The Intercom Conspiracy (12 page)

I wondered what Mr Rich thought of his companion’s technique. He was sitting on the sofa, absently stroking the strobe light pack lying beside him. He had scarcely touched his drink. He was lean and quite good-looking in a nondescript way; older than Mr Goodman clearly, but certainly a great deal healthier. There was a copy of
Réalités
on the table in front of him and he stared down at it, frowning slightly as if the cover design puzzled him.
His attitude reminded me suddenly of a play-reading I had attended a few days earlier; it had been of a new translation into French of the
Philoctetes
and I had noticed the translator sitting with his head down and frowning in the same way as he listened to the actors reading the lines.

‘But there have been changes lately, haven’t there, Theo?’

‘Of ownership, yes. Of policy, no.’

‘Oh come
on
, Theo.’ Goodman’s teeth were showing and his eyes had narrowed. ‘Come
on
, don’t give me that.’

My father stood up. ‘You asked me a question, Mr Goodman. I gave you an answer. You’re supposed to be a professional reporter. Why don’t you behave like one?’

He came over to pour himself another drink. I was still standing by the side table and I could see that he was trembling. There was nothing suppressed about his anger now. I took the glass from his hand.

‘I’ll do it.’

‘Thank you, Val. Just one,’ he added distinctly; ‘these people will be leaving in a minute.’

Goodman gave a little whistle. ‘Now that’s not very friendly, Theo. We’ve only just started.’

My father walked back to him. ‘
You
may have just started, but I’m just about through,’ he said. ‘You invited yourself here. Okay, so now I’m inviting you to get the hell out.’

Goodman threw up his hands in mock amazement. ‘All I asked was a question.’ He appealed to Rich. ‘Did I say something I shouldn’t?’

Rich shrugged. ‘Maybe Mr Carter doesn’t want to tell about his new owner,’ he said; ‘maybe he’s under orders.’

‘Yeah, maybe.’ Goodman nodded gravely. ‘Is that it, Theo?’

‘You haven’t asked me about the new owner,’ my father retorted, ‘so why should you think I don’t want to tell you about him?’

‘That’s true. Okay, let’s talk about Arnold Bloch. Have I got that name right, Theo? B-l-o-c-h? That’s how Dr Bruchner gave it to us.’

For some reason the mention of Dr Bruchner seemed to shake my father. He sat down again.

‘Yes, that’s right,’ he said.

‘And he’s in Munich?’

‘He has an office there.’

‘German?’

‘He speaks German.’

‘Then he’s German. Right?’

‘Why don’t you ask him?’

‘We’re asking you, Theo.’

‘I don’t know. I’ve never met him.’

‘Ah-hah!’ Goodman affected wide-eyed wonder. ‘Man of mystery, eh?’

‘If you want to make him a man of mystery, go ahead. As an industrial PR man he could probably use the publicity. Good for business.’

‘That’s what he is, is he? A PR man?’

‘I just said so. Aren’t I speaking plainly?’

‘We want to get it straight, Theo.’

It had become ‘we’ not ‘I’ with Mr Goodman now, I noticed. I gave my father his fresh drink. I had made it a strong one.

‘So it’s Bloch who’s responsible for the new
Intercom
policy. That right?’

For a moment I thought that my father was going to throw the drink at him. If he had had anything other than a drink in his hand I think he would have thrown it. As it was he put the glass down carefully and waited before he spoke.

‘For the last time,’ he said quietly, ‘and I mean for the
last
time, there is no new policy. Mr Bloch likes
Intercom
the way it is, and he wants it to stay that way.’

‘Okay. So Arnold Bloch is an absentee landlord and you’re the guy who’s minding the store. Right, Theo?’

‘Right.’

‘Then maybe we can get down to a couple of specifics.’ Goodman pulled a small notebook from his pocket and flicked it open. ‘On November fifteen you ran a story about the test flights of the
new FG one-one-five fighter-reconnaissance plane and some teething troubles they were having with it.’

‘Yes.’

