of a trade. Trying would be better than doing nothing, wouldn't it?"
Chambrun and Jericho glanced at each other, and then Chambrun walked over to the old lady and took her hand. He bent down in a courtly gesture and kissed it. "I love you, Victoria," he said.
She gave him a wistful smile. 'Tm afraid it's too damned late for that, Pierre," she said.
Much later I found myself thinking how extraordinary it was for that elegant old lady to have suggested a violence of such proportions. Equally extraordinary—I thought much later—that two sophisticated and cultivated men of the world like Chambrun and Jericho would have even considered it. But pressure of some kind on the enemy, in time, might give Betsy Ruysdale a chance.
Chambrun and Jericho and I walked across to Penthouse 3 after Mrs. Haven had fed us all bacon, eggs, coffee, and hot rolls. We talked of ways and means over that breakfast: how to persuade Larry Welch to come clean, how to cajole him into helping us.
Mrs. Haven, still in that remarkably tough state of mind, had an opinion on that.
"You have a young man whose whole career has been pointed toward a big story that will make him famous forever. He thinks he has it. He's prepared to run any kind of personal risks to pull it off. But ..."
'*But what, Victoria?" Chambrun asked.
The old lady leaned back in her chair and smiled. '*He has a conscience, a commodity most of us don't have," she said. *'He won't reveal what he's got without approval from high places. He won't put his country in danger, he won't risk thousands of lives, unless he is reassured that the revelation is vital. I think that conscience will carry over to your Miss Ruysdale, Pierre. I'm not usually wrong about people. Welch is a decent man."
Maybe I've become a cynic, but decent men are hard to come by in the world I know; they don't pass in droves through the Beaumont's lobby. It's a world of rich men, and men who want to become rich men. They are mortal enemies, because you can't add to the number of rich men without making someone a little poorer. The same thing goes for power. There are those in power, and those who plot to overthrow them by violence. You can start out honest and wind up doing anything at all, no matter how underhanded, to get what you want. I remember an old Walt Disney cartoon where the evil fox is looking across the room at the beautiful Miss Millicmbucks. There is a close-up of the pupils of his eyes, which have turned into two hearts, pierced by Cupid's arrows. Then the fox takes another look at the beautiful rich girl, smiles a greedy smile, and the bleeding hearts in his eyes turn into dollar signs.
How right was Victoria Haven? How decent would Larry Welch turn out to be?
Larry, in spite of the early hour and a long night, was up and about when Chambrun rang his doorbell. I could hear the TV set going in his living room when he opened the door for us.
"I've just been hearing," he said, nodding toward the living room. *'I seem to be responsible for turning all hell loose in your hotel, Mr. Chambrun."
''Maybe you can help us get things back into control," Chambrun said.
'*Come in," Larry said. He went to the TV set and turned it off.
In his fancy modem living room Chambrun went directly to the telephone and asked to speak to Ora Veach, the chief operator. ''Chambrun here. Miss Veach," he said. "If there is a call for me, Fm in Penthouse Three. Ring once, disconnect, and ring again. If there is a call for Mr. Welch, ring in the normal fashion. Yes. Yours not to reason why. Miss Veach. Thank you." He put down the phone. "If there should be a call from Ruysdale's abductor, I don't want someone else to answer the phone, so he'll know I'm not alone." He took his silver case from his pocket and extracted one of his flat Egyptian cigarettes. He tapped it on the back of his hand. "I have to ask you for your help, Mr. Welch," he said. "Perhaps I should say I have to demand that you help me."
Larry nodded. "I guessed, when I heard the news about Hilda Harding, that you'd be coming. You're going to tell me that I have to give you more information than I have so far."
*'You obviously know why, then," Chambrun said.
"Your problems are more important to you than my problems," Larry said. He walked a step or two away from us and then turned back. *'You have a murderer or murderers strolling the corridors of your hotel. Your trusted secretary and friend may lose her hfe whatever you do. You can't stand just sitting back and waiting while some monsters call the turn."
''A perfect analysis," Chambrun said.
"You want names, places."
"And quickly," Chambrun said.
"I don't have names and places that will help you," Larry said. "Please, let me explain."
"I don't want any explanations, I want facts!" Chambrun said.
