The Osterman weekend

by Ludlum, Robert

"Be quiet! Just breathe. Breathe hard!"

  He helped his son out of the back seat. The boy was sick and started to vomit. Tanner cupped his son's forehead with his hand, holding him around the waist with his left arm.

  "John, you simply can't. . ."

  "Walk around. Try to get Janet to walk! Do as I say!"

  Obediently, dazedly, Alice Tanner did what her husband commanded. The boy began to shake his head in Tanner's hand.

  "Feeling better, son?"

  "Wow! . . . Wow! Where are we?" The boy was suddenly frightened.

  "It's all right. It's all right. . . . You're all ... all right."

  Tanner looked over at his wife. She had put Janet's feet on the ground, holding her in her arms. The child was crying loudly now, and Tanner watched, filled with hatred and fear. He walked to the station wagon to see if the keys were in the ignition.

  They weren't. It didn't make sense.

  He looked under the seats, in the glove compartment, in the back. Then he saw them. Wrapped in a piece of white paper, an elastic band holding the paper around th'^ case. The packet was wedged between the collapsible seats, pushed far down, nearly out of sight.

  His daughter was screaming now, and Alice Tanner picked the child up, trying to comfort her, repeating over and over again that everything was all right.

  Making sure his wife could not see him, Tanner held the small package below the back seat, snapped the elastic band and opened the paper. It was blank.

  He crumpled the paper and stuffed it into his pocket. He would tell Ali what had happened now. They'd go away. Far away. But he would not tell her in front of the children.

  "Get in the wagon." Tanner spoke to his son softly and went to his wife, taking the hysterical child from her. "Get the keys out of the Triumph, Ali. We're going home."

  His wife stood in front of him, her eyes wide with fright, the tears streaming down her face. She tried to control herself, tried with all her strength not to scream. "What happened? What happened to us?"

  The roar of an engine prevented Tanner from answering. In his anger, he was grateful. The Saddle Valley patrol car sped into the depot and came to a stop less than ten yards from them.

  Jenkins and McDermott got out of the automobile. Jenkins had his revolver drawn.

  "Is everything all right?" He ran up to Tanner. McDermott went rapidly to the station wagon and spoke quietly to the boy in the back seat.

  "We found the note in your bedroom. Incidentally, we think we've recovered most of your property."

  "Our what?" Alice Tanner stared at the police officer.

  "What property?"

  "Two television sets, Mrs. Tanner's jewelry, a box of silver, place settings, some cash. There's a list down at the station. We don't know if we got everything. The car was abandoned several blocks from your house. They may have taken other things. You'll have to check."

  Tanner handed his daughter to Ali.

  "What the hell are you talking about?"

  "You were robbed. Your wife must have come back while they were in the process. She and the children were gassed in the garage. . . . They were professionals, no doubt about it. Real professional methods "

  "You're a liar," said Tanner softly. "There was nothing..."

  "Please!" interrupted Jenkins. "The main thing now is your wife and children."

  As if on signal, McDermott called from inside the station wagon. "I want to get this kid to the hospital! Now!"

  "Oh, my God!" Alice Tanner ran to the automobile, carrying her daughter in her arms.

  "Let McDermott take them," said Jenkins.

  "How can I trust you? You lied to me. There was nothing missing in my house. No television sets were gone, no signs of any robbery! Why did you He?"

  "There isn't time. I'm sending your wife and children with McDermott." Jenkins spoke rapidly.

  "They're going with me!"

  "No they're not." Jenkins raised his pistol slightly.

  "I'll kill you, Jenkins."

  "Then what stands between you and Omega?" said Jenkins calmly. "Be reasonable. Fassett's on his way out. He wants to see you."

  "I'm sorry. Truly, abjectly sorry. It won't, it can't happen again."

  "What did happen? Where was your infallible protection?"

  "A logistical error on a surveillance schedule hat hadn't been cross-checked. That's the truth, there's no point in lying to you. I'm the one responsible."

  "You weren't out here."

