by Tim LaHaye
Buck asked his cabbie to wait about a minute after Steve had left for the Plaza. He arrived at the hotel in the midst of flashing police lights, a paddy wagon, and several unmarked cars. As he threaded his way through onlookers, the police hustled Steve, hands cuffed behind his back, out the door and down the steps.
“I’m telling you,” Steve said. “The name’s Oreskovich!”
“We know who you are, Williams. Save your breath.”
“That’s not Cam Williams!” another reporter said, pointing and laughing. “You idiots! That’s Steve Plank.”
“Yeah, that’s it,” Plank joined in. “I’m Williams’s boss from the Weekly!”
“Sure you are,” a plainclothesman said, stuffing him into an unmarked car.
Buck ducked the reporter who had recognized Plank, but when he got inside and picked up a courtesy phone to call Rosenzweig’s room, another press colleague, Eric Miller, whirled around and covered his own phone, whispering, “Williams, what’s going on? The cops just shuttled your boss out of here, claiming he was you!”
“Do me a favor,” Buck said. “Sit on this for at least half an hour. You owe me that.”
“I owe you nothing, Williams,” Miller said. “But you look scared enough. Give me your word you’ll tell me first what’s going on.”
“All right. You’ll be the first press guy I tell anyway. Can’t promise I won’t tell someone else.”
“Who?”
“Nice try.”
“If you’re trying to call Carpathia, Cameron, you can forget it. We’ve been trying all night. He’s not giving any more interviews tonight.”
“Is he back?”
“He’s back, but he’s incommunicado.”
Rosenzweig answered Buck’s call. “Chaim, it’s Cameron Williams. May I come up?”
Eric Miller slammed his phone down and moved close.
“Cameron!” Rosenzweig said. “I can’t keep up with you. First you’re dead, then you’re alive. We just got a call that you had been arrested in the lobby and would be questioned about a murder in London.”
Buck didn’t want Miller to detect anything. “Chaim, I have to move quickly. I’ll be using the name Plank, all right?”
“I’ll arrange it with Nicolae and get him to my room somehow. You come.” He told Buck the number.
Buck put a finger to his lips so Miller wouldn’t ask, but he couldn’t shake him. He jogged to the elevator, but Eric stepped on with him. A couple tried to join them. “I’m sorry, folks,” Buck said. “This car is malfunctioning.” The couple left but Miller stayed. Buck didn’t want him to see what floor he was going to, so he waited till the doors shut, then turned the car off. He grabbed Miller’s shirt at the neck and pressed him against the wall.
“Listen, Eric, I told you I’d call you first with what’s shakin’ here, but if you try to horn in on this or follow me, I’m gonna leave you dry.”
Miller shook loose and straightened his clothes. “All right, Williams! Geez! Lighten up!”
“Yeah, I lighten up and you come snooping around.”
“That’s my job, man. Don’t forget that.”
“Mine too, Eric, but I don’t follow other people’s leads. I make my own.”
“You interviewing Carpathia? Just tell me that.”
“No, I’m risking my life to see if a movie star’s in the house.”
“So it’s Carpathia then, really?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“C’mon, man, let me in on it! I’ll give you anything!”
“You said Carpathia wasn’t giving any more interviews tonight,” Buck said.
“And he’s not giving any more to anybody except the networks and national outlets, so I’ll never get to him.”
“That’s your problem.”
“Williams!”
Buck reached for Miller’s throat again. “I’m going!” Eric said.
When Buck emerged at the VIP floor, he was astounded to see that Miller had somehow beat him there and was hurriedly introducing himself to a uniformed guard as Steve Plank. “Mr. Rosenzweig is waiting for you, sir,” the guard said.
“Wait a minute!” Buck shouted, showing Steve’s press credentials. “I’m Plank. Run this impostor off.”
The guard put a hand on each man. “You’ll both have to wait here while I call the house detective.”
Buck said, “Just call Rosenzweig and have him come out here.”
