Had Osterman been such a gargantuan fool—or coward—to blurt out the truth about Zurich to John Tanner? Without consulting them?
If that were the case, Zurich would have to be alerted. Zurich would take care of Osterman. They’d crucify him!
He had to find Cardone. They had to decide what to do. He ran to a corner telephone.
Betty told him Joe had gone into the office. Cardone’s secretary told him Joe was still on vacation.
Joe was playing games. The twitch above Tremayne’s left eye nearly blinded him.
9
Tuesday—7:00 A.M.
Unable to sleep, Tanner walked into his study, his eyes drawn to the gray glass of the three television sets. There was something dead about them, empty. He lit a cigarette and sat down on the couch. He thought about Fassett’s instructions: remain calm, oblivious, and say nothing to AIL Fassett had repeated the last command several times.
The only real danger would come if Ali said the wrong thing to the wrong person. There was danger in that. Danger to Ali But Tanner had never withheld anything from his wife. He wasn’t sure he could do it. The fact that they were always open with each other was the strongest bond in their strong marriage. Even when they fought there was never the weapon of unspoken accusations. Alice McCall had had enough of that as a child.
Omega, however, would change their lives, for the next six days, at any rate. He had to accept that because Fassett said it was best for Ali.
The sun was up now. The day was beginning and the Cardones, the Tremaynes and the Ostermans would soon be under fire. Tanner wondered what they’d do, how they’d react. He hoped that all three couples would contact the authorities and prove Fassett wrong. Sanity would return.
But it was possible that the madness had just begun. Whichever the case, he would stay home. If Fassett was right he’d be there with Ali and the children. Fassett had no control over that decision.
He would let Ali think it was the flu. He’d be in touch with his office by phone, but he would stay with his family.
His telephone rang regularly; questions from the office. Ali and the children complained that the constant ringing of the telephone was enough to drive them crazy, so the three of them retreated to the pool. Except for a few clouds around noon, the day was hot—perfect for swimming. The white patrol car passed the house a number of times. On Sunday Tanner had been concerned over it. Now he was grateful. Fassett was keeping his word.
The telephone rang again. “Yes, Charlie.” He didn’t bother to say hello.
“Mr. Tanner?”
“Oh, sorry. Yes, this is John Tanner.”
“Fassett calling.…”
“Wait a minute! Tanner looked out his study window to make sure Ali and the children were still at the pool. They were.
“What is it, Fassett? Have you people started?”
“Can you talk?”
“Yes.… Have you found out anything? Has any of them called the police?”
“Negative. If that happens we’ll contact you immediately. That’s not why I’m calling you.… You’ve done something extremely foolish. I can’t emphasize how careless.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You didn’t go in to your office this morning.…”
“I certainly did not!”
“… But there must be no break from your normal routine. No altering of your usual schedule. That’s terribly important. For your own protection, you must follow our instructions.”
“That’s asking too much!”
“Listen to me. Your wife and children are at this moment in the swimming pool behind your house. Your son, Raymond, did not go to his tennis lesson.…”
“I told him not to. I told him to do some work on the lawn.”
“Your wife had groceries delivered, which is not customary.”
“I explained that I might need her to take notes for me. She’s done that before.…”
“The main point is you’re not doing what you usually do. It’s vital that you keep to your day-today routine. I can’t stress it enough. You cannot, you must not call attention to yourself.”
“I’m watching out for my family. I think that’s understandable.”
“So are we. Far more effectively than you can. None of them have been out of our sight for a single minute. I’ll amend that. Neither have you. You walked out into your driveway twice: at nine-thirty-two and eleven-twenty. Your daughter had a friend over for lunch, one Joan Loomis, aged eight. We’re extremely thorough and extremely careful.”
The news director reached for a cigarette and lit it with the desk lighter. “Guess you are.”
“There’s nothing for you to worry about. There’s no danger to you or your family.”
“Probably not. I think you’re all crazy. None of them have anything to do with this Omega.”
“That’s possible. But if we’re right, they won’t take any action without checking further. They won’t panic, too much is at stake. And when they do check further they’ll immediately suspect each other. For heaven’s sake, don’t give them any reason not to. Go about your business as if nothing happened. It’s vital No one could harm your family. They couldn’t get near enough.”
“All right. You’re convincing. But I went out to the driveway three times this morning, not twice.”
“No, you didn’t. The third time you remained in the garage doorway. You didn’t physically walk out onto the driveway. And it wasn’t morning, it was twelve-fourteen.” Fassett laughed. “Feeling better now?”
“I’d be an awful liar if I didn’t admit it.”
“You’re not a liar. Not generally at any rate. Your file makes that very clear.” Fassett laughed again. Even Tanner smiled.
“You’re really too much, you know that. I’ll go into the office tomorrow.”
“When it’s all over, you and your wife will have to get together with me and mine for an evening. I think they’d like each other. Drinks will be on me. Dewars White Label with a tall soda for you and Scotch on the rocks with a pinch of water for your wife.”
“Good God! If you start describing our sex life.…”
“Let me check the index.…”
“Go to hell,” Tanner laughed, relieved. “We’ll take you up on that evening.”
