Black Heart, page 35
It was a supreme moment in Gottschalk's life. He tingled with the energy flooding through him, basking in the floodlights as if they were meant for him. And they will be he thought. One day soon.
Only one thing was left to make this night complete and he turned, went quickly down the steps, and into the waiting limo, reaching immediately for the telephone.
Kathleen was in New York, so her office had told his secretary when she had called, and there was little he could do about it. He asked the mobile operator to get him the number of the Parker Meridian Hotel in New York, sat back on the cushions.
Idly he thought about chartering the jet to New York to surprise her, pick her up. Part of him knew how crazy that was but it did not stop another part of him from wanting to do it. Only the thought that it would cause heavy enough waves to perhaps jeopardize his nomination deflected him.
She had not been in when he had called earlier from the fundraising dinner at the Hilton, still he had to try again. Perhaps it was late enough for her to be in. Christ, but he hated this feeling of impotence and sitting on the phone, listening to an unanswered ring made it all the worse. Angrily, he slammed the receiver into its cradle. No, he did not want to leave a message for Miss Christian. If he did that he might as well call the Washington Post with the news of his affair.
Gottschalk growled under his breath, his previous mood of elation punctured like a fragile balloon. His mind raced with thoughts of Kathleen. Who was she out with? Would they come back to her hotel room and make love? Perhaps that was what they were doing now, ignoring the insistent ring of the phone.
With thoughts of Kathleen flooding his mind he willed himself to think about 31 August, noontime in New York, he fresh from his nomination, the campaign for the Presidency in full swing. And then, on the front steps of St Patrick's Cathedral, one of the most revered and beloved edifices in the world, would come Delmar Davis Macomber's master stroke: An elite
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cadre of international terrorists taking hostages, Gottschalk
among them.
His chest puffed out in pride at the thought. What an amazing and audacious strategist Macomber was! How fortunate Gottschalk felt to have allied himself with the man. He was an
absolute genius.
Gottschalk saw himself standing tall in the midst of the ensuing chaos at St Pat's, hanging tough, emerging heroic when it was all over, being swept into the White House by the largest plurality since Nixon's first win.
His face glowed. Christ, how I love it! he thought. And he believed in it with all his soul. He could see every moment unfolding in his mind's eye as if it were a slow-motion film: each shot, gesture, expression, photograph, headline. Oh, the headlines! Gottschalk moaned as he allowed himself to revel in the
future. The press!
He was getting hard, and he shifted uncomfortably in the seat. Soon the bulge was noticeable even in the semi-darkness of the limo. The hell with Kathleen. He had not wanted her to go to New York anyway. He decided not to phone her again until she returned. He could do without her.
'Home,' he told the driver.
Immediately, an image formed of the swell of Roberta's breasts, the sweep of her legs, the quiver of the soft flesh on the
inside of her thigh.
Just another example, he thought, of events overshadowing the importance of one mere individual. It was politics at work.
Tracy called Thwaite just before they were about to leave. It was a bright sunny day and because of Tracy's imminent departure for Hong Kong and the advent of one of Lauren's infrequent days off, they had decided to drive out to the beach.
'It's about time we thought about motive,' the detective said 'I was going to ask you how you were,' Tracy said, 'but I guess I don't have to now.' Tracy had gone to the double funeral and had stood beside Thwaite. He had seen the look of hatred his in-laws had directed at the detective. They would not speak to Thwaite nor come anywhere near him. He was right. They
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blamed him and him alone for the deaths of their daughter and granddaughter. The aggression in the air had given the funeral a strange, chilling atmosphere that seemed to negate the reason for its existence in the first place. Thwaite had been stoic throughout, only breaking down at the graveside after everyone else had left, the sun beating down on his head, the wind plucking at his hair like ghostly fingers.
'I'm okay,' Thwaite said quickly. Then, after a small pause, 'It comes and goes like some weird disease I can't get rid of. Work helps. I'm glad something does.'
'You do any more thinking about Melody?' Tracy said into the phone.
