“I’ve just finished talking to my boss in Washington,” Zachary said. “Colonel Martin is prepared to get a court order forcing you to turn the boy over to us—if I can’t persuade you to do it voluntarily.”
“You can tell your Colonel Martin that he’d better send in the marines if he wants to serve me with a court order. I have an obligation to protect that boy, Zachary, and I will follow my own judgment on the best way to do it.”
“Endangering the whole damn country in the process?”
“I happen to think that keeping the boy safe may be the best way of keeping Major Willis’s secrets safe. You can tell your Colonel Martin I’m on this end of the phone if he wants to talk to me.”
Without Betsy Ruysdale in her outer office, the entrance to Chambrun’s office was like a revolving door. People could come and go at will. Jerry Dodd, our security chief, came in walking another man ahead of him. The man was vaguely familiar, but I could not place him for a moment. He was medium tall with brown hair, cut short, and an amiable smile on his face.
“I thought you and Captain Zachary might want to talk to this man,” Jerry said. “Mr. Cardoza was at his post in the lobby when he spotted Father Callahan wandering around and told me.”
The gun-toting priest! Without his turnaround collar, I hadn’t placed him. I saw Chambrun pat at his left shoulder.
“All clean this trip,” Jerry said. “No gun.”
“A joke, is a joke, is a joke,” the man I knew as Father Callahan said. “Would someone mind telling me what the hell this is all about? I am practically placed under arrest by this man and brought up here against my will. Speaking of guns, does he have a license for the one he stuck in my ribs?”
“He does,” Chambrun said. “You are Father Paul Callahan?”
“I certainly am not,” the man said.
“Then who are you?” Chambrun asked.
The man’s smile broadened. “I was christened Francisco Garibaldi,” he said. “That was almost fifty years ago. My family came to this country from Italy about then. Italians weren’t very popular here in those days, thanks to Benito Mussolini. My father changed his name from Anthony Garibaldi to Tony Gary. I became Frank Gary. My mother, Serefina, became Sarah Gary. You want to see my citizenship papers?”
“Mark?” Chambrun asked, looking at me.
“At around one-thirty or a quarter of two this morning,” I said, “this man, wearing a priest’s collar and calling himself Father Paul Callahan, was in the Blue Lagoon trying to persuade young Guy Willis to leave the hotel with him.”
“No question about that, according to Cardoza,” Jerry said.
“How do you account for that, Mr. Gary—if that’s your name?”
“He is carrying a driver’s license with his photograph on it,” Jerry Dodd said. “Name of Frank Gary.”
“A chauffeur’s license, if you want to be exact,” the man said. “I own and operate a limousine service. You’ll find me listed in the Yellow Pages. I have to be licensed to operate my own cars in case I find myself short a driver.”
“You weren’t here in the Blue Lagoon between one-thirty and two this morning?”
“What is the Blue Lagoon? In any case, my wife can tell you I was at home in bed, sound asleep at that time.”
“Another bedroom alibi,” Zachary muttered, obviously thinking of Romy Romanov, his pet suspect.
“What are you doing here in the hotel this morning?” Chambrun asked.
“I guess you could say ‘Curiosity killed the cat,’” the man said. “Over my breakfast coffee I heard a radio account of what was going on here. Driving to work I pass by here, and curiosity got the best of me. I thought I’d drop in and see what the excitement was all about. I was wandering around the lobby when this big Spanish-looking guy grabbed me and shouted for Dodd here. I was arrested—without a warrant, by the way—unceremoniously searched for a weapon, and brought up here. Now, can we call it quits and let me out of here before your hotel blows up?”
“There’s the waiter who served him in the Blue Lagoon,” Chambrun said to Jerry. “There’s Waters, the doorman who saw a priest leaving the hotel a little after two in the morning. If they also identify this man as Father Callahan—”
“There’s the boy,” Zachary said. “He sat eye-to-eye with the priest at a table in the nightclub, I was told. He wrestled with him and felt the gun he was carrying in a shoulder holster. Bring the boy down here, Chambrun, and we can stop guessing.”
“The boy stays put,” Chambrun said. “We’ll take Mr. Gary up to my penthouse.”