The guard shrugged and punched in the room number on a cordless phone. Miller leaned in, saw the number, and sprinted toward the room. Buck took off after him, the unarmed guard yelling and still trying to reach someone on the phone.
Buck, younger and in better shape, overtook Miller and tackled him in the hallway, causing doors up and down the corridor to open. “Take your brawl somewhere else,” a woman shouted.
Buck yanked Miller to his feet and put him in a headlock. “You are a clown, Eric. You really think Rosenzweig would let a stranger into his room?”
“I can sweet-talk my way into anywhere, Buck, and you know you would do the same thing.”
“Problem is, I already did. Now beat it.”
The guard caught up with them. “Dr. Rosenzweig will be out in a minute.”
“I have just one question for him,” Miller said.
“No, you don’t,” Buck said. He turned to the guard. “He doesn’t.”
“Let the old man decide,” the guard said, then just as suddenly stepped aside, pulling Buck and Miller with him to clear the hall. There, sweeping past them, were four men in dark suits, surrounding the unmistakable Nicolae Carpathia.
“Excuse me, gentlemen,” Carpathia said. “Pardon me.”
“Oh, Mr. Carpathia, sir. I mean President Carpathia,” Miller called out.
“Sir?” Carpathia said, turning to face him. The bodyguards glowered. “Oh, hello, Mr. Williams,” Carpathia said, noticing Buck. “Or should I say Mr. Oreskovich? Or should I say Mr. Plank?”
The interloper stepped forward. “Eric Miller from Seaboard Monthly.”
“I know it well, Mr. Miller,” Carpathia said, “but I am late for an appointment. If you will call me tomorrow, I will talk to you by phone. Fair enough?”
Miller looked overwhelmed. He nodded and backed away. “I thought you said your name was Plank!” the guard said, causing everyone but Miller to smile.
“Come on in, Buck,” Carpathia said, motioning him to follow. Buck was silent. “That is what they call you, is it not?”
“Yes, sir,” Buck said, certain that not even Rosenzweig knew that.
Rayford felt terrible about Hattie Durham. Things couldn’t have gone worse. Why hadn’t he just let her work his flight? She’d have been none the wiser and he could have eased into his real reason for inviting her to dinner Thursday night. Now he had spoiled everything.
How would he get to Chloe now? His real motive, even for talking with Hattie, was to communicate to Chloe. Hadn’t she seen enough yet? Shouldn’t he be more encouraged by her insistence on replacing the stolen DVD? He asked if she wanted to go to New York with him for the overnight trip. She said she’d rather stay home and start looking into Internet classes. He wanted to push, but he didn’t dare.
After she had gone to bed, he called Bruce Barnes and told him his frustrations.
“You’re trying too hard, Rayford,” the younger man said. “I should think telling other people about our faith would be easier than ever now, but I’ve run into the same kind of resistance.”
“It’s really hard when it’s your own daughter.”
“I can imagine,” Bruce said.
“No, you can’t,” Rayford said. “But it’s all right.”
Chaim Rosenzweig was in a beautiful suite of rooms. The bodyguards were posted out front, while Carpathia invited Rosenzweig and Buck into a private parlor for a meeting of just the three of them. Carpathia shed his coat and laid it carefully across the back of a couch. “Make yourselves comfortable, gentlemen,” he said.
/> “I do not need to be here, Nicolae,” Rosenzweig whispered.
“Oh, nonsense, Doctor!” Carpathia said. “You do not mind, do you, Buck?”
“Not at all.”
“You do not mind my calling you Buck, do you?”
“No, sir, but usually it’s just people at—”
“Your magazine, yes, I know. They call you that because you buck the traditions and the trends and the conventions, am I right?”
“Yes, but how—”
“Buck, this has been the most incredible day of my life. I have felt so welcome here. And the people have seemed so receptive to my proposals. I am overwhelmed. I shall go back to my country a happy and satisfied man. But not soon. I have been asked to stay longer. Did you know that?”