'I been thinking, yeah.' He cleared his throat. 'Ever since you phoned me with that Hong Kong angle I've been going through motives. I figured it was either something Holmgren knew that got him iced or maybe something on the political side. You'd know more about that than I would. Had he any enemies?'
'Politicians all have enemies,' Tracy said. 'That's part of the territory. But I don't see anyone who'd murder him. Not in the particular way it was done. Who'd have that kind of access to knowledge of that sort? Anyway, I can't see a politician even thinking along those lines. It's too complex; too arcane.'
'Okay,' Thwaite said. 'Maybe I'm asking this the wrong way. Who had the most to gain from Holmgren's death?'
'Are you speaking politically now?'
'Yeah. That's right.'
'I'd have to say Atherton Gottschalk. He and John were at loggerheads over the upcoming presidential nomination at the Republican convention next month. It's still going to be a helluva fight but now I think Gottschalk's got the momentum, especially in light of what's been happening overseas lately.'
'Hum. Think he could be behind it? You know I can't get that bug out of my mind. Watergate and all that.'
'I see what you mean. I thought of that right away. I know Gottschalk pretty well. He's tough and he hated John all right. His entire staff did. He wants to be President very badly but then again three or four other candidates do too. I think murder's out of their line.'
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'I see.'
'What's on your mind?'
'Maybe nothing. I don't know.' Tracy heard the shuffling of papers. 'Report crossed my desk. I asked the computer to give me a list of all deaths other than from natural causes of politicians for the past six months. It came up with only one. You know a ... Senator Roland Burke?'
'I knew of him. Never met him. He was a good man. I was frankly surprised when I heard he was thinking of not going up for re-election in September. At the time, I thought that would have been a blow for the Senate and now that he's dead, I know I was right.'
'Says here he was taken out by an intruder. The Chi police
are convinced of that.' 'What was the MO?'
'You're gonna love this. Autopsy report shows death by massive cranial bleeding caused by the jamming of his bone cartilage up into his brain.'
There was so much silence on the line after that that Thwaite was forced to say, 'Tracy? Are you there?'
'I think,' Tracy said slowly, 'you ought to go out there.' 'Trail'll be a bit cold by now but I agree it's worth a shot.' He cleared his throat again. 'You think this's our boy?'
'I think it could be.' Tracy's mind was racing. 'Of course, an extremely strong man could do it but the angle has to be ' He broke off. 'Does the report say what shape the cartilage was in?' 'No. I don't see anything here.'
'Okay, I didn't really think it would. When you're down there go see the ME who did the autopsy. He'll know.' 'What'm I looking for?'
'I'd say that if the cartilage was whole we've got a shot. He'd've got the angle right, A strong man without training would've mashed the stuff to paste with the second or third
blow.'
'Right,' Thwaite said. Til see what I can dig up.' He laughed
'Don't stay away too long.'
Tracy knew Thwaite was trying to tell him to be careful 'Only as long as I have to. I'll see you.'
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Lauren was staring at him from across the room. Beside her was the wicker picnic basket they had filled with cold roast chicken, tuna sandwiches, potato salad, olives, fresh fruit and a bottle of white wine.
'What d'you think you're doing?' she said softly. Her long hair was pulled back and braided in a double line at the back of her head so that her cheekbones and lips seemed more pronounced. She wore a red tee shirt emblazoned with NYCB and a pair of white shorts that showed off her spectacular legs. 'I thought that after what happened to Douglas's family,' she rushed on, 'you'd let it alone.'
'I can't,' he said simply. 'I thought you'd understand that.'
'What I understand,' she said angrily, 'is that the two of you may get yourselves killed.'
He looked at her stolidly, aware of the tears glistening in the corners of her eyes.
'Don't you understand,' she said, shaking a little, 'that I can't bear the thought of losing you? Not now. Not after all the garbage we've cleared away. How often in a lifetime does love come, d'you suppose? Once, if you're lucky. More only if you're willing to settle. I'm not.' She moved closer to him. 'You're flying off to the other side of the world to meet God knows who and do God knows what. Did you ever think that you might not come back?'
