'For the tremendous exclusive by the New York Record. Moments ago I heard it on the wireless.'

He stared at Ramsey. 'You mean you don't know?'

'Know what?' said Ramsey.

'Ah, you don't know. Let me be the first to tell you. In Jerusalem, the Dead Sea scrolls museum was invaded by Carlos and his terrorists earlier today. They ransacked it, made off with almost every d.a.m.n scroll. Incredible. Most daring theft I've ever heard of in my entire life.'

Ramsey stood astonished. 'Carlos and his crowd made off with the Dead Sea scrolls? I can't believe it.'

Enders laughed. 'You better, old boy. It's emblazoned over the whole front page of your own newspaper, according to the wireless. The Record has the b.l.o.o.d.y story alone. An absolute whopper of a scooperoo.'

Ramsey nodded toward the terminal window. 'I guess that explains the prime minister's no-show.

He heard the news and postponed his trip.'

'I don't think so. The Egyptians told us he would be on his way at least an hour ago.'

'Well, the news was probably radioed to his plane, and he made the plane turn back.'

Enders seemed doubtful. 'I don't know.'

'I don't know either,' said Ramsey thoughtfully. 'I'm going to try to find out. Failing that, I'm going to my hotel and take a dip in a hot tub. Thanks for the flash, Brian.' He threw the British reporter a mock salute and began to stroll away with him. 'Looks like a crazy day. The Dead Sea scrolls missing.

Now the prime minister disappearing. What's going on?'

But he had a hunch that Edward Armstead might somehow know.

Once he had checked into the Nile Hilton Hotel, Ramsey told the Egyptian bellboy to wait while he made a few purchases at the newsstand. He crossed the busy lobby to the stand, and in the shop he bought two packs of American cigarettes and three English-language newspapers. Riding the elevator to the fourth floor, he scanned the front page of each paper for details about the theft of the Dead Sea scrolls. Ramsey could find no mention of the evert, and finally realized that the papers were a day old.

Being let into his plush double room, Ramsey had something else on his mind. The lingering mystery. The prime minister of Israel had departed from Ben Gurion Airport for Cairo, and had not arrived. Tipping the bellboy and watching him leave, Ramsey tried to speculate on the mystery.

Even if he could project no logical solution, and tempted as he was to immerse himself in a bath of 140 hot water and try to arrive at some conclusion, he knew for certain what he must do first. A non-event could also be news, and his duty was to report that news or at least alert Armstead in New York to what was happening - or hadn't happened at all.

He was about to go to the telephone on the table beside the couch when it began ringing.

Surprised, Ramsey lifted the receiver, sure that it was a wrong number. It was not a wrong number.

It was a longdistance call from Paris and the caller was Victoria Weston.

'Nick, is that you?' he heard her say.

'All me,' he answered. 'How'd you know I'd be here?'

'I knew you had a reservation at the Nile Hilton.'

'But I was supposed to be at the Cairo Airport.'

'I figured you wouldn't be hanging around there any longer -'

'Then you heard the prime minister never showed up?' he said. 'I was just going to report the mystery to Armstead.'

There was a silence, and for an instant Ramsey thought that they had been disconnected. But Victoria came on again.

'You haven't heard yet? Nick, you haven't heard?'

'What?'

'The Israeli prime minister was gunned down by the Carlos gang during the theft of the Dead Sea scrolls. Then the Israeli government put the lid on that part of the happening, on the shooting. For security reasons.'

Ramsey lowered himself to the couch, stunned. 'The prime minister shot? You're kidding.'

'Heard it with my own ears on French television, a French newscaster quoting a terse government announcement.'

'What condition is Salmon in?' Ramsey wanted to know.

'No idea. Just the delayed government announcement that he'd been shot in the museum by the Carlos terrorists and was now in some Jerusalem hospital. No further details.'

'I don't know what to say,' Ramsey finally muttered. 'What am I doing here?'

'Only knows G.o.d,' said Victoria, quoting from an old profile of Time magazine's Henry R. Luce, and adding, 'In translation that means, Only knows Armstead - maybe. Don't forget he had the heist part of it exclusive.'

'Armstead,' repeated Ramsey. T better hang around until I hear from him. And the prime minister -'

he said won-deringly. 'What's happening with him?'

'They what?' said Edward Armstead, paling and rising out of his office chair, unable to believe his ears.

Nervously, Harry Dietz squirmed in the chair across from the ma.s.sive desk. 'They shot him, Chief,'

he repeated.

'They shot the prime minister of Israel? Is that what you're saying? They wounded him?'

141.

'Apparently. Because the government announcement said he was taken to hospital. The government release on that - it just came through - was curt, but according to my information, the prime minister is probably in critical condition.'

