The Fourth Estate

by Jeffrey Archer

  “I want that front-page story about Hahn pulled and this set up in its place,” he said, extracting a sheet of paper from his jacket pocket and handing it over to the bewildered chief printer, who immediately began to set up a new block for the front page, leaving a space in the top right-hand corner for the most recent picture they had of the Duke of Gloucester.

  Armstrong turned round to see a group of stackers waiting for the next edition to come off the presses. “You lot,” he shouted. “See that every copy of the first edition that’s still on the premises is destroyed.” They scattered, and began gathering up every paper they could find, however old.

  Forty minutes later, a proof copy of the new front page was hurried up to Schultz’s office. Armstrong studied the other story he had written that morning about the proposed visit to Berlin by the Duke of Gloucester.

  “Good,” he said, once he had finished checking it through. “Let’s get on with bringing out the second edition.”

  When Arno came rushing through the door nearly an hour later, he was surprised to find Captain Armstrong, his sleeves rolled up, helping to load the newly printed second edition onto the vans. Armstrong waved a finger in the direction of his office. Once the door was closed, he told him what he had done the moment he had seen the front-page article.

  “I’ve managed to get most of the early copies back and have them destroyed,” he told Schultz. “But I couldn’t do anything about the twenty thousand or so that were distributed in the Russian and American sectors. Once they’ve crossed the checkpoint, you can never hope to retrieve them.”

  “What a piece of luck that you picked up a first edition as it hit the streets,” said Arno. “I blame myself for not coming back earlier.”

  “You are in no way to blame,” said Armstrong. “But your deputy far exceeded his responsibility in going ahead and printing the article without even bothering to check with my office.”

  “I’m surprised. He’s normally so reliable.”

  “I had no choice but to sack him on the spot,” said Armstrong, looking directly at Schultz.

  “No choice,” said Schultz. “Of course.” He continued to look distressed. “Although I fear the damage may be irretrievable.”

  “I’m not sure I understand,” said Armstrong. “I managed to get all but a few of the early copies back.”

  “Yes, I realize that. In fact you couldn’t have done more. But just before I crossed the checkpoint I picked up a first edition in the Russian sector. I’d only been home for a few minutes when Julius called to say his phone hadn’t stopped ringing for the past hour—mostly calls from anxious retailers. I promised I’d come straight over and see how it could possibly have happened.”

  “You can tell your friend that I shall instigate a full inquiry in the morning,” promised Armstrong. “And I’ll take charge of it personally.” He rolled down his sleeves and put his jacket back on. “I was just stacking the second edition for the vans when you walked in, Arno. Perhaps you would be good enough to take over. My wife…”

  “Of course, of course,” said Arno.

  Armstrong left the building with Arno’s last words ringing in his ears: “You couldn’t have done more, Captain Armstrong, you couldn’t have done more.”

  Armstrong had to agree with him.

  * * *

  Armstrong was not surprised to receive a call from Julius Hahn early the following morning.

  “So sorry about our first edition,” he said, before Hahn had a chance to speak.

  “It wasn’t your fault,” said Hahn. “Arno has explained how much worse it might have been without your intervention. But now I fear I need another favor.”

  “I’ll do anything I can to help, Julius.”

  “That’s most kind of you, Captain Armstrong. Would it be possible for you to come and see me?”

  “Would some time next week suit you?” asked Armstrong, casually flicking over the pages of his diary.

  “I’m afraid it’s rather more urgent than that,” said Hahn. “Do you think there might be a chance that we could meet some time today?”

  “Well, it’s not convenient at the moment,” said Armstrong, looking down at the empty page in his diary, “but as I have another appointment in the American sector this afternoon, I suppose I could drop in on you around five—but only for fifteen minutes, you understand.”

  “I understand, Captain Armstrong. But I would be most grateful if you could manage even fifteen minutes.”

