'I've reserved two single bedrooms for you for overnight, and you can check in downstairs when we're through here,' said Armstead, propping himself on the sofa with his martini in one hand. 'Pour yourselves drinks.'

Ramsey went to the tray atop the television set and poured himself a straight scotch. Victoria refused a drink.

Now, gathered around the coffee table, Armstead seemed almost benign. 'I received the Telex that you were on your .way here. I a.s.sume you found someone reliable, and you've arranged an interview for me.'

'We found several big-time arms dealers,' said Ramsey. 'But I think Vicky has the man you really want to meet.'

Victoria spoke. 'Everyone agreed he's the best,' said Victoria. 'He's the most important in the trade since Zaharoff. He's Helmut Middendorf in Frankfurt. I spoke to him on the phone. He'll see you, Mr. Armstead. He said he'll see you if you're serious.'

'How do I prove I am serious?' asked Armstead.

Ramsey intervened. 'By proving you have a Swiss bank account. All those arms merchants insist on that. You must have a Swiss bank account.'

T have one,' said Armstead.

'In your name?' asked Ramsey.

'In the name of Walter Zimberg.'

'The name Victoria used for you,' said Ramsey. 'Perfect.'

'When do I go to Frankfurt?' asked Armstead.

'You don't,' said Victoria. 'Mr. Middendorf went to Antibes today for his vacation. He's at the Hotel du Cap d'Antibes. He'll see you there.'

88.

'What day? What time?'

'The day after tomorrow at eleven in the morning. You go to the Hotel du Cap.'

'I've been there before.'

'If it's a sunny day, he'll be down by the pool.. He'll be poolside, in a lounge chair to the left of the clubhouse entrance, with a bare-breasted girl on a pad beside him.'

Armstead smirked. 'Rich old men with young girls, b.r.e.a.s.t.s unsheathed, that's routine for the Hotel du Cap. A number of scenes like that on the Riviera.'

Victoria looked down at the protrusion of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s against her blouse, and shook her head.

'Anyway -' She determined to return to the business on hand. 'You spot them. Mr. Middendorf described himself as a hairless -meaning bald - fat, middle-aged man wearing tinted gla.s.ses, blue jock trunks, and smoking a pipe. He'll probably be reading a Swiss magazine. You go directly to him. The bare-breasted girl will leave and make way for you on her pad. You settle down next to him and show him the deposit book for your Swiss bank account. After that you're on your own.

Don't forget, he thinks you're a buyer.'

'Good work, Victoria,' said Armstead, pleased.

'One last thing. If it isn't a sunny day, if it's not poolside weather, buzz Mr. Middendorf in his suite.

He'll be waiting one place or the other.'

'Fine, Victoria.'

'Mr. Armstead,' said Ramsey, 'maybe you'd like us to come to the Riviera with you. We might be of some help.'

'No, thanks,' said Armstead emphatically. 'As a matter of fact, I have something else in mind for you and Victoria. I have a new a.s.signment for you. I want you to go to San Sebastian, Spain, tomorrow. That's the coastal city in the Basque area.'

'I lived there one summer,' said Ramsey.

'All the better. In less than two weeks the king of Spain is going to be visiting San Sebastian for a day. I have a file of clippings on the table here. There's talk that the ETA - the Basque separatist movement - may go after him.'

'I doubt it,' said Ramsey flatly.

'Well, there could be some trouble from them,' persisted Armstead.

'Never,' said Ramsey. 'The odds are that local security will be covering every Basque who looks suspicious. I don't think anything newsy will happen.'

Armstead's reaction was one of fleeting annoyance. 'I still say the event is worthy of coverage. At least we should give it an advance buildup indicating that the king is going into a hornet's nest of potential danger. I want you and Victoria down there not so much to see if anything happens or does not happen, but to get the Record advance material on two aspects of the visit.'

'Whatever you say, Mr. Armstead,' conceded Ramsey reluctantly.

'You, Nick, I want you to find out exactly what the security setup is in San Sebastian for the king's visit. Also what the Basque separatists are up to. I don't expect them to tell you. But you can poke around, and discover what the talk is.'

89.