“I heard.”
“It is amazing, is it not, that all those different international meetings right here in New York over the next few weeks are all about the worldwide cooperation in which I am interested?”
“It is,” Buck said. “And I’ve been assigned to cover them.”
“Then we will be getting to know each other better.”
“I look forward to that, sir. I was most moved at the U.N. today.”
“Thank you.”
“And Dr. Rosenzweig has told me so much about you.”
“As he has told me much about you.”
There was a knock at the door. Carpathia looked pained. “I had hoped we would not be disturbed.” Rosenzweig rose slowly and shuffled to the door and a subdued conversation.
He slipped back to Buck. “We’ll have to give him a couple of minutes, Cameron,” he whispered, “for an important phone call.”
“Oh, no,” Carpathia said. “I will take it later. This meeting is a priority for me—”
“Sir,” Rosenzweig said, “begging your pardon . . . it is the president.”
“The president?”
“Of the United States.”
Buck rose quickly to leave with Rosenzweig, but Carpathia insisted they stay. “I am not such a dignitary that I would not share this honor with my old friend and my new friend. Sit down!”
They sat and he pushed the speaker button on the phone. “This is Nicolae Carpathia speaking.”
“Mr. Carpathia, this is Fitz. Gerald Fitzhugh.”
“Mr. President, I am honored to hear from you.”
“Well, hey, it’s good to have you here!”
“I appreciated your note of congratulations on my presidency, sir, and your immediate recognition of my administration.”
“Boy, that was a heckuva thing, how you took over there. I wasn’t sure what had happened at first, but I don’t suppose you were either.”
“That is exactly right. I am still getting used to it.”
“Well, take it from a guy who’s been in the saddle for six years. You don’t ever get used to it. You just develop calluses in the right places, if you know what I mean.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Listen, the reason I called is this. I know you’re gonna be here a little longer than you expected, so I want you to spend a night or two here with me and Wilma. Can you do that?”
“In Washington?”
“Right here at the White House.”
“That would be such a privilege.”
“We’ll have somebody talk to your people about the right time, but it’s got to be soon ’cause Congress is in session, and I know they’ll want to hear from you.”
Carpathia shook his head and Buck thought he seemed overcome emotionally. “I would be more than honored, sir.”
“Speaking of something that was a heckuva thing, your speech today and your interview tonight—well, that was something. Look forward to meetin’ ya.”
“The feeling is mutual, sir.”
Buck was only a little less overcome than Carpathia and Rosenzweig. He had long since lost his awe of U.S. presidents, especially this one, who insisted on being called Fitz. He had done a Newsmaker of the Year piece on Fitzhugh—Buck’s first, Fitz’s second. On the other hand, it wasn’t every day that the president called the room in which you sat.
The glow of the call seemed to stay with Carpathia, but he quickly changed the subject. “Buck, I want to answer all your questions and give you whatever you need. You have been so good to Chaim, and I am prepared to give you a bit of a secret—you would call it a scoop. But first, you are in deep trouble, my friend. And I want to help you if I can.”
Buck had no idea how Carpathia knew he was in trouble. So he wouldn’t even have to bring him up to speed and ask for his help? This was too good to be true. The question was, what did Carpathia know, and what did he need to know?
The Romanian sat forward and looked directly into Buck’s eyes. That gave Buck such a feeling of peace and security that he felt free to tell him everything. Everything. Even that his friend Dirk had tipped him off about someone meeting with Stonagal and Todd-Cothran, and Buck’s assuming it was Carpathia.
“It was I,” Carpathia said. “But let me make this very clear. I know nothing of any conspiracy. I have never even heard of such a thing. Mr. Stonagal felt it would be good for me to meet some of his colleagues and men of international influence. I formed no opinions about any of them, neither am I beholden to any of them.