  Armstrong smiled as he put the phone down. He unlocked the top drawer of his desk and removed the contract. For the next hour he checked over each clause to make sure that every eventuality was covered. The only interruption he received was a call from Colonel Oakshott, congratulating him on the article about the Duke of Gloucester’s forthcoming visit. “First class,” he said. “First class.”

  After a long lunch in the mess, Armstrong spent the early afternoon clearing his desk of letters Sally had wanted answered for weeks. At half past four he asked Private Benson to drive him over to the American sector; the jeep pulled up outside the offices of Der Berliner at a few minutes past five. A nervous Hahn was waiting on the steps of the building, and quickly ushered him through to his office.

  “I must apologize again for our first edition last night,” began Armstrong. “I was having dinner with a general from the American sector, and Arno was unfortunately visiting his brother in the Russian sector, so neither of us had any idea what his deputy was up to. I sacked him immediately, of course, and have set up a full inquiry. If I hadn’t been passing the station at midnight…”

  “No, no, you are not in any way to blame, Captain Armstrong.” Hahn paused. “However, the few copies that did reach the American and Russian sectors have been more than enough to cause panic among some of my oldest clients.”

  “I’m very sorry to hear that,” said Armstrong.

  “I fear that they fell into the wrong hands. One or two of my most reliable suppliers have rung today demanding that in future they must be paid in advance, and that won’t prove easy after all the extra expense I’ve had to bear during the past couple of months. We both know it’s Captain Sackville who is behind all this.”

  “Take my advice, Julius,” said Armstrong. “Don’t even mention his name when referring to this incident. You have no proof, absolutely no proof, and he’s the sort of man who wouldn’t hesitate to close you down if you gave him the slightest excuse.”

  “But he’s systematically bringing my company to its knees,” said Hahn. “And I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve it, or how to stop him.”

  “Don’t get so upset, my friend. I’ve been working on your behalf for some time now, and I may just have come up with a solution.”

  Hahn forced a smile, but didn’t look convinced.

  “How would you feel,” continued Armstrong, “if I were to arrange for Captain Sackville to be posted back to America by the end of the month?”

  “That would solve all my problems,” said Hahn, with a deep sigh. But the look of doubt remained. “If only he could be sent home…”

  “By the end of the month,” Armstrong repeated. “Mind you, Julius, it’s going to take a lot of arm-twisting at the very highest levels, not to mention…”

  “Anything. I’ll do anything. Just tell me what you want.”

  Armstrong removed the contract from his inside pocket and pushed it across the desk. “You sign this, Julius, and I’ll see that Sackville is sent back to the States.”

  Hahn read the four-page document, first quickly and then more slowly, before placing it on the desk in front of him. He looked up and said quietly, “Let me understand the consequences of this agreement, should I sign it.” He paused again and picked up the contract again. “You would receive the foreign distribution rights for all my publications.”

  “Yes,” said Armstrong quietly.

  “I take it by that you mean for Britain.” He hesitated. “And the Commonwealth.”

  “No,
Julius. The rest of the world.”

  Hahn checked the contract once again. When he came to the relevant clause, he nodded gravely.

  “And in return I would receive 50 percent of the profits.”

  “Yes,” said Armstrong. “After all, you did tell me, Julius, that you would be looking for a British company to represent you once your present contract had come to an end.”

  “True, but at the time I didn’t realize you were in publishing.”

  “I have been all my life,” said Armstrong. “And once I’ve been demobbed, I shall be returning to England to carry on running the family business.”

  Hahn looked bemused. “And in exchange for these rights,” he said, “I would become the sole proprietor of Der Telegraf.” He paused again. “I had no idea that you owned the paper.”

  “Neither does Arno, so I must ask you to keep that piece of information in the strictest confidence. I had to pay well above the market price for his shares.”

  Hahn nodded, then frowned. “But if I were to sign this document, you could become a millionaire.”

  “And if you don’t,” said Armstrong, “you could be bankrupt by the end of the month.”

  Both men stared at each other.

