The Osterman weekend

by Ludlum, Robert

  John lunged for the pistol, picked it up and held it tightly in his hand. He got up, every part of his body in pain, the blood flowing now out of his arm.

  Fassett was barely conscious, gasping in agony. Tanner wanted this man alive, wanted Omega alive. But he thought of the basement, of Ali and the children, and so he took careful aim and fired twice, once into the mass of blood and flesh which was Fassett's wound, once into the knee cap of the leg.

  He lurched back toward the doorway, supporting himself in the frame. Painfully, he looked at his watch: two-thirty-seven. Seven minutes after Omega's appointed time.

  No one else would come now. Half of Omega lay in agony in the station house; the rest in the tall, wet grass beyond the parking lot

  He wondered who it was.

  Tremayne?

  Cardone?

  Osterman?

  Tanner tore off part of his sleeve and tried to wrap it around the wound in his arm. If only he could stop the bleeding, even a bit. If he could do that perhaps he could make it across the old parking area to where the searchlight was.

  But he couldn't, and, off balance, fell backwards to the floor. He was no better off than Fassett. Both their lives would ebb away right there. Inside the ancient depot.

  A wailing began; Tanner wasn't sure if it was a trick of his brain or if it was real. Real! It was growing louder.

  Sirens, then the roar of engines. Then the screeching of brakes against loose gravel and wet dirt.

  Tanner rose to his elbow. He tried with all his strength to get up—only to his knees, that would be good enough. That would be sufficient to crawl. Crawl to the doorway.

  The beams of searchlights filtered through the loose boards and cracked stucco, one light remaining on the entrance. Then a voice, amplified by a bull horn.

  "This is the police! We are accompanied by federal authorities! If you have weapons, throw them out and follow with your hands up! ... If you are holding Tanner hostage, release him! You are surrounded. There's no way for you to escape!"

  Tanner tried to speak as he crawled toward the door. The voice sounded once again.

  "We repeat. Throw out your weapons ..."

  Tanner could hear another voice yelling, this one not on a horn.

  "Over here! Throw a light over here! By this automobile! Over here in the grass!"

  Someone had found the rest of Omega.

  "Tanner! John Tanner! Are you inside!?"

  Tanner reached the entrance and pulled himself up by the edge of the door into the spill of light.

  "There he is! Jesus, look at him!"

  Tanner fell forward. Jenkins raced to his side.

  "There you are, Mr. Tanner. We've tied you up as best we can. It'll hold till the ambulance gets here. See if you can walk." Jenkins braced Tanner around the waist and pulled him to his feet. Two other policemen were carrying out Fassett

  "That's him! That's Omega."

  "We know. You're a very impressive fellow. You did what no one else was able to do in five years of trying. You got Omega for us."

  "There's someone else. Over there. . . . Fassett said he was the other part of them."

  "We found him. He's dead. He's still there. You want to go over and see who it is? Tell your grandchildren some day."

  Tanner looked at Jenkins and replied haltingly. "Yes. Yes, I would. I guess I'd better know."

  The two men walked over into the grass. Tanner was both fascinated and repelled by the moment that approached, the moment when he would see for himself the second face of Omega. He sensed that Jenkins understood. The revelation had to be of his own observation, not second hand. He had to bear witness to the most terrible part of Omega.

  The betrayal of love.

  Dick. Joe. Bernie.

  Several men were examining the black automobile with the ruined searchlight. The body lay face down by the sedan's door. In the dark, Tanner could see it was a large man.

  Jenkins turned on his flashlight and kicked the body over. The beam of light shone into the face.

  Tanner froze.

  The riddled body in the grass was Captain Albert MacAuliff.

  A police officer approached and spoke to Jenkins from the edge of the parking area.

  "They want to come over."

  "Why not? It goes with their territories. The beach is secured." Jenkins spoke with more than a trace of contempt.

  "Come on!" yelled McDermott to some men in the shadows on the other side of the parking lot.

  Tanner could see the three tall figures walking across the gravel. Walking slowly, reluctantly.

