(1982) The Almighty

by Irving Wallace

  ‘It wasn’t published,’ said Armstead simply. ‘It wasn’t published until Yinger’s escape revealed its existence.’

  ‘Okay, if you want to be technical.’

  ‘Mr. Pagano, hear me out. I have a business proposition for you. But before presenting it, let me state my policy unequivocally - I believe that there is nothing in the world not for publication once it has been given to the Record. Everything on earth is for publication. If I know it, it is for publication. What did you get paid for talking to our reporter about Yinger and the cell?’

  ‘Two hundred and fifty bucks.’

  ‘Not enough,’ said Armstead. ‘For services rendered, you deserve better. I’m making that payment a thousand dollars for the tip. And I’m offering you a proposition. How’d you like to be on my payroll at a thousand a week?’

  Pagano sat up, his beady eyes brightening. But he was hesitant. ‘For doing what?’

  ‘For doing what comes naturally. I don’t want a thousand dollars a week to make you go straight. I want you to stay where you are - underground. Give me more leads like the Yinger one.’

  ‘They don’t happen often.’

  ‘You need come through only once in a while. Look, I know a little about you. You like to live well. You’re always short of money. This would give you enough to live on, and to live well. At the same time, I don’t want you to lose your contacts. I just don’t want you involved in armed robbery anymore. Hang around with your regular friends, but take no risks. Keep your ears open.’

  ‘And let you know what I hear.’

  ‘If it might be a lead to a news story, yes. Just give us a little more.’

  ‘I wouldn’t want to get my friends in trouble.’

  ‘You don’t have to. What you report doesn’t have to involve them exactly.’

  Pagano stubbed out his cigarette thoughtfully. ‘It’s still a dangerous scam,’ he said. ‘My friends wouldn’t like it if they learned they had a stool pigeon around.’

  ‘You won’t be a stool pigeon. You’ll listen a lot. You won’t hurt anybody. You’ll be selective, tell us what you can tell us.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘A grand a week, Gus. Maybe some bonuses down the line for special services.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  Armstead stood up. ‘What do you say, Gus?’

  Gus Pagano came to his feet. He stuck out his hand. ‘You got a deal, Mr. Armstead.’

  Armstead shook his hand heartily. Releasing it, Armstead came around the desk. He was beaming again. This was a good day. Things were falling into place. He joined Pagano and took his arm. ‘Come on. You need to talk to Harry Dietz. He is now my assistant, and he’ll be the one you keep in touch with. I want you two to work out a modus operandi. Okay?’

  ‘Okay.’

  Armstead was about to leave his office when the telephone call had come from his wife Hannah.

  She had wanted to know if he would be coming back for dinner, because she had something she wanted to discuss with him.

  T can’t be home for dinner,’ he had told her, ‘but as a matter of fact I will be coming by right now, just for a few minutes. I’ve got several appointments lined up, and I want to change clothes before going out again. I’ll be by in a little bit. We can talk then.’

  Now, in his bedroom of their penthouse apartment overlooking Central Park, Armstead had finished his dressing. He had three appointments ahead of him, and it was for his second appointment - date, really, a date with Kim Nesbit - that he had come back to change from a staid business suit into a younger and sportier outfit, lively cashmere sports jacket and Savile Row slacks. Inspecting himself in the full-length mirror, he was pleased. He hadn’t looked better in years.

  He realized that time was closing in, he would have to be on his way shortly. He had better leave five minutes for Hannah, who was still waiting for him in the living room. He wondered what she wanted to talk about when he was so busy. He had already told her all about the Yinger beat at breakfast this

  morning. What more was there to discuss? If it was something Hannah had on her mind, it couldn’t be good. He hoped it would be nothing to mar his perfect day.

  He went through the corridor into the living room. Hannah, he was pleased to note, was not in her usual wheelchair, the constant invalid. She was seated, instead, in the armchair near the television set. She even had color in her face. Going toward her, he wondered if he should sit briefly, but decided against it. Relaxing might invite a prolonged conversation. He decided to remain on his feet.

  ‘Meant to tell you,’ he said, ‘we passed the New York Times today, beat them out all the way. How’s that?’

  ‘Congratulations, Ed. I’m pleased for you.’