“You can’t keep dragging me around places!” Gary said.
“In a criminal crisis in this hotel,” Chambrun said, “I am the law.”
One elevator in the left bank had been reserved for hotel use, operating on a self-service basis. Five of us—Chambrun, Jerry Dodd, Zachary, the man who called himself Gary, and I—took it to the roof, passing by the checkpoint at the thirty-ninth floor where Chambrun gave the secret code words that let us go on up to the roof.
I have to take time out for a minute to reintroduce Victoria Haven to Chambrun’s followers. She is an astonishing old girl, with her scarlet hair, elegant figure, her still-handsome if wrinkled face. She was there with Guy Willis when we arrived, and it looked as if he’d finally met his match at gin rummy. The poker chips being used for money were mostly stacked on her side of the table. Victoria’s gentleman friend, the little Japanese spaniel, greeted us with angry barks. He tolerates Chambrun and Jerry and me, announcing our presence on the roof with a few sharp shrieks when we come alone. But Zachary and the man who called himself Gary were strangers, and his outrage was endless until the old lady picked him up by the scruff of his neck and held him in her lap. He sat there, teeth bared, daring the enemy to come closer.
The boy’s reaction was instant. He sprang off his chair and ran to Chambrun, his face working.
“That’s the priest with the gun,” he said. “He’s the one in my nightmare, beating my parents!”
Gary shook his head. “I’m part of a bad dream?”
“Interesting, wouldn’t you say, Mr. Gary?” Chambrun said. “How could the boy get you into a dream if he hadn’t seen you somewhere before? He couldn’t invent you, could he?”
“I think it’s time I got some kind of legal help,” Gary said. “Am I entitled to that one phone call?”
Chambrun was the hanging judge again. “You can make a phone call,” he said. “But it will be a little complicated for your lawyer to get to you. No one will be admitted in off the street while this bomb scare is on, and I don’t think you’ll be allowed to go to him.”
“You’ll prevent it?” Gary asked. He wasn’t amused any longer.
Chambrun turned to Jerry Dodd. “See if you can locate Lieutenant Hardy and get him up here, Jerry.” Then, back to Gary, “The abduction of the Willises is connected with a murder—one of the elevator operators. You, in your role as Father Callahan, were obviously involved in trying to get the boy away from here, an act connected to that crime. Homicide may very well want to hold you as an accessory to a killing.”
“How many times do I have to tell you that I am not ‘Father Callahan,’ nor did I ever pretend to be?”
“So far we have three witnesses who say you are or pretended to be a priest, and I may be able to produce two more,” Chambrun said. “Whatever your game is, you’ve lost it, Gary. Why not decide to make a deal for yourself, possibly immunity, by telling the truth?”
Zachary turned impatiently away from the window where he’d been standing, listening. “You know a man named Alexander Romanov?” he asked Gary.
“Never heard of him. Who is he?”
“He’s a Russian portrait painter who is probably right in the center of all this mess,” Zachary said. “Were you working with him? Were you trying to get the boy away so that Romanov could use him to force his father to spill what he knows?”
“All of you should be collaborating on a television s
oap opera,” Gary said. “I’ve never heard of your Russian painter. I never laid eyes on this boy until you brought me up here just now, no matter what he says, no matter what his dreams are.”
“Once more, Mark,” Chambrun said to me.
“This is the man I saw in the Blue Lagoon with Guy early this morning. He introduced himself to me as ‘Father Callahan.’ He said he’d been a chaplain in the Air Force in Vietnam and that Major Willis was an old friend from war days. He’d stopped in at the Blue Lagoon to hear Duke Hines play the piano. By chance he heard Guy report to Mr. Cardoza that his parents were missing. He said he wanted to take the boy under his wing as a favor to an old friend.”
“He tried to drag me away,” the boy said, “and I could feel the gun he was wearing in a shoulder holster.”
Gary shook his head. “I’ve heard of freak cases where there were two people, unconnected or related, who looked exactly alike. That must be what’s happened here.”
“Same voice. Same speech pattern,” I said. There was absolutely no doubt in my mind.