  Bernie Osterman. Joe Cardone. Dick Tremayne.

  He limped with Jenkins' help out of the grass, away from Omega. The four friends faced each other; none knew what to say.

  "Let's go," said Tanner to Jenkins.

  "Pardon us, gentlemen."

  PART FOUR

  SUNDAY AFTERNOON

  14

  Sunday afternoon in the Village of Saddle Valley, New Jersey. The two patrol cars roamed up and down the streets as usual, but they remained at cruising speeds, lazily turning into the shady roads. The drivers smiled at the children and waved at the residents doing their Sunday chores. Golf bags and tennis rackets could be seen in small foreign convertibles and in gleaming station wagons. The sun was bright; the trees and the lawns glistened, refreshed by the July storm.

  Saddle Valley was awake, preparing for a perfect Sunday afternoon. Telephones were dialed, plans made, a number of apologies offered for last evening's behavior. They were laughed off—what the hell, last evening was Saturday night. In Saddle Valley, New Jersey, Saturday nights were quickly forgiven.

  A late model dark blue sedan with whitewall tires drove into the Tanner driveway. Inside the house John Tanner got up from the couch and walked painfully to the window. His upper chest and his entire left arm was encased in bandages.

  So, too, was his left leg, from thigh to ankle.

  Tanner looked out the window at the two men walking up the path. One he recognized as Patrolman Jenkins—but only on second glance. Jenkins was not in his police uniform. Now he looked like a Saddle Valley commuter—a banker or an advertising executive. Tanner didn't know the second man. He'd never seen him before.

  "They're here," he called toward the kitchen. Ali came out and stood in the hallway. She was dressed casually in slacks and a shirt, but the look in her eyes wasn't casual at all.

  "I suppose we've got to get it over with. The sitter's out with Janet. Ray's at the Club. ... I suppose Bernie and Leila are at the airport by now."

  "They made it in time. There were statements, papers to sign. Dick's acting as everyone's attorney."

  The chimes rang and Ali went to the door. "Sit down, darling. Just a little at a time, the doctor said."

  "Okay."

  Jenkins and his unfamiliar partner came in. Alice brought coffee and the four of them sat across from each other, the Tanners on the couch, Jenkins and the man he introduced as Grover in the armchairs.

  "You're the one I talked to in New York, aren't you?" John asked.

  "Yes, I am. I'm with the Agency. Incidentally, so is Jenkins. He's been assigned here for the past year and a half."

  "You were a very convincing policeman, Mr. Jenkins," said Ali.

  "It wasn't difficult. It's a pleasant place, nice people."

  "I thought it was the Chasm of Leather." Tanner's hostility vas apparent. It was time for explanations. He had demanded them.

  "That, too, of course," added Jenkins softly.

  "Then we'd better talk about it."

  "Very well," said Grover. "I'll summarize in a few words. 'Divide and kill.' That was Fassett's premise. Omega's premise."

  "Then there really was a Fassett. That was his name, I mean."

  "There certainly was. For ten years Laurence Fassett was one of the finest operatives in the Agency. Excellent record, dedicated. And then things happened to him."

  "He sold out."

  "It's never that simp
le," said Jenkins. "Let's say his commitments changed. They altered drastically. He became the enemy."

  "And you didn't know it?"

  Grover hesitated before replying. He seemed to be searching for the least painful words. His head nodded, imperceptibly. "We knew. . . . We found out gradually, over a period of years. Defectors of Fassett's caliber are never revealed overnight. It's a slow process; a series of assignments with conflicting objectives. Sooner or later a pattern emerges. When it does, you make the most of it. ... Which is exactly what we did."

  "That seems to me awfully dangerous, complicated."

  "A degree of danger, perhaps; not complicated, really. Fassett was maneuvered, just as he maneuvered you and your friends. He was brought into the Omega operation because his credentials warranted it. He was brilliant and this was an explosive situation. . . . Certain laws of espionage are fundamental. We correctly assumed that the enemy would give Fassett the responsibility of keeping Omega intact, not allowing its destruction. He was at once the defending general and the attacking force. The strategy was well thought out, take my word for it. Do you begin to see?"