  ‘I knew I could do it, and I’ve done it,’ he said, extracting a cigar from his sports jacket and unpeeling it. Snipping off one end, he brought out his pocket lighter and lit up. ‘Okay, Hannah, now what can I do for you? You wanted to talk about something.’

  ‘About our son Roger,’ she said.

  ‘What about Roger?’

  ‘I had a call from him a little while ago, from a hospital in Green Bay, Wisconsin.’

  ‘A hospital? What do you mean? What’s wrong? Is it anything serious - no, it couldn’t be or he wouldn’t have been able to call you, and you’d have told me on the phone.’

  ‘It’s not serious,’ said Hannah, ‘but it is still the hospital. Roger was climbing a mountain, and slipped and fell -‘

  ‘Climbing a mountain? There are no mountains around Green Bay.’

  ‘A hill, then,’ she said. ‘Maybe I heard it wrong. Anyway, he took a fall and injured himself. A friend, climbing with him, got him to the nearest hospital. Roger sustained two leg fractures. Not serious, but incapacitating. It’ll keep him laid up a little while.’

  For some reason, hearing about this outdoors nonsense irritated Armstead. ‘What in the hell was he doing climbing?’

  ‘It had something to do with his job.’

  ‘Idiotic,’ Armstead muttered. ‘Serves him right.’ He couldn’t think of another Armstead in the family who had ever climbed anything, except into bed. The thought amused him, and he said more cheerfully, ‘Well, as long as he’s all

  right. Let me know how he’s coming along. Is this it - what you wanted to talk to me about?’

  ‘Not completely,’ said Hannah. ‘Ed, I wanted to ask you to come to Green Bay with me for the weekend.’

  Armstead scowled. ‘To do what? Hold his hand? God, Hannah, he’s not a child anymore. Besides, he’s got a doctor, plenty of friends there.’

  ‘It’s not the same as family, Ed. He’s flat on his back. You know how he hates to be confined. I’m sure he’d like more company, be happy to see his parents. It would be comforting.’

  Armstead waved his cigar in disgust. ‘Hannah, you know better than that. I’ve just taken over. I’ve just made my mark. I’m up to my ass in business, in the very middle of everything, with a million plans in progress -‘

  ‘Can’t you put it aside for just one weekend?’

  ‘Hannah, for chrissakes, I can’t spare the time. Look, if you feel Roger needs company, then go to Wisconsin yourself and see him for the weekend. I’ll arrange for a nurse to accompany you. How’s that?’

  With effort, Hannah said, ‘I think he wanted so very much to see you, Ed. He told me on the phone he’d read about your Yinger exclusive in the local newspaper up there. He said to tell you it was fantastic. He was very proud of what you’d done.’

  Armstead was both surprised and pleased. ‘Well, now, the boy has at least some sense.’ He searched for the time. ‘Tell you what, I’ve got to rush out now or I’ll be late. But leave Roger’s telephone number out for me. I should be back not too much after dinner. A short victory celebration with Dietz and Harmston. When I get back I’ll give Roger a call myself. You go up and see him for the weekend. I’ll miss you, but he needs you more. Now I’d better hurry.’

  Once Armstead had left the apartment an
d stood waiting for the elevator, an odd thought occurred to him.

  It occurred to him that he himself had been a son so long, he’d never had time to be a father.

  Well, he told himself, maybe his own sonhood was coming to an end. Life would belong to him alone (and Roger - of course Roger). He’d have to get into it in today’s session with the shrink.

  Edward Armstead had sunk into the worn brown leather chair in Dr. Carl Scharf s office, and he had been talking for forty minutes, forcing the psychiatrist to listen. It had been a test of strength, and Armstead had enjoyed it.

  Now he ceased talking and shifted his weight in the leather chair. Then he said, ‘Carl, when are you going to get a new chair or have this one fixed? Christ, the springs are practically coming out. I have a sore ass every time I leave you.’

  ‘It’s to remind the idle rich of the Spartan life. To remind you life is real, life is earnest, and it is also a pain in the ass.’

  ‘If I have to, I’ll buy you a new chair for Christmas/

  Armstead knew that Dr. Scharf would use the last ten or fifteen minutes to do a sum-up of their session. It was his pattern. It was all right. It always allowed Armstead - and other patients, too, he supposed - to leave with a clear picture of where he stood and where he should be going. Emotionally, that is.