  “You have evidently given my problem considerable thought, Captain Armstrong,” said Hahn eventually.

  “Only with your best interests in mind,” said Armstrong.

  Hahn didn’t comment, so Armstrong continued, “Allow me to prove my good will, Julius. I would not wish you to sign the document if Captain Sackville is still in this country on the first day of next month. If he has been replaced by then, I will expect you to put your signature to it on the same day. For the moment, Julius, a handshake will be good enough for me.”

  Hahn remained silent for a few more seconds. “I can’t argue with that,” he said eventually. “If that man has left the country by the end of the month, I will sign the contract in your favor.”

  The two men stood up and shook hands solemnly.

  “I’d better be on my way,” said Armstrong. “There are still quite a number of people I’ll have to get in line, and a lot of paperwork to be dealt with if I’m to make sure Sackville is sent back to America in three weeks’ time.”

  Hahn just nodded.

  * * *

  Armstrong dismissed his driver, and strolled the nine blocks to Max’s quarters for their usual Friday-night poker session. The cold air cleared his head, and by the time he arrived he was ready to put the second part of his plan into action.

  Max was impatiently shuffling the deck. “Pour yourself a beer, old buddy,” he said as Armstrong took his place at the table, “because tonight, my friend, you’re going to lose.”

  Two hours later, Armstrong was about $80 up, and Max hadn’t licked his lips all evening. He took a long draft of beer as Dick began shuffling the deck. “It doesn’t help to think,” said Max, “that if Hahn is still in business at the end of the month I’ll owe you another thousand—which would just about wipe me out.”

  “It’s looking a pretty good bet for me at the moment, I must admit.” Armstrong paused as he dealt Max his first card. “Mind you, there are circumstances in which I might agree to waive the wager.”

  “Just tell me what I have to do,” said Max, dropping his cards face-up on the table. Armstrong pretended to be concentrating on his hand, and said nothing.

  “Anything, Dick. I’ll do anything.” Max paused. “Short of killing the damn Kraut.”

  “How about bringing him back to life again?”

  “I’m not sure I understand.”

  Armstrong placed his hand on the table and looked across at the American. “I want you to make sure that Hahn gets all the electricity he needs, all the paper he requires, and a helping hand whenever he contacts your office.”

  “But why this sudden change of heart?” asked Max, sounding suspicious.

  “Simple really, Max. It’s just that I’ve been laying off the bet with several suckers in the British sector. I’ve been backing Hahn to still be in business in a month’s time. So if you were to reverse everything, I’d stand to make a lot more than a thousand dollars.”

  “You cunning old bastard,” said Max, licking his lips for the first time that evening. “You’ve got yourself a deal, old buddy.” He thrust his hand across the table.

  Armstrong shook hands on the second agreement he’d made that day.

  * * *

  Three weeks later, Captain Max Sackville boarded a plane for North Carolina. He hadn’t had to pay Armstrong more than the few dollars he’d lost in their final poker game. On the first of the month he was replaced by a Major Bernie Goodman.

  Armstrong drove over to the American sector that afternoon to see Julius Hahn, who handed him the signed contract.

  “I’m not quite sure how you managed it,” said Hahn, “but I’m bound to admit, from your lips to God’s ears.”

  They shook hands.

  “I look forward to a long and fruitful partnership,” were Armstrong’s parting words. Hahn made no comment.

  When Armstrong arrived back at the flat early that evening, he told Charlotte that his demob papers had finally come through, and that they would be leaving Berlin before the end of the month. He also let her know that he had been offered the rights to represent Julius Hahn’s overseas distribution, which would mean he’d be working flat out from the moment the plane landed in London. He began roaming around the room, blasting off idea after idea, but Charlotte didn’t complain because she was only too happy to be leaving Berlin. When he had finally stopped talking, she looked up at him and said, “Please sit down, Dick, because I also have something to tell you.”

