The Osterman Weekend: A Novel

  “Are you trying to tell me you won’t activate them until then?”

  Cole interrupted. “No, we won’t. We’re not interested in your privacy, only your safety.”

  “You’d bettor get back,” said Fassett. “Jenkins will drop you off at the south end of your property. You couldn’t sleep so you went for a walk.”

  Tanner crossed slowly to the door. He stopped and looked back at Fassett. “It’s just like it was in Washington, isn’t it? You don’t give me any alternative.”

  Fassett turned away. “We’ll be in touch. If I were you I’d relax, go to the Club. Play tennis, swim. Get your mind off things. You’ll feel better.”

  Tanner looked at Fassett’s back in disbelief. He was being dismissed, as a less-than-respected subordinate is dismissed before a high policy conference.

  “Come on,” said Cole, standing up, “I’ll see you to the car.” As they walked, he added, “I think you should know that that man’s death last night complicates Fassett’s job more than you’ll ever realize. That killing was directed at him. It was his warning.”

  The news director looked at Cole closely. “What do you mean?”

  “There are signs between old-line professionals and this is one of them. You’re insignificant now.… Fassett’s brilliant. He’s set the forces in motion and nothing can stop them. The people who conceived Omega realize what’s happened. And they’re beginning to see that they may be helpless. They want the man responsible to know they’ll be back. Sometime. A severed head means a massacre, Mr. Tanner. They took his wife. Now he’s got three kids to worry about.”

  Tanner felt the sickness coming upon him again.

  “What kind of a world do you people live in?”

  “The same one you do.”

  16

  Thursday—10:15 A.M.

  When Alice awoke at ten-fifteen Thursday morning her immediate reaction was to remain in bed forever. She could hear the children arguing downstairs and the indistinguishable but patient words from her husband settling the dispute. She thought about his remarkable sense of small kindnesses that added up to major concern. That wasn’t bad after so many years of marriage.

  Perhaps her husband wasn’t as quick or dramatic as Dick Tremayne, or as sheerly powerful as Joe Cardone, or as witty or bright as Bernie Osterman, but she wouldn’t exchange places with Ginny, Betty, or Leila for anything in the world. Even if everything started all over again, she would wait for John Tanner, or a John Tanner. He was that rare man. He wanted to share, had to share. Everything. None of the others did. Not even Bernie, although he was the most like John. Even Bernie had quiet secrets, according to Leila.

  In the beginning, Alice had wondered if her husband’s need to share was merely the result of his pity for her. Because she was to be pitied, she realized without any sense of self-indulgence. Most of her life before she met John Tanner had been spent in flight or in pursuit of sanctuary. Her father, a self-professed rectifier of the world’s ills, was never able to stay too long in one place. A contemporary John Brown.

  The newspapers eventually labeled him … lunatic.

  The Los Angeles police eventually killed him.

  She remembered the words.

  Los Angeles, February 10, 1945. Jason McCall, whom authorities believe to have been in the pay of the Communists, was shot down today outside his canyon headquarters when he emerged brandishing what appeared to be a weapon. The Los Angeles police and agents of the Federal Bureau of Investigation unearthed McCall’s whereabouts after an extensive search.…

  The Los Angeles police and the agents of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, however, had not bothered to determine that Jason McCall’s weapon was a bent piece of metal he called his “plowshare.”

  Mercifully, Alice had been with an aunt in Pasadena when the killing took place. She’d met the young journalism student, John Tanner, at the public inquest after her father’s death. The Los Angeles authorities wanted the inquest public. There was no room for a martyr. They wanted it clear that under no circumstances was McCall’s death a murder.

  Which, of course, it was.

  The young journalist—returned from the war—knew it and labeled it as such. And although his story did nothing for the McCall family, it did bring him closer to the sad and bewildered girl who became his wife.

  Alice stopped thinking and rolled over on her stomach. It was all past She was where she wanted to be.