  "I'm still responsible. The Leather team's my responsibility. Omega saw that a post wasn't covered—for less than fifteen minutes, incidentally— and they moved in."

  "I can't tolerate that. You risked the lives of my wife and children!"

  "I told you, there's no possibility of recurrence. "So—and in an inverted way, this should be comforting—this afternoon confirms the fact that Omega won't kill. Terror, yes. Murder, no."

  "Why? Because you say so? I don't buy it. The C.I.A. track record reads like a disaster file. You're lot making any more decisions for me, let's get hat clear."

  "Oh? You are then?"

  "Yes."

  "Don't be a fool. If not for yourself, for your family."

  Tanner got out of the chair. He saw through the Venetian blinds that two men were standing guard outside the motel window.

  "I'm taking them away."

  "Where will you go?"

  "I don't know. I just know I'm not staying here."

  "You think Omega won't follow you?"

  "Why should it. . . they? I'm no part of you"

  "They won't believe that."

  "Then I'll make it clear!"

  "Are you going to take out an ad in The Times?"

  "No!" Tanner swung around and pointed a finger at the C.I.A. man. "You will! However you want to do it. Because if you don't, I'll tell the story of this operation and your inept, malicious handling of it on every network newscast in the country. You won't survive that."

  "Neither will you because you'll be dead. Your wife dead. Your son, your daughter... dead."

  "You can't threaten me ..."

  "For God's sake, look at history! Look at what's really happened!" Fassett exploded. Then suddenly he lowered his voice and raised his hand to his chest, speaking slowly. "Take me. . . . My wife was killed in East Berlin. They murdered her for no earthly reason except that she was married to me. I was being . . . taught a lesson. And to teach me that lesson they took my wife. Don't make pronouncements to me. I've been there. You've been safe. Well, you're not safe now."

  Tanner was stunned. "What are you trying to say?"

  "I'm telling you that you'll do exactly what we've planned. We're too close now. I want Omega."

  "You can't force me and you know it!"

  "Yes, I can. . . . Because if you turn, if you run, I withdraw every agent in Saddle Valley. You'll be alone . . . and I don't think you can cope with the situation by yourself."

  "I'm taking my family away ..."

  "Don't be crazy! Omega raced in on a simple logistical error. That means they, whoever they are, are alert. Extremely alert, fast and thorough. What chance do you think you'll have? What chance do you give your family? We've admitted a mistake. We won't make any others."

  Tanner knew Fassett was right. If he was abandoned now, he didn't have the resources for control.

  "You don't fool around, do you?"

  "Did you ever—in a mine field?"

  "I guess not. .. . This afternoon. What was it?"

  "Terror tactics. Without identification. That's in case you're clean. We realized what had happened and put out a counterexplanation. We'll withhold some of your property—small stuff, like jewelry, until it's over. More authentic."

  "Which means you expect me to go along with the robbery.'"

  "Of course. It's safest."

  "Yes. ... Of course." Tanner reached into his pocket for cigarettes. The telephone rang and Fassett picked it up.

  He spoke quietly, then turned to the news director. "Your fa
mily's back home. They're okay. Still scared, but okay. Some of our men are straightening up the place. It's a mess. They're trying to lift

  fingerprints. Naturally, it'll be found the thieves wore gloves. We've told your wife that you're still at headquarters making a statement."

  "I see."

  "You want us to drive you back?"

  "No. . . . No, I don't. I presume I'll be followed anyway."

  "Safety surveillance is the proper term."

  Tanner entered the Village Pub, Saddle Valley's one fashionable bar, and called the Tremaynes.

  "Ginny, this is John. I'd like to talk to Dick. Is he there?"

  "John Tanner?" Why did she say that? His name. She knew his voice.

  "Yes. Is Dick there?"

  "No. ... Of course not. He's at the office. What is it?"

  "Nothing important."

  "Can't you tell me?"

  "I just need a little legal advice. I'll try him at the office. Good-bye." Tanner knew he had done it badly. He had been awkward.

  But then, so had Virginia Tremayne.

  Tanner dialed New York.