‘Was that in line with
Intercom
editorial policy?’

‘It was.’

‘Handing NATO troubles to the Russians on a plate?’

‘No. Exposing inefficiency and negligence so that a potential weakness isn’t allowed to become a real and present danger.’

‘I see.’

And then my father made a mistake. ‘Anything anti-American about that?’ he asked.

‘Ah then, you
do
see the point, Theo.’

‘What point?’

‘The point of our asking about this particular story. No, there’s nothing anti-American or un-American about exposing inefficiency and negligence. We do it all the time, don’t we? But do we also give aid and comfort to the enemy by supplying him with chapter and verse in the shape of a list of contractors and subcontractors on the secret list? No sir, we do not. Not if we’re still the old
Intercom
, known and loved by every crackpot in the Congress. Let’s move on, Theo.’ He flicked another page of the notebook. ‘November twenty-two. Story about trouble with Soviet rocket missile fuels. What was your angle on that one?’

I knew that he was talking about the second
SESAME
bulletin now and my heart was in my mouth; but my father almost smiled as he answered. He didn’t even seem angry any more.

‘Wasn’t it obvious?’ he said. ‘Bad news for their side is good news for ours. We’re entitled to some encouragement, I think.’

‘Did you write that story, Theo?’

‘No, I did not’

‘But you said you always wrote the whole newsletter.’

‘No, Mr Goodman.
I
didn’t say that,
you
said it. I said that I
edited
the newsletter.’

‘Then who
did
write that story, Theo? Where did you get it?’

My father got to his feet. ‘All right, Mr Goodman,’ he said, ‘the ball game’s over. I’d like to be charitable. You could be too
stupid or ignorant to know that you can’t ask a question like that and expect to get a responsive answer. But though I know you’re stupid, I’m damned certain you’re not ignorant So from now on all the answers are going to be the same – no comment, get out.’

Goodman smiled. ‘Cool it, Theo. No need for the editorial high horse. I’ll put the question another way.’

‘If my daughter weren’t here I’d tell you
where
you could put the question.
How
you put it doesn’t interest me. The answer is still no comment. Now get out. Both of you.’

There was a silence. It was Rich who moved first. He got to his feet, picked up his camera and put the carrying strap of the strobe light pack over his shoulder.

My father watched him with a sardonic smile. ‘Know how to work that thing?’ he asked.

Rich did not answer for a moment; then he said, ‘Thanks for the drink, Mr Carter,’ and walked out into the hall.

To my surprise Goodman immediately rose and, without even a glance at my father, followed.

I hesitated, then went after them. Rich already had his overcoat on and was putting the camera in the carrying bag. I went past them and opened the front door.

Goodman was ready first. ‘Good night, Miss Carter,’ he said. ‘Pleasure meeting you.’

It hadn’t been a pleasure meeting him, so I said nothing. In any case he was already on his way down the stairs.

Rich’s departure was slower. ‘Thanks,’ he said; ‘we could have seen ourselves out.’ But then, in the doorway, he paused and said something else.

‘Tell your father to be careful, Miss Carter.’

‘Of what, Mr Rich?’

He shrugged. ‘It’s an unhealthy world and there are some people in it who never take “no comment” for an answer. Tell him that. Good night, Miss Carter.’

He was gone then. I shut the door and went back to the living room.

My father was pouring himself another drink.

‘That photographer just said …’ I began.

He cut me short. ‘I know. I heard. And he’s no more a photographer than I am.’

‘What is he then?’

‘Wasn’t it obvious? Central Intelligence Agency. One of the CIA’s golden boys. A spook. A bogeyman. It stuck out a mile. Bloody impertinence.’

‘Was that why you asked him if he knew how to work a camera? I thought you were just being rude.’

‘Rude? You call that rude? What about them? The oldest gag in the world and they thought they could pull it on me. And with a punk like Goodman to front for them. It’s insulting.’

‘You mean that Mr Goodman
isn’t
from the
World Reporter
magazine?’