  Several minutes later she heard strange male voices downstairs in the hallway. She started to sit up when the door opened and her husband came in. He smiled and bent down, kissing her lightly on the forehead, but in spite of his casualness, there was something strained about him.

  “Who’s downstairs?” she asked.

  “The T.V. men. They’re rehooking the sets, but the outside antenna system’s loused up. They have to locate the trouble.”

  “Which means I get up.”

  “It does. I’m not taking chances with you in bed in front of two well-proportioned men in overalls.”

  “You once wore overalls. Remember? In your senior year you had that job at the gas station.”

  “And when I got home I also remember they came off with alarming ease. Now, up you go.”

  He was tense, she thought; he was imposing control on the situation, on himself. He announced that in spite of the pressures which descended on him on Thursdays, on this particular Thursday he was staying at home.

  His explanation was simple. After yesterday afternoon, regardless of the continuing police investigation, he wasn’t about to leave his family. Not until everything was cleared up.

  He took them to the Club, where he and Ali played doubles with their neighbors, Dorothy and Tom Scanlan. Tom was reputed to be so rich he hadn’t gone to work in a decade.

  What struck Ali was her husband’s determination to win. She was embarrassed when he accused Tom of miscalling a line shot and mortified when he made an unusually violent overhead, narrowly missing Dorothy’s face.

  They won the set, and the Scanlans turned down another. So they went to the pool, where John demanded what amounted to extraordinary service from the waiters. Late in the afternoon he spotted McDermott and insisted he join them for a drink. McDermott had come to the Club—so John told his wife—to tell a member that his car was long overdue at a parking meter in town.

  And always, always, Tanner kept going to the telephone inside the Club. He could have had one brought to the poolside table but he wouldn’t do so. He claimed that the Woodward conferences were getting heated and he’d rather not talk in public.

  Alice didn’t believe it. Her husband had many talents and perhaps the most finely honed was his ability to remain calm, even cold, under acute pressure. Yet today he was obviously close to panic.

  They returned to Orchard Drive at eight o’clock. Tanner ordered the children to bed; Alice revolted.

  “I’ve had it!” she said firmly. She pulled her husband into the living room and held his arm. “You’re being unreasonable, darling. I know how you felt. I felt it, too, but you’ve been barking orders all day long. Do this! Do that! It’s not like you.”

  Tanner remembered Fassett. He had to remain calm, normal Even with Ali.

  “I’m sorry. It’s a delayed reaction, I guess. But you’re right. Forgive me.”

  “It’s over and done with,” she added, not really accepting his quick apology. “It was frightening, but everything’s all right now. It’s over.”

  Oh, Christ, thought Tanner. He wished to God it were that simple. “It’s over and I’ve behaved childishly and I want my wife to say she loves me so we can have a couple of drinks and go to bed together.” He kissed her lightly on the lips. “And that madam, is the best idea I’ve had all day.”

  “You took a long time arriving at it,” she said as she smiled up at him. “It’ll take me a few minutes. I promised Janet I’d read her a story.”

  “What are you going to read her?”

  “ ‘Beauty and
the Beast.’ Ponder it.” She disengaged herself from his arms, touching his face with her fingers. “Give me ten, fifteen minutes.”

  Tanner watched her go back into the hall to the staircase. She’d been through so much, and now this. Now, Omega.

  He looked at his watch. It was eight-twenty and Ali would be upstairs for at least ten minutes, probably twice as long. He decided to call Fassett at the motel.

  It wasn’t going to be the usual conversation with Fassett No more condescending instructions, no more sermons. It was now the end of the third day; three days of harassment against the suspects of Omega.

  John Tanner wanted specifics. He was entitled to them.

  Fassett was alarmed, annoyed, at the news director’s precise questions.

  “I can’t take time to phone you whenever someone crosses the street.”

  “I need answers. The weekend starts tomorrow, and if you want me to go on with this, you’ll tell me what’s happened. Where are they now? What have their reactions been? I’ve got to know.”