“You should. We’d get along.”
“Name the date, we’ll be there.”
“I’ll make a point of it on Monday. Be in touch. You have the emergency number for after hours. Don’t hesitate to call.”
“I won’t. I’ll be in the office tomorrow.”
“Fine. And do me a favor. Don’t plan any more programs on us. My employers didn’t like the last one.”
Tanner remembered. The program Fassett referred to had been a Woodward Show. The writers had come up with the phrase Caught in the Act for the letters C.I.A. It was a year ago, almost to the week. “It wasn’t bad.”
“It wasn’t good. I saw that one. I wanted to laugh my head off but I couldn’t. I was with the Director, in his living room. Caught in the Act! Jesus!” Fassett laughed again, putting Tanner more at ease than the news director thought possible.
“Thanks, Fassett.”
Tanner put down the telephone and crushed out his cigarette. Fassett was a thorough professional, he thought. And Fassett was right. No one could get near Ali and the kids. For all he knew, the C.I.A. had snipers strapped to the trees. What was left for him to do was precisely what Fassett said: nothing. Just go about business as usual. No break from routine, no deviation from the norm. He felt he could play the role now. The protection was everything Fassett said it would be.
However, one thought bothered him, and the more he considered it, the more it disturbed him.
It was nearly four o’clock in the afternoon. The Tremaynes, the Cardones and the Ostermans had all been contacted by now. The harassment had begun. Yet none had seen fit to call the police. Or even to call him.
Was it really possible that six people who ha
d been his friends for years were not what they seemed to be?
10
Tuesday—9:40 A.M. California Time
The Karmann Ghia swung off Wilshire Boulevard onto Beverly Drive. Osterman knew he was exceeding the Los Angeles speed limit; it seemed completely unimportant. He couldn’t think about anything except the warning he had just received. He had to get home to Leila. They had to talk seriously now. They had to decide what to do.
Why had they been singled out?
Who was warning them? And about what?
Leila was probably right. Tanner was their friend, as good a friend as they’d ever known. But he was also a man who valued reserve in friendship. There were areas one never touched. There was always the slight quality of distance, a thin glass wall that came between Tanner and any other human being. Except of course, Ali.
And Tanner now possessed information that touched them somehow, meant something to him and Leila. And Zurich was part of it. But, Christ! How?
Osterman reached the foot of the Mulholland hill and drove rapidly to the top, past the huge, early-pastiche mansions that were peopled by those near, or once near, the top of the Hollywood spectrum. A few of the houses were going to seed, decaying relics of past extravagance. The speed limit in the Mulholland section was thirty. Osterman’s speedometer read fifty-one. He pressed down on the accelerator. He had decided what to do. He would pick up Leila and head for Malibu. The two of them would find a phone booth on the highway and call Tremayne and Cardone.
The mournful wail of the siren, growing louder, jarred him. It was a sound effect in this town of devices. It wasn’t real, nothing here was real. It couldn’t be for him.
But, of course, it was.
“Officer, I’m a resident here. Osterman. Bernard Osterman. 260 Caliente. Surely you know my house.” It was a statement made positively. Caliente was impressive acreage.
“Sorry, Mr. Osterman. Your license and registration, please.”
“Now, look. I had a call at the studio that my wife wasn’t feeling well. I think it’s understandable I’m in a hurry.”
“Not at the expense of pedestrians. Your license and registration.”
Osterman gave them to him and stared straight ahead, controlling his anger. The police officer wrote lethargically on the long rectangular traffic summons and when he finished, he stapled Bernie’s license to it.
At the sound of the snap. Osterman looked up. “Do you have to mutilate the license?”
The policeman sighed wearily, holding onto the summons. “You could have lost it for thirty days, mister. I lessened the speed; send in ten bucks like a parking ticket.” He handed the summons to Bernie. “I hope your wife feels better.”
The officer returned to the police car. He spoke once more through the open window. “Don’t forget to put your license back in your wallet.”
The police car sped off.
Osterman threw down the summons and turned his ignition key. The Karmann Ghia started down the Mulholland slope. Half in disgust, Bernie looked at the summons on the seat next to him.
Then he looked again.
There was something wrong with it. The shape was right the unreadable print was crowded in the inadequate space as usual, but the paper rang false. It seemed too shiny, too blurred even for a summons from the Motor Vehicle Department of the City of Los Angeles.
Osterman stopped. He picked up the summons and looked at it closely. The violations had been marked carelessly, inaccurately, by the police officer. They hadn’t really been marked at all.
And then Osterman realized that the face of the card was only a thin photostat attached to a thicker sheet of paper.
He turned it over and saw that there was a message written in red pencil, partially covered by his stapled license. He ripped the license off and read:
Word received that Tanner’s neighbors may have cooperated with him. This is a potentially dangerous situation made worse because our information is incomplete. Use extreme caution and find out what you can. It is vital we know—you know—extent of their involvement. Repeat. Use extreme caution.
Zurich
Osterman stared at the red letters and his fear produced a sudden ache at his temples.
The Tremaynes and the Cardones too!
11
Tuesday—4:30 P.M.