'Nothing's going to happen to me.'
'Oh, Tracy.'
Her voice broke and he took her in his arms, kissed her softly, lingeringly.
'You're so sure.' Her voice was a whisper. And then, as a small child might, she asked, 'Why must you?'
'Because,' he said, 'I've a duty to John. I have a responsibility to see this through.'
'It has nothing to do with Kim?'
'Something, maybe. Yes.'
'I know where Kim is from. I thought you walked away from there.'
What could he say? He heard again Thwaite's voice ... some part of you enjoyed it. Was that Higure's kokoro? Was that what
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Jinsoku saw in him at the Mines? Was he hero enough to look for himself and find out? He turned his mind away.
'I have Kim under control. He's useful because he gives me access to my former outfit's resources. Don't worry about Kim.'
She pushed away from him a little. 'Don't you see? It's not Kim I'm worried about. It's you.'
Perhaps to help assuage her growing anxiety, he took her first to meet his father. That they had never met before was no fault of hers. Rather it was a function of Tracy's past relationship with Louis.
He parked the Audi on Christopher and while Lauren waited in front of the building's front door, he went around the corner to a Greek coffee shop and bought her a package of Hostess cupcakes as a surprise.
The old man was delighted to see her; he had always wanted a daughter and, in fact, Tracy's former reluctance to bring her around had in itself been a sore point with him.
Tracy quite deliberately did not tell her about Louis's illness because he wanted her reaction to him to be genuine and not a function of sadness and, perhaps, pity.
He needn't have worried. She took to Louis right away and he watched in fascination as the old man led her on a tour of the large rambling apartment.
In fact, Tracy could not know the depths to which she responded to the old man. Lauren was utterly charmed by him, feeling his warmth and concern. He was so unlike her own stern, no-nonsense father that she soon discovered a long-held ache within her chest melting like a spring thaw. In the fifteen minutes she had been with him, Louis Richter had asked more about her dancing her life in general than her father had in fifteen years. With him she experienced none of the unpleasant echoes of childhood she found deadening whenever she went home to visit her parents. Invariably those visits turned into confrontations.
Driving east on the Long Island Expressway, sometime later, she found she wanted to talk about the past. 'Why do you refer to it as Southeast Asia when you really mean Cambodia?'
Tracy gave her a look, then accelerated past a small red Fiat.
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'For a long time," he said slowly, 'nobody was to know what we were up to. Cambodia was ostensibly neutral in the war and therefore off-limits to both sides. That, as we both know, was not the case. Cambodia was harbouring tens of thousands of Viet Cong. Sihanouk made the wrong-headed decision to allow them to infest the border. He felt that by dealing with Vietnam instead of persisting with the traditional policy of distrust and hatred, he could keep Cambodia safe. He thought he could put the Communists into his country's debt and ensure Cambodia's sovereignty for the future. But he failed to understand the ramifications of his actions. He failed to take us into account. Looking at the world view was never one of his great virtues.'
'Then he should have shut the North Vietnamese out.'
'I don't know. It's not as simple as that. He felt threatened. It was all he could think of to do. But what his successors, Lon Nol, Pol Pot, leng Sary, and the Khmer Rouge proceeded to do was even worse. Their campaign of genocide and race hatred against the Vietnamese alienated them from every civilized nation and eventually resulted in their own defeat in January of
1979. It threw Cambodia totally open to Vietnamese emigres. The country has lost not only its sovereignty but its national identity. It's all gone now, drowned in rivers of blood and napalm jelly.'
He took the Southampton exit, turning south until he came to Montauk Highway. He continued east. 'In any event,' he went on, 'we were in there clandestinely.' He shrugged. 'Then, later, after I had been inside the country for a time, after I had gotten to know ... well, I think it was my shame at what we had done - not only us Americans but the French, particularly the French, the Vietnamese and the Chinese to the Khmer, to their beautiful country. We turned them on themselves, turned the country into a nightmare of blood and death.'
