Kane and Abel/Sons of Fortune

by Jeffrey Archer

  “You’ve been a loyal supporter of the Party in the past, there’s no denying that, Mr. Rosnovski,” said Vincent Hogan in a tone that indicated that the statutory time for small talk had run out. “We also know the Democrats, not least of all former Congressman Osborne, have done the odd favor for you in return. I don’t think it’s necessary for me to go into any details of the unpleasant little incident with Interstate Airways.”

  “That’s long since past,” said Abel, “and well behind me.”

  “I agree,” said Mr. Hogan, “and although most self-made multimillionaires couldn’t face having their affairs looked into too closely, you will be the first to appreciate that we have to be especially careful. The candidate, as you will understand, cannot afford to take any personal risks so near the election. Nixon would love a scandal at this stage of the race.”

  “We understand each other clearly, Mr. Hogan. Now that’s out of the way, how much were you expecting from me for the campaign?”

  “I need every penny I can lay my hands on.” Hogan’s words came across clipped and slow. “Nixon is gathering a lot of support across the country and it’s going to be a very close thing getting our man into the White House.”

  “Well, I’ll support Kennedy,” said Abel, “if he supports me. It’s as simple as that.”

  “He’s delighted to support you, Mr. Rosnovski. We all realize you’re a pillar of the Polish community, and Senator Kennedy is personally aware of the brave stand you took on behalf of your countrymen who are still in slave labor camps behind the Iron Curtain, not to mention the service you gave in the war. I’ve been authorized to let you know that the candidate has already agreed to open your new hotel in Los Angeles during his campaign trip.”

  “That’s good news,” said Abel.

  “The candidate is also fully aware of your desire to grant Poland most favored nation status in foreign trade with the United States.”

  “No more than we deserve after our service in the war,” said Abel, and he paused briefly. “What about the other little matter?” he asked.

  “Senator Kennedy is canvasing Polish-American opinion at the moment and we haven’t met with any objections. He naturally cannot come to a final decision until after he is elected.”

  “Naturally. Would two hundred and fifty thousand dollars help him make that decision?” asked Abel.

  Vincent Hogan didn’t speak.

  “Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars it is then,” said Abel. “The money will be in your campaign fund headquarters by the end of the week, Mr. Hogan. You have my word on it.”

  The business was over, the bargain struck. Abel rose. “Please give Senator Kennedy my best wishes and add that of course I hope he’ll be the next President of the United States. I always loathed Richard Nixon after his despicable treatment of Helen Gahagan Douglas, and in any case, there are personal reasons why I don’t want Henry Cabot Lodge as vice president.”

  “I shall be delighted to pass on your message,” said Mr. Hogan, “and thank you for your continued support of the Democratic party and, in particular, of the candidate.” The Bostonian thrust out his hand. Abel grasped it.

  “Keep in touch, Mr. Hogan. I don’t part with that sort of money without expecting a return on my investment.”

  “I fully understand,” said Vincent Hogan.

  Abel showed his guest to the elevator and returned smiling to his office. His fingers started to tap the desk again. His secretary reappeared.

  “Ask Mr. Novak to come in,” said Abel.

  George came through from his office a few moments later.

  “I think I’ve pulled it off, George.”

  “Congratulations, Abel. I’m delighted. If Kennedy becomes the next President, then one of your biggest dreams will be fulfilled. How proud Florentyna will be of you.”

  Abel smiled when he heard her name. “Do you know what the little minx has been up to?” he said, laughing. “Did you see the Los Angeles Times last week, George?”

  George shook his head and Abel passed him a copy of the paper. A picture was circled in red ink. George read the caption aloud: “‘Florentyna Kane opens her third shop, this one in Los Angeles. She already owns two in San Francisco and is hoping to open another in San Diego before the end of the year. “Florentyna’s,” as they are known, are fast becoming to California what Balenciaga is to Paris.’”

  George laughed as he put the paper down.

  “She must have written the piece herself,” said Abel. “I can’t wait for her to open a Florentyna’s in New York. I’ll bet she achieves that within five years, ten at the most. Do you want to take another bet on that, George?”

  “I didn’t take the first one, if you remember, Abel. Otherwise I would already have been out ten dollars.”

  Abel looked up, his voice quieter. “Do you think she’d come and see Senator Kennedy open the new Baron in Los Angeles, George? Do you think she might?”

  “Not unless the Kane boy is invited as well.”

  “Never,” said Abel. “That Kane boy is nothing. I read all the facts in your last report. He’s left the Bank of America to work with Florentyna; couldn’t even hold down a good job, had to fall back on her success.”

  “You’re becoming a selective reader, Abel. You know very well that’s not the way it was. I made the circumstances crystal clear: Kane is in charge of finances while Florentyna runs the shops. It’s proving to be an ideal partnership. Don’t ever forget that a major bank offered Kane the chance to head up its European department, but Florentyna begged him to join her when she no longer found she could control the finances herself. Abel, you’ll have to face the fact that their marriage is a success. I know it’s hard for you to stomach, but why don’t you climb down off your high horse and meet the boy?”