"Facts that will help you," Larry said. "Let me see what I can do." He drew a deep breath. "A little more than a year ago a man whose name might be 'Smith,' was arrested in the Middle East for selling highly sophisticated radar and weapons technology to leftist terrorists in the Middle East. This Smith was a former employee of the manufacturer of these technologies, had access to secrets that were vital to the nation's defense posture. What he sold to the enemy could set back our chances of staying level with Russia for a
whole decade. This is no secret, Mr. Chambnin. After Smith was convicted he was actually interviewed on television by Mike Wallace for CBS's *Sixty Minutes/ Everybody knew about it—after it was too late. Why did be do it? Why did he jeopardize his country? For money. He wanted to buy a condominium in California and Uve in comfort."
**A history lesson isn't going to help me," Cham-brun said.
**So you'll understand," Larry said. **Or do you understand already, Mr. Chambrun, that in this day and age patriotism is apt to run a poor second to wealth?"
''Perhaps not for everyone," Chambrun said.
*Terhaps not for you, or Jericho, or Mark—or me," Larry said. "Let me go on. After the *Smith' case was over and done, your friend and mine, Claude Perrault, working for the French Surety, learned that highly important French technology was leaking into the hands of a Middle Eastern terrorist whose name is Rhamadir. Rhamadir is armed by the Russians, supported by tl^ Russians, and paid for that support with technological information he was buying frcwn French traitors, along with even more important information he was buying from American traitors. Perrault put me on the track of it, a few leads to the American end of the treachery. I've spent almost a year working at it. I've come up with enough evidence against a man working in the Middle East to hang him."
**His name," Chambrun said.
"Fm going to tell you his name," Larry said, '*and pray that you'll keep it off the record for now. If we close in on him too soon, others will escape. What I needed from Martin Steams—and the two men who are coming here today—is a judgment on timing."
*'His name!" Chambrun almost shouted.
*'His name is Alex Johnson," Larry said, quietly. *'He is a government agent working under cover, we thought, but actually dealing with the enemy. What is called a double agent. He is being supplied with what he sells by American, French, and West German traitors. Those suppliers are the men we still haven't enough on to act. Close in on Alex Johnson before we're ready, and the others can slip through our net. What I have in that briefcase is the evidence against Johnson, dug out by Claude Perrault and me, plus leads to his suppliers—but not quite enough yet. Problem—do we shut down on Johnson now, leaving the rest of his network intact, or do we let him go on selling more and more secrets to the enemy, weakening our position vis-a-vis Russia, so that we can crack the whole machine? That's a judgment I can't make. That's why Steams and these other men are coming here to see me, to help make that decision."
'*Are you trying to tell us that this Alex Johnson is responsible for Betsy Ruysdale's kidnapping?" Jericho asked.
*'Johnson probably never heard of your Miss Ruysdale/' Larry said. '*But he's heard of me, and he's heard of Claude Perrault. I wish to God we could reach Claude, Chambrun. He may be in bigger trouble than I am. France is crawling with terrorists, Arab leftists, anti-
Israeli people."
''We're apparently crawling with something of the same kind here," Jericho said. "So what are the names of the traitors you have here?"
"In New York, nobody," Larry said, "except that they may be back and forth. United Nations here, the heart of the financial world here. Washington is a key place. Defense factories all over the country are key places."
"Names!" Chambrun said.
"That's the dynamite I talked about once," Larry said. "I give you any of those names, and you move against any one of them, and the whole ball game is lost. The rest of them will take cover. Alex Johnson will take cover, and it will take months and months to get back on the trail of treachery."
"There is Ruysdale!" Chambrun said.
"I've thought about her, and thought," Larry said. "Will they let her go, no matter what you do? The people whose names I might give you are not holding her, Chambrun. One of them may have given the orders, but the people who are holding her are just plain gunmen, paid terrorists. X, Y, and Z—they just carry out orders, and those orders are that if there is a rip-
pie on the surface of the water, here in the Beaumont, Miss Ruysdale has seen her last sunrise. The men holding her kill for money, not for a cause/*
**Name us a name of someone who might give orders, we put the heat on him, and those orders might be changed," Jericho said.