Lauren shuddered. They had turned off Montauk Highway just past Water Mill, heading south again to the shoreline and Flying Point Beach. It was far enough out on the Island to be relatively deserted even at this time of the year.
Back in the lee of a high dune, they were sheltered and alone. Far down the beach to the west, past a long curving slice of land,
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^
the million-dollar houses began with their cantilevered sides and glass bubble skylights.
Tracy put his hands behind his head; Lauren was beside him with the sun in her eyes. Her long lashes threw tiny shadows into the soft hollows of her face so that she looked as she did onstage.
'It would be so easy, I suppose, to say I went to Southeast Asia because there was a job to be done and I wanted to do it,' he said. 'Oh, sure, I was young enough then to believe that it was as simple as getting the communists out of Vietnam and Cambodia. But they taught us nothing of politics.'
'You were too busy learning how to kill.'
Tracy looked at her. 'First we had to learn how to survive.' He put one hand on her arm, stroked it. 'But you see they thought once we'd passed through the training they could just plunk us down anywhere and let us apply what we'd learned. It wasn't nearly that simple. And what finally drove me out was the knowledge that they'd never change. Time after time I saw them applying the same principles - their principles - to every type of situation and when they failed, as they often did, they were at a complete loss as to explain it.
'I knew what it was, of course, but they didn't want to hear it.' Tracy sighed. 'They made the enormous mistake of treating the Khmer the same way they treated the North Vietnamese. Christ, what idiots! The Vietnamese have a history of warfare and aggression. But Cambodia was a pastoral paradise, filled with Buddhism and peace. That was before the war. Now Cambodia - the old Cambodia - is dead, buried beneath the crumbling ruins of Angkor Wat. And the new Kampuchea, if you can call it that, is eating itself alive like a rabid dog.'
Lauren was shocked, her face white and pinched. 'But how could that be?' she asked. 'What happened?'
'We were out-politicked not out-fought. As usual, we backed the wrong party. It was clear to me, at least, that Lon Nol was the last person we should have endorsed. But we were attacking what we saw as the problem by rote not as a separate situation. The Khmer Rouge immediately seized on our support to convince the populace, even down to the Buddhist monks, that they the Khmer Rouge - were the country's own salvation. But
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If
the day after they overthrew Lon Nol, the anti-Vietnamese pogroms began in such force that the Khmer Republicans pleaded with the Saigon government to intervene.
'The Vietnamese army invaded Cambodia, slaughtering as they came. Since then Cambodia has known only war and subjugation.'
'And that's what's been eating at you.'
He looked away. A fishing trawler was coming down the coast, its thick black nets slung like drapery from its forked yellow masts. Briefly they heard the liquid thrumming of its diesels. Tracy longed to tell her. He knew that until he did nothing could be truly right between them. He was holding back a secret part of himself, a part that concerned her in the most intimate way. That he held himself responsible for her brother's death was a chasm he felt yawning between them. He had to span that gulf one day and make it disappear. He had to tell her.
'You know, it's funny,' he said at last, 'when I was younger I used to wonder how my mother ever married my father.'
'Are you kidding?' Lauren shaded her eyes. 'He's so wonderful.'
'What I mean is, she knew what he did ... for whom he worked. She was such a pacifist, you see. I guess she just resigned herself.. because her love for him was so strong.' He looked at her. 'Can you understand that?'
Lauren nodded. 'Of course.'
A small breeze had sprung up, the green dune grass waving like the tendrils of a sea anemone above their heads along the crest.
She was running handfuls of sand through her fingers, reclining on one elbow, her long legs stretched out, crossed at the ankles. They had both doffed their light street clothes in favour of bathing suits. Lauren's was a maillot the same creamy colour as her skin so that, from a distance, she appeared startlingly nude, beribboned only by the design of obliquely curling pink and mauve flowers at the end of their waving stalks.