  “You’re my closest friend, George. No one else in the world would dare to speak to me like that. So no one knows better than you why I can’t climb down, not until that bastard Kane shows he is willing to meet me halfway. Until then I won’t crawl again while he’s still alive to watch me.”

  “What if you were to die first, Abel? You’re exactly the same age.”

  “Then I’d lose and Florentyna inherits everything.”

  “You told me she wouldn’t get a thing. You were going to change your will in favor of your grandson.”

  “I couldn’t do it, George. When the time came to sign the documents, I just couldn’t do it. What the hell—that damned grandson is going to end up with both our fortunes in the end.”

  Abel removed a billfold from his inside pocket, shuffled through several old pictures of Florentyna and took out a new one of his grandson, which he proffered to George.

  “Good-looking little boy,” said George.

  “Sure is,” said Abel. “The image of his mother.”

  George laughed. “You never give up, do you, Abel?”

  “What do you think they call him?”

  “What do you mean?” said George. “You know very well what his name is.”

  “I mean what do you think they actually call him?”

  “How should I know?” said George.

  “Find out,” said Abel. “I care.”

  “How am I supposed to do that?” said George. “Have someone follow them while they’re pushing the stroller around Golden Gate Park? You left clear instructions that Florentyna must never find out that you’re still taking an interest in her or the Kane boy.”

  “That reminds me, I still have a little matter to settle with his father,” said Abel.

  “What are you going to do about the Lester stock?” asked George. “Peter Parfitt has been showing new interest in selling his two percent and I wouldn’t trust Henry with the negotiations. With those two working on the sale, everybody will be in on the deal except you.”

  “I’m doing nothing. Much as I hate Kane, I don’t want any trouble with him until we know if Kennedy wins the election. I’m leaving the whole situation dormant for the moment. If Kennedy fai
ls, I’ll buy Parfitt’s two percent and go ahead with the plan we’ve already discussed. And don’t worry yourself about Henry—I’ve already taken him off the Kane file. From now on I’m handling it myself.”

  “I do worry, Abel. I know he’s in debt again to half the bookmakers in Chicago and I wouldn’t be surprised if he arrived in New York on the scrounge any minute now.”

  “Henry won’t be coming here. I made the situation very clear last time I saw him that he wouldn’t get another dime out of me. If he does come begging, he’ll only lose his seat on the board and his only source of income.”

  “That worries me even more,” said George. “Let’s say he took it on himself to go to Kane direct for money.”

  “Not possible, George. Henry is the one man alive who hates Kane even more than I do, and not without reason.”

  “How can you be so sure of that?”

  “William Kane’s mother was Henry’s second wife,” said Abel, “and young William, aged only sixteen, threw him out of his own home.”

  “Good God, how did you come across that piece of information?”

  “There’s nothing I don’t know about William Kane,” said Abel. “Or Henry, for that matter. Absolutely nothing—from the fact that Kane and I started life on the same day—and I’d be willing to bet my good leg there’s nothing he doesn’t know about me. So we have to be very careful for the time being, but you need have no fear that Henry will turn stool pigeon. He’d lie before he had to admit his real name is Vittorio Togna and he once served a jail sentence.”

  “Good God, does Henry realize you know all this?”

  “No, he doesn’t. I’ve kept it to myself for years, always believing, George, that if you think a man might threaten you at some time, then you should keep a little more up your sleeve than your arm. I’ve never trusted Henry since the days he suggested swindling Great Western Casualty while he was still actually working for them, although I’d be the first to admit he’s been very useful to me in the past. And I’m confident he isn’t going to cause me any trouble in the future, because without his director’s salary he becomes penniless overnight. So forget Henry and let’s be a little more positive. What’s the latest date for the completion of the Los Angeles Baron?”

  “Middle of September,” replied George.

  “Perfect. That will be six weeks before the election. When Kennedy opens that hotel, the news will hit every front page in America.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  When William returned to New York, after a bankers’ conference in Washington, he found a message awaiting him, requesting that he contact Thaddeus Cohen immediately. He hadn’t spoken to Cohen for a considerable time, because Abel Rosnovski had caused no direct trouble since the abortive telephone conversation on the eve of Richard and Florentyna’s marriage, nearly three years ago. The successive quarterly reports had merely confirmed that Rosnovski was trying neither to buy nor to sell any of the bank’s stock. Nevertheless, William called Thaddeus Cohen immediately and somewhat apprehensively. The lawyer told William that he had stumbled across some information that he did not wish to divulge over the phone. William asked him to come over to the bank as soon as it was convenient.

  Thaddeus Cohen arrived forty minutes later. William heard him out in attentive silence.

  When Cohen had finished his revelation, William said, “Your father would never have approved of such underhanded methods.”

  “Neither would yours,” said Thaddeus Cohen, “but they didn’t have to deal with the likes of Abel Rosnovski.”

  “What makes you think your plan will work?”

  “Look at the Bernard Goldfine and Sherman Adams case. Only one thousand six hundred and forty-two dollars involved in hotel bills and a vicuna coat, but it sure embarrassed the hell out of the President when Adams was accused of preferred treatment because he was a Presidential assistant. We know Mr. Rosnovski is aiming a lot higher than that. It should, therefore, be easier to bring him down.”