There was a moment of silence, and then Jerry Dodd spoke to Chambrun. “I’d better get back to what’s going on downstairs, Boss. What do you want done with this character?”
You could almost hear Chambrun’s brain clicking as he worked on a decision. “Penthouse Number Three is unoccupied,” he said finally. Number Three was reserved for special U.N. big shots, and I happened to know it was being held for some British dignitaries due to arrive the following day. “Take Mr. Gary over there and lock him in,” Chambrun went on. “When I have time, I’ll visit you, Gary, and let you know exactly what your situation is.”
“My situation is fairly obvious,” Gary said. “I’m being illegally held prisoner. That is going to cost you the biggest lawsuit you ever heard of, Chambrun. Do I use that phone to make my one call?”
“I’ve changed my mind about that,” Chambrun said. “There’ll be no outgoing calls while this crisis persists.”
“And when you find there isn’t any bomb?”
“The bomb isn’t the crisis I’m talking about,” Chambrun said. His voice was scary cold. “A friend of mine and his wife are being held prisoner, probably worked over, threatened, tortured. The most precious lady in my life is in the same boat. I think you know where they are, Gary. ‘Father Callahan’ was supposed to take the boy to his parents, wasn’t he? So, when you decide to tell me where they are, and if we find them safe and in one piece, I may turn you loose to bring your lawsuit. If you don’t tell us and we don’t find them, you’ll never get to bring your lawsuit, friend. I make you a promise. You will die in the most painful way I can possibly devise for you.” He turned to Jerry. “Take him away. Lock him in Penthouse Three. Notify the switchboard that there are to be no outgoing calls from Penthouse Three. And if anyone calls or comes and asks for Mr. Gary, you never heard of him. If they ask for Father Callahan, get them to me.”
“You have just arranged for your own destruction when I get out of this,” Gary said.
“You arranged for your own destruction when you walked into this hotel and involved yourself with the Willises,” Chambrun said. “You have an out, though. You can talk.”
Gary turned to Jerry Dodd and held out his arms as though he expected to be handcuffed. The little dog in Victoria Haven’s lap snarled angrily as Jerry took his prisoner away.
“OF COURSE, he knows you’re bluffing,” Zachary said when Jerry had taken his man away.
“Then he’s living in a fool’s paradise,” Chambrun said. “There isn’t an ounce of bluff in anything I told him.”
“You’d actually think of killing him?”
“If Miss Ruysdale isn’t returned to me unharmed, I wouldn’t have anything to live for,” Chambrun said. “I couldn’t wait to get at him.”
If anyone but Chambrun had made such a threat, I’d probably have thought it was just big talk. Knowing him, I was almost certain he meant it.
“Are you going to just camp here on Romy Romanov’s trail,” Chambrun asked the Air Force man, “or are you going to check out all the people on your list of suspects and the one Romy gave us? You and your intelligence people could be useful if you weren’t determined to take an easy way out. Have you decided Gary is telling the truth? That would make it simpler for you, wouldn’t it?”
Zachary was struggling to keep his anger from flaring up again. “I think Gary is a liar,” he said. “Haskell here and the boy make it pretty certain. He was ‘Father Callahan.’ But where does that get us? He’s a tough cookie. He isn’t going to talk, threats or no threats. So, he’s part of a team working for the enemy. Romanov is probably part of that same team. Major Willis could never have been suckered into a trap by anyone but a friend. Romanov was such a friend. Romanov actually knew Willis and his wife were going down to the Blue Lagoon. He’d been invited to go with them. He was ready for them when the time came.”
“So?”
“So my next move is to try to find someone who has been in contact with both Romanov and Gary during the last few days. That would take us a step closer to the main man, whoever he is.”
“And meanwhile, what happens to Betsy Ruysdale and the Willises? Can we wait for that kind of investigation? It could take days.”
“I keep telling you,” Zachary said, his voice rising, “turn the boy loose. Someone will pick him up and they’ll lead us to the people you want to save.”
Guy Willis faced Chambrun. “I’m not afraid, if it would do it, Mr. Chambrun. You say you don’t want to live if Betsy isn’t all right. Well, I don’t want to live if my parents aren’t all right.”