‘No, of course I don’t mean that. He’s on the magazine all right. They wouldn’t be
that
clumsy. No need to be anyway. Lots of the newsmen string along with the CIA and do little chores for them. But Goodman! And a photographer for Pete’s sake! Gossip-column stuff. Whoever heard of an in-depth interview by a news-magazine reporter being conducted with a photographer present? Even Goodman knew how fishy that was. When he called me at the office he didn’t mention any photographer.’

‘Did he know your home address?’ I asked.

That gave him pause. ‘Oh,’ he said, ‘I see. You’re thinking about that business last night. Let me think. No. What Goodman wanted was to come to the office. I told him that it was press day and that we wouldn’t be able to hear ourselves speak. I suggested that he came here and gave him the address. I thought then that it was going to be a more sociable occasion.’

‘So all we need to know now is why the Central Intelligence Agency suddenly wants to ask you questions. Has it ever happened before?’

‘No. They’ve been mad at us plenty of times, of course. But that’s always been because we’ve made what they called “unnecessary work” for them, checking out the bees in the General’s bonnet. This is different.’

‘We still need to know why.’

He sat down wearily. ‘Okay, Val. No need to push it. I’m not stupid. We know why.’

‘The
SESAME
bulletins?’

‘What else?’

So then I told him what I had found out about N. V. Skriabin.

When I had finished he said ‘Oh, God’ and reached for more whisky.

I went into the kitchen. It was too late by then to cook properly, so I started reheating the
pot au feu
. After a bit my father came in and stood watching me while I chopped vegetables to add to the soup.

He was a little drunk by then, as I’d known he would be – not silly drunk, but prepared to be whimsical.

I didn’t mind. That night I felt like getting drunk myself. He leaned against the refrigerator.

‘You know what, Val?’ he said. ‘You know what we’re doing?’

‘No.’

‘Well, most people, people like Goodman for example, when they have a problem they make an in-depth study of it. Right?’

‘Right.’ I had heard the word too much that evening and was beginning to dislike it.

‘Right,’ he said. ‘Now we’re different. We’ve got a problem. But do we make an in-depth study of it? We do not. With us it’s an
out-of-depth
, study.’ He paused. ‘And just for laughs,’ he added slowly, ‘there’s another
SESAME
bulletin in the issue that went out today.’

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t.

My father went away then and a few moments later I heard him fumbling with the door of the bathroom.

NARRATIVE RECONSTRUCTION

December 12 to 16

Theodore Carter’s assessment of his position on the night of December 13 was an accurate one. He was indeed out of his depth.

By the end of that week so was Dr Bruchner. By then, he too had received strange callers and been involved in disturbing conversations.

Advokaturbureau
Rungholt & Winkler in Bâle is an old established firm. There are now eight partners and most of their practice is concerned with tax and corporation law. On the list of partners Dr Bruchner ranks fourth.

He remembers being interviewed by Goodman and Rich on December 12 mainly because they arrived at his office without having first written or telephoned for an appointment. He agreed to receive them only when they pleaded that they had travelled from Paris expressly to see him.

The interview was brief. As soon as Goodman’s line of questioning became apparent, Dr Bruchner headed him off by explaining that his connection with Intercom Publishing Enterprises A.G. was purely legal and fiscal and that
Intercom
’s editorial policies were not his concern. He referred them to Carter. In response to further questions he did, however, tell them of Arnold Bloch’s existence and his ownership of the shares. There had been no reason to conceal facts which were matters of public record in the Zug Register of Commerce. He practised only one minor deception on them. He allowed them to assume that his refusal to give them any further information about Herr Bloch was motivated by professional discretion. His reticence was understandable. Dr Bruchner was already finding his ignorance on the subject of Herr Bloch a trifle absurd and he was reluctant to parade
it unnecessarily. When Goodman said that they might later decide to interview Arnold Bloch personally, Dr Bruchner thought that a good idea and wished them well. After they had gone he told his secretary to buy the international edition of
World Reporter
for the next few weeks and check on it for references to
Intercom
.