  "I'm sorry, Mr. Tanner. Mr. Tremayne's out on Long Island. In conference."

  "It's urgent. What's the number?"

  Tremayne's secretary gave it to him reluctantly. He dialed it.

  "I'm sorry, Mr. Tremayne isn't here."

  "His office said he was in conference out there."

  "He called this morning and canceled. I'm sorry, sir."

  Tanner hung up the phone, then dialed the Cardones.

  "Daddy and Mommy are out for the day, Uncle John. They said they'd be back after dinner. Do you want them to call you?"

  "No ... no, that's not necessary "

  There was an empty feeling in his stomach. He dialed the operator, gave her the information, including his credit card number, and three thousand four hundred miles away a telephone rang in Beverly Hills.

  "Osterman residence."

  "Is Mr. Osterman there?"

  "No, he's not. May I ask who's calling, please?"

  "Is Mrs. Osterman there?"

  "No."

  "When do you expect them back?"

  "Next week. Who's calling, please?"

  "The name's Cardone. Joseph Cardone."

  "C-A-R-D-O-N-E. . .."

  "That's right. When did they go?"

  'They left for New York last night. The ten o'clock flight, I believe."

  John Tanner hung up the receiver. The Ostermans were in New York! They'd gotten in by six o'clock that morning!

  The Tremaynes, the Cardones, the Ostermans.

  All there. None accounted for.

  Any or all.

  Omega!

  11

  Thursday — 3:00 a.m.

  Fassett had set a convincing scene. By the time Tanner returned home the rooms had been straightened up, but there was still disarray. Chairs were not in their proper places, rugs off center, lamps in different positions; the woman of the house hadn't yet put things to rights.

  Ali told him how the police had helped her; if she suspected collusion she didn't let on.

  But then Alice McCall had lived with violence as a child. The sight of policemen in her home was not unfamiliar to her. She was conditioned to react with a minimum of hysteria.

  Her husband, on the other hand, was not conditioned at all for the role he had to play. For the second night, sleep was fitful, ultimately impossible. He looked at the dial on the clock radio. It was nearly three in the morning and his mind still raced, his eyes refused to stay shut.

  It was no use. He had to get up, he had to walk around; perhaps eat something, read something, smoke.

  Anything that would help him stop thinking.

  He and Ali had had a number of brandies before going to bed—too many drinks for Ali; she was deep in sleep, as much from the alcohol as from exhaustion.

  Tanner got out of bed and went downstairs. He wandered aimlessly around; he finished the remains of a cantaloupe in the kitchen, read the junk mail in the hallway, flipped through some magazines in the living room. Finally he went out to the garage. There was still the faint—ever so faint now —odor of the gas which had been used on his wife and children. He returned to the living room, forgetting to turn off the lights in the garage.

  Extinguishing his last cigarette, he looked around for another pack; more for the security of knowing there was one than from any immediate need. There was a carton in the study. As he opened the top drawer of his desk, a noise made him look up.

  There was a tapping on his study window and the beam of a flashlight waving in small circles against the pane.

  "It's Jenkins, Mr. Tanner," said the muffled voice. "Come to your back door."

  Tanner, relieved, nodded to the dark figure on the other side of the glass.

  "This screen-door latch was broken," said Jenkins softly as Tanner opened the kitchen door. "We don't know how it happened."

  "I did it. What are you doing out there?"

  "Making sure there's no repetition of this afternoon. There are four of us. We wondered what you were doing. The lights are on all over downstairs. Even in the garage. Is anything the matter? Has anyone phoned you?"

  "Wouldn't you know if they had?"

  Jenkins smiled as he stepped through the door. "We're supposed to, I guess you know that. But there's no accounting for mechanical failures."

  "I suppose not. Care for a cup of coffee?"

  "Only if you'd make enough for three other guys. They can't leave their posts."

  "Sure." Tanner filled the hot water kettle. "Instant be all right?"

  "Be great. Thanks." Jenkins sat down at the kitchen table, moving his large police holster so it hung free from the seat. He watched Tanner closely and then looked around the room.