“So we let them use you to force your father to talk,” Chambrun said. “And, when he has talked, you will all be dead because your father and mother, and Betsy, can expose them. The one hope I can see for keeping them alive, boy, is not to let you be used to make them talk. If Captain Zachary would get off his butt we just might find another lead to them without involving you. You, here and safe, are the one card we have to play to keep the people we love alive for a little longer. For God’s sake, Zachary, get sensible!”
Zachary swore softly under his breath, turned away, and walked out of the penthouse. Toto, the Japanese gentleman friend, snarled angrily as he left.
“Not a nice man,” Victoria Haven said. She put the dog down, went to the terrace door, and let her friend out onto the roof. “Has to do his duty. His instinct about people is seldom wrong.”
Chambrun didn’t comment, might actually not have heard. He was reaching out in his mind for something, something he thought ought to be there and that he couldn’t quite locate.
“I believe you really would kill that Gary man, Pierre,” Victoria said.
“When we have lost. But we haven’t lost yet,” Chambrun said.
“This whole drama has been staged here in the Beaumont,” the old lady said. “Zachary is right, you know. Major Willis could only have been lured into a trap by a friend, or at least someone he trusted.” She looked down at the boy, who seemed more tense than I’d seen him, even when he was being threatened by ‘Father Callahan.’ “Maybe Guy could tell us what other friends his father had staying here in the hotel?”
Guy’s lips trembled when he spoke. “I think I told Mr. Chambrun that Mr. Romanov had been a friend from back before I was born. My dad was stationed in Moscow. They knew each other there—before I was ever born.”
“Have you stayed here with your parents before, Guy?” Victoria asked him. “On other trips to New York?”
“No,” Chambrun said, sounding abstracted.
“I’ve only been to New York with them twice before, when I was quite small. We stayed somewhere else, a big hotel that faces the south end of the Park.”
“The Plaza,” Chambrun said in that small faraway voice.
“Yes, that was it,” the boy said. “Rozzie took me for rides in a hansom cab—you know, a horse cab?”
“I know,” Victoria said. “Believe it or not, Guy, I ca
n remember when that was the way to get around in cities—London, New York, Paris.” She smiled. “I can remember some romantic encounters in hansom cabs.”
“You’re straying from the subject at hand, Victoria,” Chambrun said. “My encounter with Ham Willis was just over two years ago. He’d come here to the Beaumont for a meeting with someone from one of the U.N. delegations. I had gone out to the bank on business. On my way home I was attacked by muggers just down the block. Ham Willis luckily, was just leaving the hotel. He was armed, and he was a brave man. He almost certainly saved my life. We became friends. After that, when he came to New York he made the Beaumont his base of operations. But Guy can’t tell you anything about his connections here except for this visit, which began three days ago.”
“Mr. Romanov was the only friend you met?” Victoria asked the boy.
“There was a Miss Smythe who was with Mr. Romanov,” the boy said, “but I don’t think Dad and Rozzie had met her before.”
“Your father didn’t mention any other friends in your presence who might be staying here?”
The boy shook his head. “Just Mr. Chambrun, who I was to trust and feel free to call on if I was in any trouble.”
“So he had no friend staying here in the hotel,” Victoria said.
“That doesn’t mean a friend wasn’t circulating here—without being a guest,” Chambrun said.
“You don’t want to face it, do you, Pierre?” the lady said.
I didn’t know what she was talking about, but he did. He made an impatient gesture, as though he was brushing away an irritating fly.
Victoria looked at me. “Vanity isn’t a good crutch to lean on when important friends are in trouble,” she said.
“Vanity?” I didn’t know what she was talking about.
“Pierre prides himself on his judgments of people,” the lady said. Perhaps I should mention here that I’ve heard rumors around the hotel that once upon a time there had been a young man-older woman thing between Chambrun and Mrs. Haven. She, at least, knew him rather more intimately than most of us who had come to work here long after Victoria and Chambrun had been good neighbors on the hotel rooftop. “But a hundred percent right would be a miracle, wouldn’t it?”
Nightmare Time Page 8