  For a few seconds there was silence. When Fassett spoke, his voice was resigned. “Very well.… Tremayne stayed in New York last night I told you that, remember? While at the Biltmore he met a man named Townsend. Townsend’s a known stock manipulator out of Zurich. Cardone and his wife went to Philadelphia this afternoon. She visited her family in Chestnut Hill and he went out to Bala Cynwyd to meet with a man we know is a high capo in the Mafia. They got back to Saddle Valley an hour ago. The Ostermans are at The Plaza. They’re having dinner later tonight with a couple named Bronson. The Bronsons are friends from years ago. They’re also on the Attorney General’s subversive list.”

  Fassett stopped and waited for Tanner to speak.

  “And none of them have met? They haven’t even called each other? They’ve made no plans? I want the truth!”

  “If they’ve talked it hasn’t been on any telephone we can control, which would mean they’d have to be at pay phones at simultaneous times, which they haven’t. We know they haven’t met—simple surveillance. If any of them has plans, they’re individual, not coordinated.… We’re counting on that as I’ve told you. That’s all there is.”

  “There doesn’t seem to be any relationship. With any of them?”

  “That’s right. That’s what we’ve concluded.”

  “But not what you expected. You said they’d panic. Omega would be in panic by now.”

  “I think they are. Every one of them. Separately. Our projections are positive.”

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  “Think. One couple races to a powerful Mafioso. Another meets with a husband and wife who are as fanatic as anyone in the Presidium. And the lawyer has a sudden conference with an international securities thief out of Zurich. That’s panic. The NKVD has many tentacles. Every one of them is on the brink. All we do is sit and wait.”

  “Beginning tomorrow, sitting and waiting’s not going to be so easy.”

  “Be natural. You’ll find yourself functioning on two levels really quite comfortably. It’s always like that. There’s no danger if you even half carry it off. They’re too concerned with each other now. Remember, you don’t have to hide yesterday afternoon. Talk about it. Be expansive. Do and say what comes naturally about it.”

  “And you think they’ll believe me?”

  “They haven’t got a choice! Don’t you understand that? You make your reputation as an investigative reporter. Do I have to remind you that investigation ends when the subjects collide? That’s the age-old wrap-up.”

  “And I’m the innocent catalyst?”

  “You better believe it. The more innocent, the better the wrap-up.”

  Tanner lit a cigarette. He couldn’t deny the government man any longer. His logic was too sound. And the safety, the security, the all-holy well-being of Ali and the children was in this cold professional’s hands.

  “All right. I greet them all at the door as long-lost brothers and sisters.”

  “That’s the way. And if you feel like it, call them all in the morning, make sure they’re coming over. Except the Ostermans, of course. Whatever you’d normally do.… And remember, we’re right there. The most sophisticated equipment the biggest corporation on earth owns is at work for you. Not even the smallest weapon could get through your front door.”

  “Is that true?”

  “We’d know it if a three-inch blade was in someone’s pocket. A four-inch revolver would have you all out of there in sixty seconds.”

  Tanner replaced the receiver and drew heavily on his cigarette. As he took his hand off the telephone he had the feeling—the physical feeling—of leaving, jumping, going away.

  It was a strange sensation, an awesome sense of loneliness.

  And then he realized what it was, and it disturbed him greatly.

  His sanity was now dependent on a man named Fassett. He was utterly in his control.

  17

  The taxi drew up to the front of the Tanner house. John’s dog, the stringy Welsh terrier, ran up and down the driveway, yapping with each advance and retreat, waiting for someone to acknowledge that the visitors were welcome. Janet raced across the front lawn. The taxi door opened; the Ostermans stepped out. Each carried gift-wrapped boxes. The driver brought out a single large suitcase.

  From inside the house, Tanner looked at them both: Bernie, in an expensively cut Palm Beach jacket and light-blue slacks; Leila, in a white suit with a gold chain around her waist, the skirt well above her knees, and a wide-brimmed soft hat covering the left side of her face. They were the picture of California success. Yet somehow there was a trace of artifice with Bernie and Leila; they had moved into the real money barely nine years ago.