  Waiting for the sum-up, he kept his eyes on the psychiatrist. Momentarily Dr. Scharf had taken on a resemblance to a beach ball. He was very globular this afternoon. His protruding curved belly hung over a narrow belt. He was as untidy as ever in the turtleneck sweater and wrinkled slacks. Dr. Scharf was busily adjusting his feet on the footstool.

  Armstead waited for wisdom. Or at least support for his own good cheer.

  ‘Well, I must say, that was quite a scoop you pulled off, Edward,’ said Dr. Carl Scharf.

  ‘We don’t call them scoops anymore,’ said Armstead. ‘We call them beats.’

  ‘Your scoop was on the television news,’ Dr. Scharf said. ‘That’s where I heard about Yinger’s escaping.’

  ‘You didn’t read it in my paper? You know that paper is my life.’

  ‘I bought three copies, just to keep you affluent,’ said Dr. Scharf. ‘I wondered, how did you get that story so fast, and exclusive yet?’

  ‘Professional secret.’

  ‘Hey, I’m your analyst, Edward. You’re not supposed to

  have secrets. If I’m to be of help -‘

  ‘I don’t need help today,’ said Armstead complacently.

  ‘Well, I’m proud of your - of your achievement,’ said Dr. Scharf. He clasped his hands over his belly. ‘You must be pleased with yourself. You officially won the right to keep the paper. You overcame your father’s mistrust, and you accomplished what your father had not been able to accomplish in a decade. You’re a mensch.’

  ‘That’s the way I feel.’

  ‘You’re free, free to do what you want to do, go as high as you want on your own.’

  ‘I’m only beginning,’ said Armstead. ‘The Yinger beat was no flash in the pan. I’ll see to that. I have a million plans. Once I get ready, I’m really going to shake up the media world. Everyone will know who I am.’

  ‘That’s still so important?’

  ‘To be me, yes.’

  ‘Is that it?’

  ‘Well, you know what’s in my head. I’ve got to eclipse my old man completely. Anything wrong with that?’

  ‘I didn’t say so.’

  ‘When people speak of Armstead, they’re going to mean Edward, not Ezra.’

  ‘Anything else you want to say about your father?’

  Armstead considered it. ‘No, I think that’s it. Well - I guess there’s something else I should mention. After I saw you the other day, I dropped in on Kim, Kim Nesbit.’

  The psychiatrist nodded. ‘How was she?’

  ‘Drunk. Also, beautiful.’

  ‘Was she pleased to see you?’

  ‘I think so.’ He held back a moment, then added, T fucked her.’ He paused. ‘It was good, very good. I - I intend to see more of her.’

  Dr. Scharf took his feet off the ottoman. ‘Why?’ he asked.

  ‘I don’t know. Do you object?’

  ‘You know I’m not here to judge you. I’m just curious about why you were intimate with her.’

  ‘I don’t know. Why not?’

  Dr. Scharf pushed himself to his feet and said pleasantly, ‘Was it to show your father you were a man - or to show yourself?’ He waited for his patient to rise, and then

  accompanied him to the door. ‘Let’s talk about that next time.’

  It was to show no one anything, Armstead decided as he rested on the lime green sofa in Kim Nesbit’s apartment. His eyes followed her graceful movement as she walked to the portable bar. He needed a woman, a passionate woman, because he needed the feeling of youth and strength and purpose. His wife had dried up on him years ago. Except for occasional worry about their son Roger such as she had displayed earlier in the day, Hannah’s main concern had become herself and her ever more sickly body. Kim was vibrant and pleasure-giving and a discovery that he had dreamt of and only now was able to explore. He did not have to prove anything to his father or to himself. It was far less complicated. He wanted this woman, and he had her, and would have her again and again, and it was delicious. He would have to convince Dr. Scharf of his true feelings at their next session.

  ‘Scotch and water?’ Kim called from the bar, pouring.

  ‘Exact.’

  ‘I’m learning,’ she said, bringing him the glass. ‘I want to please you in every way, Ed.’

  ‘You do, you do.’ He saw that she was empty-handed. ‘What about you? Aren’t you drinking?’