*Tut the heat on one of them, and that heat will be felt from here to Teheran, to Alex Johnson, to Rha-madir in the time it takes to make an overseas phone call," Larry said. '*Not only will Ruysdale get what they plan for her, but the whole network will slip through our fingers." He looked at Chambrun. "Fd like it if you could understand, Mr. Chambrun, that Fm not holding out to make some sort of headlines for myself. If I thought that naming someone would save your Miss Ruysdale, Fd do it. But it's not a story that's at stake, it's the future safety of our country." He looked steadily at Chambrun. *'You still want me to name some names that may or may not be useful?"
Chambrun had a kind of frozen look to him. **You have no idea who the man is who's been drinking in the Trapeze the last few days, Ballard's probable murderer?" he asked.
**Fve never seen him, only the police artist's drawing," Larry said. 'Trom that I have to say no."
We had come here so ready to *'go," but Larry Welch seemed to have persuaded us that to go was too dangerous for all concerned.
*'rve got one more for you, Welch," Jericho said. ** Neither Chambrun nor I believe in coincidence. Hilda Harding identified the man we think may be Bob Ballard's killer. The present wild-eyed theory is that this man came back here to kill Miss Harding so she couldn't identify him all over again if he was caught. Does that sound like a kill for-a-buck man?"
'*Just some kind of a psycho," Welch said.
**Aie you suggesting that Ballard's murder didn't have anything to do with you?" Jericho asked.
**I didn't see a connection at first," Larry said. **But after Prescott found out the man who visited me wasn't Martin Steams..."
"Of course," Jericho said. '*You call down and tell Ballard on the elevator he's to come up and take down Martin Steams. Ballard, a piece of bad luck for your fake visitor, has worked in the office building where the real Steams is located in Washington. He comes up, opens the car door, expecting to see a familiar face. Instead he sees a stranger, says, * You're not Martin Steams,' and finds himself facing a gun. He's ordered to stop at the tenth floor, is forced off the car and shoved into the service area, where he's killed."
''Where does the man from the Trapeze come in if my fake Steams was the killer?" Larry asked.
''A riddle," Jericho said with a grim smile.
''Planted on the tenth floor, just in case?" Larry suggested. "He's there to take Ballard off the car when it stops. Miss Harding sees him, goes back into her
room. The fake Steams gets off the car and walks away unnoticed?"
*'Meanwhile the dark man, Mr. X, shoots Ballard, stuffs him in a trash can, and goes down to the Trapeze to buy himself a vodka and tonic, knowing he's been seen?" Chambrun's laugh was mirthless. "You have a fiction writer's talent, Mr. Welch."
*'So what did happen?" Larry asked.
''A riddle," Jericho said.
"I am going to insist on some names, Mr. Welch," Chambrun said. *'You have told us two men were coming here today to advise you. Who are they?"
*'I--I can't tell you that," Larry said.
"If you don't tell me," Chambrun said, "they're not going to get up here to see you. Understand, if I give the orders, no one is going to get up here, and no one can get down from here—and that means you— unless I say so. This is one place I can control."
"Why would you want to keep them from coming?" Larry asked.
"I will not let people walk into a trap set up by the people who have Ruysdale. I have let two people be killed by playing their games—thinking it might save Ruysdale. No more. Tell me who they are. Phone than in my presence and warn them what they may be facing. If they want to run the risk, that will be their decision."
"Both men are traveling to get here," Larry said. "I have no way to reach them on the way."
**You know them both?"
"One of them I know well. The other I know all about, but I've never seen or met him."
"Names, please. Because no one is going to get up here until I'm satisfied they are who they are supposed to be. You may be a very clever man, Mr. Welch, but you've been faked out once and it's cost two lives. Not again."
Larry hesitated a moment. He had to know that Chambrun could no longer be counted on to sit back and do nothing. "The man I know is Armand Beau-jon, a friend of Claude Perrault's. He works for French security. The man I don't know is Michael O'Brien, an Irishman working for British security."
"Why are these men important to you?"
"I've told you."
"You've hinted. Tell me." This was the hanging judge.
