The Osterman Weekend: A Novel

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Tanner. We’ve been, having a little difficulty. Nothing to be concerned about.”

  “What do you mean, difficulty?”

  “Making contact with our men in the field. It’s not unusual. We can’t expect them to be next to a radio-phone every second. We’ll reach them shortly and call you back.”

  “That’s not good enough!” John Tanner slammed the telephone down and got out of his chair. Yesterday afternoon Fassett had detailed every move made by all of them—even to the precise actions at the moment of his phone call. And now this Grover couldn’t reach any of the men supposedly watching his family. What had Fassett said?

  “We have thirteen agents in Saddle Valley.…”

  And Grover couldn’t reach any of them.

  Thirteen men and none could be contacted!

  He crossed to the office door. “Something’s come up, Norma. Listen for my phone, please. If it’s a man named Grover, tell him I’ve left for home.”

  SADDLE VALLEY

  VILLAGE INCORPORATED 1862

  Welcome

  “Where to now, Mister?”

  “Go straight. I’ll show you.”

  The cab reached Orchard Drive, two blocks from his home; Tanner’s pulse was hammering. He kept picturing the station wagon in the driveway. As soon as they made one more turn he’d be able to see it—if it was there. And if it was, everything would be all right. Oh, Christ! Let everything be all right!

  The station wagon was not in the driveway.

  Tanner looked at his watch.

  Two-forty-five. A quarter to three! And Ali wasn’t there!

  “On the left. The wood-shingled house.”

  “Nice place, mister. A real nice place.”

  “Hurry!”

  The cab pulled up to the flagstone path. Tanner paid and pulled open the door. He didn’t wait for the driver’s thanks.

  “Ali! Ali!” Tanner raced through the laundry room to check the garage.

  Nothing. The small Triumph stood there.

  Quiet.

  Yet there was something. An odor. A faint sickening odor that Tanner couldn’t place.

  “Ali! Ali!” He ran back to the kitchen and saw his pool through the window. Oh, God! He stared at the surface of the water and hurried to the patio door. The lock was stuck and so he slammed against it, breaking the latch, and ran out.

  Thank God! There was nothing in the water!

  His small Welsh terrier dog stirred from its sleep. The animal was attached to a wire run and immediately started barking in its sharp, hysterical yap.

  He sped back into the house, to the cellar door.

  “Ray! Janet! Ali!”

  Quiet. Except for the incessant barking of the dog outside.

  He left the cellar door open and ran to the staircase.

  Upstairs!

  He leapt up the stairs; the doors to the children’s rooms and the guest room were open. The door to his and Ali’s room was shut.

  And then he heard it. The soft playing of a radio. Ali’s clock radio with the automatic timer which shut the radio off at any given time up to an hour. He and Ali always used that timer when they played the radio. Never the ON button. It was a habit. And Ali had been gone over two and a half hours. Someone else had turned on the radio.

  He opened the door.

  No one.

  He was about to turn and search the rest of the house when he saw it. A note written in red pencil next to the clock radio.

  He crossed to the bedside table.

  “Your wife and children went for an unexpected drive. You’ll find them by an old railroad depot on Lassiter Road.”

  In his panic, Tanner remembered the abandoned depot. It sat deep in the woods on a rarely used back road.

  What had he done? What in Christ’s name had he done? He’d killed them! If that was so, he’d kill Fassett! Kill Grover! Kill all those who should have been watching!

  He raced out of the bedroom, down the staircase, into the garage. The door was open and he jumped into the seat of the Triumph and started the engine.

  Tanner swung the small sports car to the right out of the driveway and sped around the long Orchard Drive curve, trying to remember the quickest way to Lassiter Road. He reached a pond he recognized as Lassiter Lake, used by the Saddle Valley residents for ice skating in winter. Lassiter Road was on the other side and seemed to disappear into a stretch of undisciplined woods.

  He kept the accelerator flat against the Triumph’s floor. He started talking to himself, then screaming at himself.

  Ali! Ali! Janet! Ray!

  The road was winding. Blind spots, curves, sun rays coming through the crowded trees. There were no other automobiles, no other signs of life.

  The old abandoned depot suddenly appeared. And there was his station wagon—half off the overgrown parking area, into the tall grass. Tanner slammed on his brakes beside the wagon. There was no one in sight.

  He jumped out of the Triumph and raced to the car.

  In an instant his mind went out of control. The horror was real. The unbelievable had happened.

  On the floor of the front seat was his wife. Slumped, motionless. In the back were little Janet and his son. Heads down. Bodies sprawled off the red seats.

  Oh, Christ! Christ! It had happened! His eyes filled with tears. His body shook.

  He pulled the door open, screaming in terror, and suddenly a wave of odor washed over him. The sickish odor he had smelled in his garage. He grabbed Ali’s head and pulled her up, frightened beyond feeling.

  “Ali! Ali! My God! Please! Ali!”

  His wife opened her eyes slowly. Blinking. Conscious but not conscious. She moved her arms.

  “Where … where? The children!” She drew out the word hysterically. The sound of her scream brought Tanner back to his senses. He leapt up and reached over the seat for his son and daughter.

  They moved. They were alive! They all were alive!

  Ali climbed out of the station wagon and stumbled to the ground. Her husband lifted his daughter out of the back seat and held her as she started to cry.

  “What happened? What happened?” Alice Tanner pulled herself up.

  “Don’t talk, Ali. Breathe. As deeply as you can. Here!” He walked to her and handed her the sobbing Janet. “I’ll get Ray.”

  “What happened? Don’t tell me not to …”

  “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 the 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 h
appened 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 leapt 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 lie?”

  “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 that 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. Also—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 not making any more decisions for me, let’s get that 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 family’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 o
n 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!

  14

  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 tire dial on the clock radio. It was nearly three in the morning and his mind still raced, his eyes refused to stay shut.