  ‘I’ll have a Perrier.’

  ‘That’s not drinking.’

  ‘I don’t need any more,’ she said, sinking into the sofa beside him. ‘I have you, darling.’ She took his head in her hands and drew him closer. He found her moist lips, felt her tongue, felt the softness of her breasts against him.

  Ending the kiss, he could see her bare breasts beneath the opening of her diaphanous negligee, and he was fully aroused.

  ‘Are you still as happy as you were when you called me this morning?’ she asked.

  ‘I know what could make me happier,’ he said, getting to his feet and pulling her up in front of him.

  ‘Darling -‘ she said, about to turn to the bedroom.

  ‘One second, Kim.’ He fumbled in his pocket and brought out the small velvet Tiffany box. He pressed it into her hand. ‘For you. To celebrate.’

  She fussed over it, lifting the lid. ‘Oh, Ed,’ she murmured, near tears. ‘It’s beautiful.’

  ‘Like you.’

  She took out the shining pink sapphire ring and slipped it on her finger. ‘Are you buying me?’ she said, trying to smile. ‘You don’t need to, you know.’

  ‘I’m adorning you.’ He smiled. ‘You don’t need it, you know.’

  She held up her hand with its pink sapphire. ‘I love it,’ she said. Her arms went around him. ‘I love you.’

  ‘Show me,’ he said as they parted.

  She clasped his hand tightly and walked him to the bedroom. He undressed quickly, and when he was naked he saw that she was naked lying on her back on the bed, arms outstretched.

  ‘Let’s not play,’ she said. ‘Let’s love.’

  She lifted her legs and spread them apart, and he was atop her immediately. She clutched him tightly as he pressed between her legs and entered her.

  She gave a throaty outcry, and he groaned.

  He quickened the pace, thrusting hard, pushing her against the headboard. He rose and fell as she held on, gradually rolling her hips, until he was in a frenzy.

  They went on and on, for long minutes, until their mutual eruptions.

  He came off her, on his back, wet and panting. She dropped her legs, brushing her corn-silk hair from her eyes, trying to catch her breath and even it out.

  Side by side, they lay in silenc
e.

  ‘Never stop loving me,’ she said.

  ‘It’s all I want to do,’ he promised.

  Later, when she was breathing regularly again and sound asleep, and he had raised himself on an elbow, ready to get out of bed and leave her, he knew that his last words to her had been a lie.

  Loving her was fantastic, a small fulfillment, but it was not all that he wanted to do, or intended to do.

  Sex was not first-best but second-best.

  Power was first-best.

  Power to manipulate, control, dominate - everything, everyone, the world.

  It had come to him with clarity after he came, what to do, how to do it. It was dangerous, very dangerous, this bigger seduction, this rape of life. But he would attempt it. He would enjoy the ultimate orgasm.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Tempting as it had been to bask in another morning of sunshine, Edward Armstead had firmly adjusted the blinds to minimize the brightness. He wanted no relaxing atmosphere in his office. He wanted the tone to be somber and businesslike.

  When Nick Ramsey and Victoria Weston answered his summons to see them, Armstead greeted them curtly. After gesturing them to places before his desk, he went behind it, sat down, and picked up the sheaf of typewritten notes that Ramsey had left for him yesterday.

  Although he had read the notes twice, Armstead reviewed them once more.

  ‘You can smoke,’ he said without looking up. Ramsey immediately extracted a bent pack of cigarettes and lit one. Victoria remained with her hands folded in her lap.

  Presently Armstead put down the sheaf of notes. He was ready to tread the path - a trailblazer’s path - toward which the Yinger affair had directed him. He would have to ascend it cautiously, a step at a time, conscious always of the possibility of fatal pitfalls.

  First step.

  ‘Nick, I’ve been reading the notes you originally made for our Special Project, the one we called “The Time of the Terrorist,”’ said Armstead. ‘It’s still good stuff.’

  ‘I really enjoyed digging it up,’ said Ramsey. ‘I wish it had worked out.’

  ‘It may yet,’ said Armstead. ‘I have something in mind. Something that would require cooperation from both of you. First, I want to find out more about these notes from you, Nick. For the time, Victoria need do no more than listen. Then we’ll see. You ready to discuss your terrorist researches, Nick?’