“I will tell you something, Mr. Williams. I believe your story. I do not know you except by your work and your reputation with people I respect, such as Dr. Rosenzweig. But your account has the ring of truth. I have been told that you are wanted in London for the murder of the Scotland Yard agent and that they have several witnesses who will swear they saw you distract Tompkins, plant the device, and activate it from within the pub.”
“That’s crazy.”
“Well, of course it is if you were mourning the mysterious death of your mutual friend.”
“That’s exactly what we were doing, Mr. Carpathia. That and trying to get to the bottom of it.”
Rosenzweig was called to the door again; then he whispered in Carpathia’s ear. “Buck, come here,” Carpathia said, rising and leading Buck toward a window, away from Rosenzweig. “Your plan to get in here while being pursued was most ingenious, but your boss has been identified and now they know you are here. They would like to take you into custody and extradite you to England.”
“If that happens and Tompkins’s theory is right,” Buck said, “I’m a dead man.”
“You believe they will kill you?”
“They killed Burton and they killed Tompkins. I’m much more dangerous to them with my potential readership.”
“If this plot is as you and your friends say it is, Cameron, writing about these people, exposing them, will not protect you.”
“I know. Maybe I should do it anyway. I don’t see any way out.”
“I can make this go away for you.”
Buck’s mind was suddenly reeling. This was what he had wanted, but he had feared Carpathia could do nothing quickly enough to keep him from getting into Todd-Cothran’s and Sullivan’s hands. Was it possible Carpathia was in deeper with these people than he had let on?
“Sir, I need your help. But I am a journalist first. I can’t be bought or bargained with.”
“Oh, of course not. I would never ask such a thing. Let me tell you what I can do for you. I will arrange to have the London tragedies revisited and reevaluated, exonerating you.”
“How will you do that?”
“Does it matter, if it is the truth?”
Buck thought a moment. “It is the truth.”
“Of course.”
“But how will you do that? You have maintained this innocence, Mr. Carpathia, this man-from-nowhere persona. How can you affect what has happened in London?”
Carpathia sighed. “Buck, I told you your friend Dirk was wrong about a conspiracy. That is true. I am not in bed with Todd-Cothran or Stonagal or any of the other international leaders I have been honored to meet recently. However, there are important decisions and actions coming up that will affect them, a
nd it is my privilege to have a say in those developments.”
Buck asked Carpathia if he minded if they sat down again. Carpathia signaled to Rosenzweig to leave them for a few minutes. “Look,” Buck said when they were seated, “I’m a young man, but I’ve been around the block. It feels to me as if I’m about to find out just how deep into this—well, if it’s not a conspiracy, it’s something organized—how deep into this thing you are. I can play along and save my life, or I can refuse and you let me take my chances in London.”
Carpathia held up a hand and shook his head. “Buck, let me reiterate that we are talking politics and diplomacy, not skullduggery or crime.”
“I’m listening.”
“First,” Carpathia said, “a little background. I believe in the power of money. Do you?”
“No.”
“You will. I was a better-than-average businessman in Romania while still in secondary school. I studied at night, many languages, the ones I needed to succeed. During the day I ran my own import-and-export businesses and made myself wealthy. But what I thought was wealth was paltry compared to what was possible. I needed to learn that. I learned it the hard way. I borrowed millions from a European bank, then found that someone in that bank informed my major competitor what I was doing. I was defeated at my own game, defaulted on my loan, and was struggling. Then that same bank bailed me out and ruined my rival. I didn’t mean to or want to hurt the rival. He was used by the bank to lock me into a relationship.”
“Was that bank owned by an influential American?”
Carpathia ignored the question. “What I had to learn, in just over a decade, is how much money is out there.”
“Out there?”
“In the banks of the world.”
“Especially those owned by Jonathan Stonagal,” Buck suggested.
Carpathia still wasn’t biting. “That kind of capital is power.”
“This is the kind of thing I write against.”
“It is about to save your life.”
“I’m still listening.”
