're sensible businessmen. For us, most operations are a living. Not so with Carlos and his loonies. They're not businessmen. They're fanatics. Your money would never impress them. They're political creatures who perform for causes, like it's a religion. They'd find no real cause involved in this, so they'd have no reason to want to do it."

  Armstead was staring at Cooper through his eye slits. "I could give them a reason to do it."

  Cooper was at once surprised and curious. "What possible reason?"

  Armstead continued to stare at Cooper. "I could ask you to kidnap a man they'd do anything to get their hands on. I could ask you to kidnap this man, and the ransom would be to pull off my blue-ribbon operation. I know where the man to be kidnapped is this minute. I'd pay you the ten million to grab him."

  Interest showed in Cooper's face. "Grab who?"

  Armstead swallowed. "Carlos," Armstead said.

  The other three were all staring at him now.