  "Yes." Tanner was barely audible.

  " 'Divide and Kill.' Omega existed. Chasm of. Leather was Saddle Valley. The checks on residents did uncover the Swiss accounts of the Cardones and the Tremaynes. When Osterman appeared, he, too, was found to have an account in Zurich, The circumstances were perfect for Fassett. He had found three couples allied with each other in an illegal—or at least highly questionable—financial venture in Switzerland."

  "Zurich. That's why the name Zurich made them all nervous. Cardone was petrified."

  "He had every reason to be. He and Tremayne. One the partner in a highly speculative brokerage house with a lot of Mafia financing; and the other an attorney with a firm engaged in unethical mergers—Tremayne, the specialist. They could have been ruined. Osterman had the least to lose, but, nevertheless, as part of the public media, an indictment might have had disastrous effects. As you know better than we do, networks are sensitive."

  "Yes," said Tanner again without feeling.

  "If, during the weekend, Fassett could so intensify mistrust between the three couples that they began hurling accusations at each other—the next step would be violence. Once that possibility was established, the real Omega intended to murder at least two of the couples, and Fassett could then present us with a substitute Omega. Who could refuse him? The subjects would be dead. It . . . was brilliant."

  Tanner rose painfully from the couch and limped to the fireplace. He gripped the mantel angrily.

  "I'm glad you can sit there and make professional judgments." He turned on the government men. "You had no right, no right! My wife, my children were damn near killed! Where were your men outside on the grounds? What happened to all that protective equipment from the biggest corporation in the world? Who listened on those electronic . . . things which were supposedly installed all over the house? Where was everybody? We were left in that cellar to die!"

  Grover and Jenkins let the moment subside. They accepted Tanner's hostility calmly, with understanding. They'd been through such moments before. Grover spoke quietly, in counterpoint to Tanner's anger.

  "In operations such as these, we anticipate that errors—I'll be honest, generally one massive error—occur. It's unavoidable when you consider the...logistics."

  "What error?"

  Jenkins spoke. "I'd like to answer that The error was mine. I was the senior officer at 'Leather' and the only one who knew about Fassett's defection. The only one. Saturday afternoon McDermott told me that Cole had unearthed extraordinary information, and had to see me right away. I didn’t check it out with Washington, I didn't confirm it. I just accepted it and drove into the city as fast I could. I thought that Cole, or someone here at 'Leather,' had discovered who Fassett really was. If that had been the case a whole new set of instructions would have to come from Washington...."

  "We were prepared," interrupted Grover. Alternate plans were ready to be implemented."

  "I got into New York, went up to the hotel suite ... and Cole wasn't there. I know it sounds incredible, but he was out to dinner. He was simply out to dinner. He left the name of the restaurant, so I went there. This all took time. Taxis, traffic. I couldn't use the phone; all conversations were recorded. Fassett might have been tipped. Finally I got to Cole. He didn't know what I was talking about. He'd sent no message."

  Jenkins stopped, the telling of the story angered and embarrassed him.

  "That was the error?" asked Ali. "Yes. It gave Fassett the time he needed. I gave him the time."

  "Wasn't Fassett risking too much? Trapping himself? Cole denied the message."

  "He calculated the risk. Timed it. Since Cole was constantly in touch with 'Leather,' a single message, especially second hand, could be garbled. The fact that I fell for the ruse also told him something. Put simply, I was to be killed."

  "That doesn't explain the guards outside. Your going to New York doesn't explain their not being there."

  "We said Fassett was brilliant," continued Grover. "When we tell you why they weren't there, why there wasn't a single patrol within miles, you'll understand just how brilliant he was. ... He systematically withdrew all the men from your property on the grounds that you were Omega. The man they were guarding with their lives was, in reality, the enemy."

  "What?"

  "Think about it. Once you were dead, who could disprove it?"

  "Why would they believe it?"

  "The electronic pick-ups. They'd stopped functioning throughout your house. One by one they stopped transmitting. You were the only one here who knew they existed. Therefore, you were eliminating them."