  "I'm glad you're outside. I appreciate it, really. I know it's a job, but still..."

  "Not just a job. We're concerned."

  "That's nice to hear. You have a wife and kids?"

  "No sir, I don't."

  "I thought you were married."

  "That's my partner. McDermott."

  "Oh, I see. . . . You've been on the force here, let's see ... a couple of years now, isn't it?"

  "Just about."

  Tanner turned from the stove and looked at Jenkins. "Are you one of them?"

  "I beg your pardon?"

  "I asked if you were one of them. This afternoon you used the name Omega. That means you're one of Fassett's men."

  "I was instructed what to tell you. I've met Mr. Fassett, of course."

  "But you're not a small-town policeman, are you?"

  Jenkins did not have time to answer. There was a cry from the grounds outside. Both men in the kitchen had heard that sound before, Tanner in France, Jenkins near the Yalu River. It was a scream in the instant of death.

  Jenkins bolted to the screen door and raced outside, Tanner following at his heels. Two other men came out of the darkness.

  "It's Ferguson! Ferguson!" They spoke harshly, but they did not yell. Jenkins rounded the pool and ran towards the woods beyond Tanner's property. The news director stumbled and tried to keep up with him.

  The mutilated body lay in a clump of weeds. The head was severed; its eyes were wide, as if the lids had been pierced and held with nails.

  "Get back, Mr. Tanner! Stay back! Don't look! Don't raise your voice!" Jenkins held the petrified news director by the shoulders, pushing him away from the corpse. The two other men ran into the woods, pistols drawn.

  Tanner sank to the ground feeling sick, frightened beyond any fear he'd ever known.

  "Listen to me," whispered Jenkins, kneeling over the trembling man. "That body in there wasn't meant for you to see. It has nothing to do with you! There are certain rules, certain signs we all know about. That man was killed for Fassett. It was meant for him"

  The body was wrapped in canvas and two men lifted it up to carry it away. Their moves were silent, efficient.

  "You're wife's still
sleeping," said Fassett quietly. "That's good. . . . The boy got up and came downstairs. McDermott told him you were making coffee for the men."

  Tanner sat on the grass on the far side of the pool, trying to make sense out of the last hour. Fassett and Jenkins stood above him.

  "For God's sake, how did it happen?" He watched the men carrying the body and his words could hardly be heard. Fassett knelt down.

  "He was taken from behind."

  "From behind?"

  "Someone who knew the woods behind your house." Fassett's eyes bore into Tanner's and the news director understood the unspoken accusation.

  "It's my fault, isn't it?"

  "Possibly. Jenkins left his post. His position was adjacent. . . . Why were you downstairs? Why were all the first-floor lights on?"

  "I couldn't sleep. I got up."

  "The lights were on in the garage. Why were you in the garage?"

  "I ... I don't remember. I guess I was thinking about this afternoon."

  "You left the garage lights on. ... I can understand a man who's nervous getting up, going downstairs—having a cigarette, a drink. I can understand that. But I don't understand a man going into his garage and leaving the lights on. . . . Were you going somewhere, Mr. Tanner?"

  "Going somewhere? . . . No. No, of course not. Where would I go?"

  Fassett looked up at Jenkins who was watching Tanner's face in the dim reflection of the light coming from the house. Jenkins spoke.

  "Are you sure?"

  "My God. . . . You thought I was running away. You thought I was running away and you came in to stop me!"

  "Keep your voice down, please." Fassett rose to his feet.

  "Do you think I'd do that? Do you think for one minute I'd leave my family?"

  "You could be taking your family with you," answered Jenkins.

  "Oh, Christ! That's why you came to the window. That's why you left your ..." Tanner couldn't finish the sentence. He felt sick and wondered if he threw up where he could do it. He looked up at the two government men. "Oh, Christ!"

  "Chances are it would have happened anyway." Fassett spoke calmly. "It wasn't . . . wasn't part of any original plan. But you've got to understand. You behaved abnormally. It wasn't normal for you to do what you did. You've got to watch every move you make, everything you do or say. You can't forget that. Ever!"