Dick Tremayne wasn’t on the four-fifty local to Saddle Valley. Cardone, sitting inside his Cadillac, swore out loud. He had tried to reach Tremayne at his office but was told that the lawyer had gone out for an early lunch. There was no point in having Tremayne call him back. Joe had decided to return to Saddle Valley and meet all the trains from three-thirty on.
Cardone left the station, turned left at the intersection of Saddle Road, and headed west toward the open country. He had thirty-five minutes until the next train was due. Perhaps the drive would help relax him. He couldn’t just wait at the station. If anyone was watching him it would look suspicious.
Tremayne would have some answers. Dick was a damned good lawyer, and he’d know the legal alternatives, if there were any.
On the outskirts of Saddle Valley Joe reached a stretch of road bordered by fields. A Silver Cloud Rolls-Royce passed him on his left, and Cardone noted that the huge automobile was traveling extremely fast, much too fast for the narrow country road. He kept driving for several miles, vaguely aware that he was traveling through open country now. He would probably have to turn around in some farmer’s driveway. But ahead of him was a long winding curve which, he remembered, had wide shoulders. He’d turn around there. It was time to head back to the station.
He reached the curve and slowed down, prepared to swing hard to his right onto the wide shoulder.
He couldn’t.
The Silver Cloud was parked off the road under the trees, blocking him.
Annoyed, Cardone gunned the engine and proceeded several hundred yards ahead where, since there were no other cars in sight, he made the cramped turn.
Back at the station, Cardone looked at his watch. Five-nineteen, almost five-twenty. He could see the entire length of the platform. He’d spot Tremayne if he got off. He hoped the lawyer would be on the five-twenty-five. The waiting was intolerable.
A car pulled up behind his Cadillac, and Cardone looked up.
It was the Silver Cloud. Cardone began to sweat.
A massive man, well over six feet tall, got out of the car and walked slowly toward Cardone’s open window. He was dressed in a chauffeur’s uniform.
“Mr. Cardione?”
“The name’s Cardone.” The man’s hands, which gripped the base of Joe’s window, were immense. Much larger and thicker than his own.
“Okay. Whatever you like.…”
“You passed me a little while ago, didn’t you? On Saddle Road.”
“Yes, sir, I did. I haven’t been far from you all day.”
Cardone involuntarily swallowed and shifted his weight. “I find that a remarkable statement. Needless to say, very disturbing.”
“I’m sorry.…”
“I’m not interested in apologies. I want to know why. Why are you following me? I don’t know you. I don’t like being followed.”
“No one does. I’m only doing what I’m told to do.”
“What is it? What do you want?”
The chauffeur moved his hands, just slightly, as if to call attention to their size and great strength. “I’ve been instructed to bring you a message, and then I’ll leave. I’ve a long drive. My employer lives in Maryland.”
“What message? Who from?”
“Mr. Da Vinci, sir.”
“Da Vinci?”
“Yes sir. I believe he got in touch with you this morning.”
“I don’t know your Mr. Da Vinci.… What message?”
“That you should not confide in Mr. Tremayne.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Only what Mr. Da Vinci told me, Mr. Cardione.”
Cardone stared into the huge man’s eyes. The
re was intelligence behind the blank façade. “Why did you wait until now? You’ve been following me all day. You could have stopped me hours ago.”
“I wasn’t instructed to. There’s a radio-phone in the car. I was told to make contact just a few minutes ago.”
“Who told you?”
“Mr. Da Vinci, sir …”
“That’s not his name! Now, who is he?” Cardone fought his anger. He took a deep breath before speaking. “You tell me who Da Vinci is.”
“There’s more to the message,” said the chauffeur, disregarding Cardone’s question. “Mr. Da Vinci says you should know that Tremayne may have talked to Mr. Tanner. No one’s sure yet, but that’s what it looks like.”
“He what? Talked to him about what?”
“I don’t know, sir. It’s not my job to know. I’m hired to drive a car and deliver messages.”
“Your message isn’t clear! I don’t understand it! What good is a message if it isn’t clear!” Cardone strained to keep in control.
“Perhaps the last part will help you, sir. Mr. Da Vinci feels it would be a good idea if you tried to find out the extent of Mr. Tremayne’s involvement with Tanner. But you must be careful. Very, very careful. As you must be careful with your friends from California. That’s important.”
The chauffeur backed away from the Cadillac and slapped two fingers against his cap’s visor.
“Wait a minute!” Cardone reached for the door handle, but the huge man in uniform swiftly clamped his hands on the window ledge and held the door shut.
“No, Mr. Cardione. You stay inside there. You shouldn’t call attention to yourself. The train’s coming in.”
“No, please! Please … I want to talk to Da Vinci! We’ve got to talk! Where can I reach him?”
“No way, sir.” The chauffeur held the door effortlessly.
“You prick!” Cardone pulled the handle and shoved his whole weight against the door. It gave just a bit and then slammed shut again under the chauffeur’s hands. “I’ll break you in half!”
The train pulled to a stop in front of the platform. Several men got off and the shriek of two whistle blasts pierced the air.
The Osterman Weekend: A Novel Page 8