'I'll do my best, Mr. Armstead.'

'As for you, Victoria, I want you to find out details of the king's schedule in San Sebastian. When he will be arriving and where. Is it a ceremonial visit? Will he tour the city? Where will he stop?

Will there be any meeting with local political and religious leaders? Someone in San Sebastian should have all that for you. If you have any difficulty, get in touch with the government offices in Madrid.'

Victoria nodded. 'I'll dredge up his itinerary somehow.'

'After I've had my weapons interview, I'll come back to London. I'll be here the rest of the week.

You two file your reports with me Friday afternoon by phone. I'll be here in my suite with a stenographer. I want the royal visit treated as a news story. Nick, whatever else you come up with on the Basque separatists we can incorporate in the terrorist series. I'll take that back to New York along with my notes on my weapons interview. Is everything clear?'

Victoria stirred. 'What do we do after Friday?'

'Oh, I want you to stay on in San Sebastian until the king has come and gone. Just in case something does happen. After that, either Harry Dietz or I will call from New York and give you your next a.s.signment.'

Once Armstead had accompanied the pair to the hall, wished them well and seen them off, he returned to the living room and picked up the telephone. He dialed Pagano's room.

Pagano answered immediately. 'Gus, it's all set. Get down to the hall porter and arrange for two first-cla.s.s tickets on Air France tomorrow for Nice. Also, have him phone the Hotel du Cap in Antibes and make a reservation for two bedrooms or a suite.' Armstead repeated the name of the hotel and spelled it. 'Reserve in the name of Walter Zimberg. There should be no problem with s.p.a.ce. It's almost off season now. If there is, promise the reservations clerk a generous tip. Let's say two hundred francs. After all, anybody who's buying an a.r.s.enal can afford to grease a few palms along the way.'

At the corner of Cap d'Antibes, the Hotel du Cap, like the rest of the ancient Riviera town, lay under the yellow glare of the late morning sun.

The hour was ten minutes to eleven when the elevator came to rest on the lobby floor and Edward Armstead emerged with Gus Pagano. Armstead was wearing a striped flannel beach robe over his red trunks, his bare feet encased in thonged beach shoes, and he was puffing on a cigar. Pagano was dressed in an open-necked white polo shirt and white slacks. Without conversing they crossed the lobby to the rear exit, emerged into the hot sunlight, and descended the stairs to the wide, long footpath.

As they walked in step along the path to the pool, Armstead pointed off toward the picturesque green forest to his left, indicating a bench in the foreground. 'Wait for me there, Gus. I won't be more than ten or fifteen minutes.'

They parted company. Armstead strolled on to Eden Roc club, stepped inside the cool interior, went on between the locker room and the steward's desk. He swung left and entered the swimming pool area that stood on the cliff jutting out over the blue Mediterranean.

90.

After surveying the scene a moment - at least a dozen bronzed bodies stretched out sunbathing around one side and the two ends of the large pool - Armstead looked over his shoulder at the nearest couple.

They were there all right. No mistaking the gleaming, reddening pate of the bald German arms dealer with the fat belly hanging over his blue jock shorts, resting on a poolside lounge, cold pipe in his mouth, Swiss magazine in his lap. Beside him, on a pad, lying on her back which spread and flattened her bare b.r.e.a.s.t.s, her ample nakedness covered by no more than oversize pink sungla.s.ses and a strip of pink bikini at her crotch, was his mistress.

Armstead pivoted decisively and strolled toward them. The second he reached the foot of the German arms dealer's lounge, the German's mistress s.n.a.t.c.hed up her wisp of bikini bra and sprang to her feet. As she left, the rotund German dealer called after her, 'See you at lunch, Gretchen.'

Armstead addressed the German. 'Helmut Middendorf?'

The German removed his tinted gla.s.ses and squinted up at Armstead. 'You are Walter Zimberg, yes?' The accent was slight, the voice guttural. Middendorf nodded at the ribbed beach pad beside him.

Armstead removed his terry-cloth robe, folded it neatly, and lowered himself to the pad. He tried to make himself comfortable, and lighted his cigar once more. 'Hot today, isn't it?'