  Or was their success itself a façade, wondered Tanner as he watched the couple bending down to embrace his daughter. Had they, instead, for years and years been inhabitants of a world where scripts and shooting schedules were only secondary—–good covers, as Fassett might say?

  Tanner looked at his watch. It was two minutes past five. The Ostermans were early—according to their original schedule. Perhaps it was their first mistake. Or perhaps they didn’t expect him to be there. He always left the Woodward studio early when the Ostermans came, but not always in time to be home before five-thirty. Leila’s letter had said plainly their flight from Los Angeles was due at Kennedy around five. A plane being late was understandable, normal. A flight that got in ahead of schedule was improbable.

  They’d have to have an explanation. Would they bother?

  “Johnny! For heaven’s sake! I thought I heard the pup barking. It’s Bernie and Leila. What are you standing there for?” Ali had come out of the kitchen.

  “Oh, sorry.… I just wanted to let Janet have her moment with them.”

  “Go on out, silly. I’ll just set the timer.” His wife walked back towards the kitchen as Tanner approached the front door. He stared at the brass knob and felt as he thought an actor might feel before making his first entrance in a difficult part. Unsure—totally unsure—of his reception.

  He wet his lips and drew the back of his hand across his forehead. Deliberately he twisted the knob and pulled the door back swiftly. With his other hand he unlatched the aluminum screened panel and stepped outside.

  The Osterman weekend had begun.

  “Welcome, Schreibers!” he shouted with a wide grin. It was his usual greeting; Bernie considered it the most honorific.

  “Johnny!”

  “Hi, darling!”

  Thirty yards away, they shouted back and smiled broad smiles. Yet even thirty yards away John Tanner could see their unsmiling eyes. Their eyes searched his—briefly, but unmistakably. For a split second Bernie even stopped smiling, stopped any motion whatsoever.

  It was over in a moment. And there seemed to be a tacit agreement between them not to pursue the unspoken thoughts.

  “Johnny, it’s so awfully good to see you!” Leila ran across the lawn.

  John Tanner accepted Le
ila’s embrace and found himself responding with more overt affection than he thought he could muster. He knew why. He had passed the first test, the opening seconds of the Osterman weekend. He began to realize that Laurence Fassett could be right, after all. Perhaps he could carry it off.

  Do as you’d normally do; behave as you’d normally behave. Don’t think about anything else.

  “John, you look great, just great, man!”

  “Where’s Ali, sweetie?” asked Leila who stepped aside so Bernie could throw his long thin arms around Tanner.

  “Inside. Casserole-doing-time. Come on in! Here, I’ll grab the bag.… No, Janet, honey, you can’t lift Uncle Bernie’s suitcase.”

  “I don’t know why not,” laughed Bernie. “All it’s filled with is towels from The Plaza.”

  “The Plaza?” Tanner couldn’t help himself. “I thought your plane just got in.”

  Osterman glanced at him. “Uh uh. We flew in a couple of days ago. I’ll tell you about it.…”

  In a strange way it was like old times, and Tanner was astonished that he found himself accepting the fact. There was still the sense of relief at physically seeing each other again, knowing that time and distance were meaningless to their friendship. There was still the feeling that they could take up conversations, continue anecdotes, finish stories begun months previously. And there was still Bernie; gentle, reflective Bernie with his quiet, devastating comments about the palm-lined drug store. Devastating but somehow never condescending; Bernie laughed at himself as well as his professional world, for it was his world.

  Tanner remembered Fassett’s words.

  “… you’ll find yourself functioning on two levels quite comfortably. It’s always like that.”

  Again, Fassett was right.… In and out; in and out.

  It struck Tanner as he watched Bernie that Leila kept shifting her eyes away from her husband to him. Once he returned her look; she lowered her eyes as a child might after a reprimand.