  * * *

  Armstrong promised Lieutenant Wakeham, Private Benson and Sally that they could be sure of a job when they left the army, and all of them said they would be in touch just as soon as their discharge papers came through.

  “You’ve done one hell of a job for us here in Berlin, Dick,” Colonel Oakshott told him. “In fact, I don’t know how we’re going to replace you. Mind you, after your brilliant suggestion of merging Der Telegraf and Der Berliner, we may not even have to.”

  “It seemed the obvious solution,” said Armstrong. “May I add how much I’ve enjoyed being part of your team, sir.”

  “It’s kind of you to say so, Dick,” the colonel said. He lowered his voice. “I’m due to be discharged myself fairly shortly. Once you’re back in civvy street, do let me know if you hear of anything that might suit an old soldier.”

  Armstrong didn’t bother to visit Arno Schultz, but Sally told him that Hahn had offered him the job of editor of the new paper.

  Armstrong’s final call before he handed in his uniform to the quartermaster was to Major Tulpanov’s office in the Russian sector, and on this occasion the KGB man did invite him to stay for lunch.

  “Your coup with Hahn was a pleasure to observe, Lubji,” said Tulpanov, waving him to a chair, “even if only from a distance.” An orderly poured them each a vodka, and the Russian raised his glass high in the air.

  “Thank you,” said Armstrong, returning the compliment. “And not least for the part you played.”

  “Insignificant,” said Tulpanov, placing his drink back on the table. “But that may not always be the case, Lubji.” Armstrong raised an eyebrow. “You may well have secured the foreign distribution rights to the bulk of German scientific research, but it won’t be too long before it’s out of date, and then you’ll need all the latest Russian material. That is, if you wish to remain ahead of the game.”

  “And what would you expect in return?” asked Armstrong, scooping up another spoonful of caviar.

  “Let us just leave it, Lubji, that I will be in touch from time to time.”

  18.

  Daily Mail

  13 April 1961

  THE VOICE FROM SPACE: “HOW I DID IT.” GAGARIN TELLS KHRUSHCHEV OF THE BLUE EARTH

  Heather placed a cup of black coffee in front of him. T
ownsend was already regretting that he had agreed to give the interview, especially to a trainee reporter. His golden rule was never to allow a journalist to talk to him on the record. Some proprietors enjoyed reading about themselves in their own papers. Townsend was not among them, but when Bruce Kelly had pressed him in an unguarded moment, saying it would be good for the paper and good for his image, he’d reluctantly agreed.

  He had nearly canceled two or three times that morning, but a series of telephone calls and meetings meant that he’d never got round to doing it. And then Heather walked in to tell him that the young reporter was waiting in the outer hall. “Shall I send her in?” Heather asked.

  “Yes,” he said, checking his watch. “But I don’t want to be too long. There are several things I need to go over with you before tomorrow’s board meeting.”

  “I’ll come back in about fifteen minutes and tell you there’s an overseas call on the line.”

  “Good idea,” he said. “But say it’s from New York. For some reason that always makes them leave a little quicker. And if you get desperate, use the Andrew Blacker routine.”

  Heather nodded and left the room as Townsend ran his finger down the agenda for the board meeting. He stopped at item seven. He needed to be better briefed on the West Riding Group if he was going to convince the board that they should back him on that one. Even if they gave him the go-ahead, he still had to close the deal on his trip to England. In fact he would have to travel straight up to Leeds if he felt the deal was worth pursuing.

  “Good morning, Mr. Townsend.”

  Keith looked up, but didn’t speak.

  “Your secretary warned me that you’re extremely busy, so I’ll try not to waste too much of your time,” she said rather quickly.

  He still didn’t say a word.

  “I’m Kate Tulloh. I’m a reporter with the Chronicle.”

  Keith came from behind his desk, shook hands with the young journalist, and ushered her toward a comfortable chair usually reserved for board members, editors or people with whom he expected to close important deals. Once she was seated, he took the chair opposite her.