  "But I wasn't! I didn't know where they were! I still don't!"

  "It wouldn't make any difference if you did." It was Jenkins who spoke. "Those transmitters had operating capacities of anywhere from thirty-six to forty-eight hours only. No more. I showed you one last night. It was treated with acid. They all were. The acid gradually ate through the miniature plates and shorted out the transmissions. . . . But all the men in the field knew was that they weren't functioning. Fasset then announced that he'd made the error. You were Omega and he hadn't realized it. I'm told he did it very effectively. There's something awesome about a man like Fassett admitting a major mistake. He withdrew the patrols and then he and MacAuliff moved in for the kill. They were able to do it because I wasn't here to stop them. He'd removed me from the scene."

  "Did you know about MacAuliff?"

  "No," answered Jenkins. "He wasn't even a suspect. His cover was pure genius. A bigoted small town cop, veteran of the New York police, and a right-winger to boot. Frankly, the first hint we had of his involvement was when you said the police car didn't stop when you signaled from the basement. Neither patrol car was in the vicinity at the time; MacAuliff made sure of that. However, he carries a red signal light in his trunk. Simple clamp device that can be mounted on top. He was circling your house, trying to draw you out. . . . When he finally got here, two things struck us. The first was that he'd been reached by car radio. Not at home. The second was a general description supplied by those on duty. That MacAuliff kept holding his stomach, claimed to be having a severe ulcer attack. MacAuliff had no history of ulcers. It was possible that he'd been wounded. It turned out to be correct. His 'ulcer' was a gash in his stomach. Courtesy of Mr. Osterman."

  Tanner reached for a cigarette. Ali lit it for him.

  "Who killed the man in the woods?"

  "MacAuliff. And don't hold yourself responsible. He would have killed him whether you got up and turned on the light or not. He also gassed your family last Wednesday. He used the police riot supply."

  "What about our dog? In my daughter's bedroom."

  "Fassett," said Grover. "You had ice cubes delivered at one-forty-five; they were left on the front porch. Fassett saw the chance to create further panic and so he simply took them in. You were all at the pool. Once he got
inside, he could maneuver; he's a pro. He was just a man delivering ice cubes. Even if you saw him, he could have told you it was extra precaution on his part. You certainly wouldn't have argued. And Fassett obviously was the man on the road who gassed the Cardones and the Tremaynes."

  "Everything was calculated to keep us all in a constant state of panic. With no let up. Force my husband to think it was each of them." Ali stared at Tanner and spoke quietly. "What have we done? What did we say to them?"

  "At one time or another I was convinced each person had given himself ... or herself . . . away. I was positive."

  "You were looking for that desperately. The relationships in this house, during the weekend, were intensely personal. Fassett knew that." Grover looked over at Jenkins. "Of course, you must realize that they were all frightened. They had good reason to be. Regardless of their own personal, professional guilt's, they shared a major one."

  "Zurich?"

  "Precisely. It accounted for their final actions. Cardone wasn't going to a dying father in Philadelphia last night. He'd called his partner Bennett to come out. He didn't want to talk on the phone and he thought his house might be watched. Yet he wasn't about to go far away from his family. They met at a diner on Route Five. . . . Cardone told Bennett about the Zurich manipulation and offered his resignation for a settlement. His idea was to turn state's evidence for the Justice Department in return for immunity."

  "Tremayne said he was leaving this morning..."

  "Lufthansa. Straight through to Zurich. He's a good attorney, very agile in these sorts of negotiations. He was getting out with what he could salvage."

  Then they both—separately—were leaving Bernie with the mess."

  "Mr. and Mrs. Osterman had their own plans. A syndicate in Paris was prepared to assume their investment. All it would have taken was a cablegram to the French attorneys."

  Tanner rose from the couch and limped toward the windows overlooking his backyard. He wasn't sure he wanted to hear any more. The sickness was everywhere. It left no one, it seemed, untouched. Fassett had said it. Its a spiral, Mr. Tanner, No one lives in a deep freeze anymore.