'We are fortunate for this time in September,' said Middendorf.

Armstead remembered his instructions. He reached deep into the pocket of his nearby robe, brought out his Swiss bankbook, and doubled over to lay it atop the German's magazine. Middendorf hardly gave it a glance, handed it back.

'Fine, fine,' he rumbled. 'What can I do for you?'

T require a consignment of arms. Mainly light arms for guerrillas. I'm afraid there is a rush.'

'There is always a rush,' said the German complacently. 'Of how much time to we speak?'

'One week,' said Armstead. 'One week from today.'

'The delivery point?'

'Two destinations,' said Armstead. 'One to France, outside Lyons. One to England, outside London - actually, in Wales.'

'It is possible. It will depend on the complexity of your order. You have your order, the exact order?'

'Everything spelled out,' said Armstead. His hand had dipped into his robe pocket again and withdrawn two paper-clipped sheets of folded paper. Unfolding them, his eyes held on the German's reddened bald head. 'Aren't you afraid of a sunburn, Herr Middendorf?'

'When you come to the Riviera with a beautiful young woman, you do not like to be pale white like a businessman. You like to have a tan, and appear to be outdoors healthy and vigorous. I have only five days here. I cannot waste time.' Nevertheless, his hand groped below his chair to retrieve his canvas hat. He covered his bald head with it. 'You are right. I must not overdo.' He reached out. 'Your order, bine.'

91.

Armstead gave him the two sheets of paper.

Middendorf raised his knees and placed the papers against his bare thighs. He scanned the first page, then the second, in silence. 'Very efficient,' he murmured. 'Let me read more carefully.'

He set his tinted gla.s.ses on the bridge of his nose once more. They were obviously prescription sungla.s.ses.

He reexamined the list conscientiously. He spoke as he read, almost to himself. 'The Spanish Astra - we call it the .357 Magnum handgun - the very best, great penetrating power. You request fifty with ammunition... The Skorpion VZ-61 from Czechoslovakia. Very light, serviceable. With silencers, I see. Also ammunition... The AK-47 Soviet a.s.sault rifle, the Kalashnikov. Good, very good, we are amply stocked... More Soviet goods. RGD-5 antipersonnel hand grenades... The SAM-7 Strela heat missiles, surface to air, portable, useful, jawohl.'

Armstead wanted to explain that he was having his people employ foreign-made weapons as much as possible, especially Soviet ones, to make any future raids resemble the act of a real terrorist group. He was tempted to explain the cleverness of this, but resisted because he instinctively knew that Middendorf would not give a d.a.m.n.

The German continued to mutter over the list like a connoisseur. Lovingly he read aloud, 'The German Heckler and Koch MP5 submachine gun. Ja, I can vouch for it... RPG-7 bazookas... Radio-fused bombs.' He flipped over the page. 'Mmm. What's this?' His head came up. 'Two helicopters.

Heavier equipment. Might be more time-consuming. You must have them?'

Armstead remembered that Cooper had some ingenious scheme of collecting the ransom money in Spain, one that required armed helicopters. T must have them,' Armstead said.

'These to be delivered to the private airstrip near Lyons.'

Middendorf removed his tinted gla.s.ses, wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. He was calculating the possibility. 'It could be done, through the port of Venice, at Mestre. I can deliver the helicopters, everything.'

'In one week?'

'One week from today.' He studied Armstead. 'You care to know what this will cost?'

'Naturally. I know you will be reasonable for such an order.'

Middendorf grunted. 'My friend, to me it is a small order. There are no discounts on any order.' He located a pen in the pocket of the robe lying under his lounge.' Let me add this up for you.'

For five minutes he devoted himself to pondering and jotting down various prices. Then he spent several minutes adding up the figures. At last he showed the total to Armstead. 'This is the full price, delivery included.'

Jolted by the figure, Armstead had to remind himself that this was a one-time expense only, and that he himself was now a billionaire. 'Acceptable,' he heard himself croak.

'Very well.' Middendorf neatly folded the sheets and deposited them, along with his pen, in the pocket of his robe. 'Now as to the destinations.'

'I have a colleague outside who will give you the exact details, if you'll meet with him.'