  “How much is it going to cost me?”

  “Twenty-five thousand at the outside, but I may be able to pull the whole deal off for less.”

  “How can you be sure that Rosnovski doesn’t realize that I’m personally involved?”

  “I’d use a third person who won’t even know your name to act as an intermediary.”

  “And if you pull it off, what would you recommend we do then?”

  “You send all the details to Senator John Kennedy’s office, and I guarantee it will finish off Abel Rosnovski’s ambitions once and for all. The moment his credibility has been shattered he will be a spent force and find it quite impossible to invoke Article Seven of the bank’s bylaws—even if he did control eight percent of Lester’s.”

  “Maybe—if Kennedy becomes President,” said William. “But what happens if Nixon wins? He’s way ahead in the opinion polls and I’d certainly back his chances against Kennedy. Can you really imagine America would ever send a Roman Catholic to the White House? I can’t, but I admit that an investment of twenty-five thousand is small enough if there’s better than an outside chance the move will finish Abel Rosnovski off once and for all and leave me secure at the bank.”

  If Kennedy becomes President …

  “I’m quite confident,” said Thaddeus Cohen.

  William opened the drawer of his desk, took out a large checkbook marked “Private Account” and wrote out the figures two, five, zero, zero, zero.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  Abel’s prediction that Kennedy’s opening of the Baron would hit every front page in America did not turn out to be wholly accurate. Although the candidate did indeed open the hotel, he had to appear at dozens of other events in Los Angeles that day and face Nixon for a televised debate the following evening. Nevertheless, the opening of the newest Baron gained fairly wide coverage in the national press, and Vincent Hogan assured Abel privately that Kennedy had not forgotten the other little matter. Florentyna’s shop was only a few hundred yards from the new Baron, but father and daughter did not meet.

  After the Illinois returns came in, when John F. Kennedy looked certain to be the thirty-fifth President of the United States, Abel drank to Mayor Daley’s health and celebrated at the Democratic National Headquarters on Times Square. He didn’t get home until nearly five the next morning.

  “Hell, I have a lot to celebrate,” he told George. “I’m going to be the next—” He fell asleep before he finished the sentence. George smiled and put him to bed.

  William watched the results of the election in the peace of his study on East Sixty-eighth Street. After the Illinois returns, which were not confirmed until ten o’clock the next morning (William never had trusted Mayor Daley), Walter Cronkite declared it was all over but the shouting and William picked up his phone and dialed Thaddeus Cohen’s home number.

  All he said was, “The twenty-five thousand dollars has turned out to be a wise investment, Thaddeus. Now let us be sure that there is no honeymoon period for Mr. Rosnovski. Don’t do anything until he makes his trip to Turkey.”

  William placed the phone back on the hook and went to bed. He was disappointed that Richard Nixon had failed to beat Kennedy and that his distant cousin, Henry Cabot Lodge, would not be the vice president, but it is an ill wind … .

  When Abel received his invitation to be a guest at one of President Kennedy’s inaugural balls in Washington, D.C., there was only one person he wanted to share the honor with. He talked the idea over with George and had to agree that Florentyna would never be willing to accompany him unless she was convinced that the feud with Richard’s father could finally be resolved. So he knew he would have to go alone.

  In order to be in Washington to attend the celebrations, Abel had to postpone a trip to Europe and the Middle East. He could not afford to miss the inauguration, whereas he could always put back the opening of the Istanbul Baron.

  Abel had a new, rather conservative dark blue suit made especially for the occasion and took over the Pres
idential Suite at the Washington Baron for the day of the Inauguration. He enjoyed watching the vital young President deliver his inaugural speech, full of hope and promise for the future.

  “A new generation of Americans, born in this century”—Abel only just qualified—“tempered by war”—Abel certainly qualified—“disciplined by a hard and bitter peace”—Abel qualified again. “Ask not what your country can do for you. Ask what you can do for your country.”

  The crowd rose to a man, everyone ignoring the snow that had failed to dampen the impact of John F. Kennedy’s brilliant oration.

  Abel returned to the Washington Baron exhilarated. He showered before changing for dinner into white tie and tails, also made especially for the occasion. When he studied his ample frame in the mirror, Abel had to admit to himself that he was not the last word in sartorial elegance. His tailor had done the best he could (he had had to make three new and ever larger evening suits for Abel in the past three years). Florentyna would have chastised her father for the unnecessary inches, as she used to call them, and for her he would have done something about it. Why did his thoughts always return to Florentyna? He checked his medals. First the Polish Veterans’ Medal, next the decorations for his service in the desert and in Europe, and then his cutlery medals, as Abel called them, for distinguished service with knives and forks.

  In all, seven inaugural balls were held in Washington that evening, and Abel’s invitation directed him to the D.C. Armory. He sat in a corner reserved for Polish Democrats from New York and Chicago. They had a lot to celebrate. Edmund Muskie was in the Senate and ten more Polish Democrats had been elected to Congress. No one mentioned the two newly elected Polish Republicans. Abel spent a happy evening with two old friends who, along with him, were founding members with him of the Polish-American Congress.

  They both asked for Florentyna.