Larry seemed to make a decision. "There are three key people working for Alex Johnson and Rhamadir in the Middle East," he said. "One of them is a discredited CIA man from this country; one is a Frenchman, a former Foreign Legion officer; and the third is an Irishman, an IRA man driven into exile by the British. How dangerous would it be to reveal thdr names? Claude Perrault and I felt we must have advice because to name them could mean their source of information, their suppliers of technological secrets, could slip out of the net. How ready are the govern-
ments of the United States, France, and Britain to pounce? Martin Stearns was supposed to supply me with an answer for America. Armand Beaujon will advise us about France. Michael O'Brien knows the Irish terrorists inside out, and can advise about Britain's position.''
''The man you thought was Martin Steams advised you to do nothing, to ditch your story," Jericho said,
"Naturally. He was a fake," Chambrun said. "So you will pay no attention to that. You say you know this Beaujon and trust him."
"A lot of the material I have came from him in the first place," Larry said. "It's a matter of when it's safe to break the story."
"O'Brien?"
"An Irishman working for the British?" Jericho sounded unconvinced.
"My dear fellow, all over the world Frenchmen and Americans and Germans and British and, for God's sake, even Chinese are working for the Russians. In turn, Russians are working for all of us. It isn't where a man is bom that matters. It's what he believes, or, more likely, how much money he can make working for the other side."
"To paraphrase the late Sam Goldwyn," Jericho said, "George Washington would turn over in his grave if he was alive! Patriotism would seem to be up the creek!"
"And out of sight in most places," Larry said.
**So let's look at it carefully," Chambrun said. *'The man you thought was Martin Steams advised you to forget what you have. Now that you know he was a fake you'll still wait for the real Martin Stearns's opinion?"
Larry nodded.
**You will accept what this Beaujon has to tell you. You know hi
m, know him by sight."
*'Yes."
**But O'Brien. How will you make sure of him? He can have passport and driver's license, with his pictures. They can be as phony as the Steams fakes were."
Larry frowned. ''Beaujon would know him."
"Can you keep Beaujon here till O'Brien arrives?"
''I don't know."
"I can keep him here whether he likes it or not," Chambrun said. ''All you have to do is tell Beaujon what's happened and what could be going to happen, and if he's so damned concerned with his country and its secrets, he'll stay."
"Probably."
"He'll stay!" Chambrun said. ' 'Your way or mine. Here's how we're going to play it, Mr. Welch. Jericho will be painting Mrs. Haven out in her garden. When Beaujon arrives not only will you be notified by the car operator, but I will be notified and so will Jericho. You will come out in the open, onto the roof, to
greet Beaujon. If he is certainly the man you know, you will signal Jericho. Understood?"
"Yes/^
"You will explain to Beaujon what the situation is and ask him to stay till O'Brien, whom he knows, arrives. If he insists on leaving, you will walk out onto the roof with him and signal to Jericho again. He won't leave, because no car will come up for him, and Jericho will handle him if he makes trouble."
*'In spades and with pleasure," Jericho said.
*'So when O'Brien comes, we'll check him out as best we can in the lobby level. If he seems for real, the operator will bring him up if you give the word. You and Beaujon will come out on the roof to greet him. If Beaujon says he's legitimate, you'll signal to Jericho again."
''And if he isn't—and if he's armed?" Larry asked.
Jericho patted a bulge I hadn't noticed on the left side of his jacket. ''I've won prizes at target shooting with a handgun," he said.
THREE
Chambrun and Jericho, with Larry Welch's help, were prepared for action that might be coming up on the roof. But the world was turning in other directions. So often I've heard Chambrun excuse himself with ''I've got a hotel to run." Today he wouldn't free himself for ordinary routines. There might be some word from the kidnappers, although they had said they would not call again. Ruysdale, who could have handled the daily functioning of the Beaumont with the same Swiss-watch efficiency as the Man, was missing. My normal morning involved checking the Hst of guests who'd registered since yesterday, always with Chambrun and Ruysdale after the Man's breakfast. Not today. The purpose of checking that list was to determine who needed special attention. There could be a film star who wanted to stay anonymous, there could be another film star or a foreign dignitary who wanted the reverse treatment: red carpet out, drum and bugle corps. It was my job to hide or exploit. But that was not for today either.
Murder in High Places Page 14