'You heard that from Pagano?'

'From Gus Pagano, yes. When he reported the scrolls operation to us, he didn't want to tell us about the shoot-out. First, because it might have revealed that someone in the gang was reporting to us.

Second, because he was uncertain whom they had cut down. But once he heard the government announcement, he phoned again with a few of the details.'

'What details?' Armstead demanded. 'How did it happen?'

Dietz cleared his throat. 'I don't know exactly, but I do know this much. Cooper and his men had just grabbed the scrolls and were about to clear out when the prime minister and some guest, with three armed guards, walked in on them. Seeing our men in masks, one of the guards immediately understood what was going on and opened fire. He brought down one of Cooper's regulars, Shields, apparently killing him instantly.'

Armstead stood unnerved. "They actually killed one of Cooper's men?'

'No question,' said Dietz. 'Pagano was certain of that.'

'What happened next?'

'The terrorists retaliated -'

'I don't like your calling them terrorists,' interrupted Armstead. He sat down behind his desk. 'Then what happened?'

'One of Cooper's boys opened up with a submachine gun -just mowed them down, the five of them, one after another, the prime minister, his guest, the three guards. They were lying there on the floor like those bodies in the old St. Valentine's Day ma.s.sacre in Chicago. Pagano said Cooper couldn't tell how many were dead and how many injured. It was all too fast.'

'And Cooper and his gang got away safely?'

'Absolutely.'

Armstead shook his head. 'Thank G.o.d for that. But they had to leave Shields, they had to leave him behind.'

'No choice. Every second counted.'

'Shields - there wasn't any identification on his body, was there?'

'None whatsoever. None of them carried any identification.'

Armstead shook his head again, unhappily. 'I never wanted there to be bloodshed.'

'There had to be sooner or later,' said Dietz in a practical tone of voice. 'Besides, our men had no choice. It was self-defense.'

T suppose you're right,' mused Armstead. 'Who will be blamed for this?'

'The Israeli government announcement has already blamed Carlos.'

142.

Armstead frowned. 'Too bad we didn't have the shooting exclusive, too.' He looked up. 'But the details of the shooting - no one has the details except us.'

'That's right, Chief.'

'Well, when's it coming off the presses?'

'Chief, it hasn't even been written yet. I just got Pagano's second call. I -'

Armstead slammed his fist on the desk. 'G.o.ddammit, Harry, get on the ball. We don't want anyone else getting it into print before us. Let's roll with it fast -another Armstead beat - another exclusive.

The full and inside account of the shooting of Prime Minister Salmon - the story of the year.' He came off his chair and around the desk as Dietz stood up. Armstead took him by the arm. 'Let's keep moving, Harry. We're on top of the world. Let's stay there.'

'I'll hustle it into print, Chief. Do I by-line it Mark Bradshaw again? We credited him with the beat on the theft of the scrolls. It would be logical for him to report on the rest of the story, the shoot-out.'

Armstead approved. 'You've got it, Harry. Let's keep him our star.'

'Okay. Oh, one more thing -'

'Yes?'

'- what about Ramsey?' asked Dietz.

'Better get Nick Ramsey out of Cairo. Bring him back to Paris to join up with the Weston girl. I think I may have something new brewing.'

Dietz hesitated at the door. 'I was just thinking, Chief. Maybe it would be wise to have a breather between stories.'

'Since when have you become cautious, Harry?'

'I haven't really, but-'

'Leave the planning to me,' said Armstead. 'When you're running the world, you don't get off.'

CHAPTER TEN.

To Nick Ramsey, riding the unusual, undulating arrival escalators in Charles de Gaulle Airport was always an enjoyable sport, like taking a roller coaster standing up, no hands. But this day, returned to Paris from Cairo before one in the afternoon, he hardly noticed the escalators. He was bemused by the violent events that had swirled about him in Egypt and the Middle East.

He reached the ground-floor luggage conveyors and sought out the one that would be delivering his suitcase and typewriter. He watched the Cairo luggage sliding down the moving conveyor belt, spotted his own rubbed black leather bag, stepped forward to catch it as it came around and lifted the suitcase free. Shortly after that he had his portable typewriter.

He was surprised to see a young woman with an arm raised motioning to him. As he arrived at the customs exit, he could see that the young woman was Victoria. Finished with customs, he could not help smiling as he approached her - she was wearing her tweed jacket over a brown silk blouse and hip-hugging beige pants, and was a dream walking - but Victoria was not smiling at all. She was dead serious, even grim.

143.

'Nick,' she said. He wanted to kiss those full red lips, but gave her a smack on the cheek instead.

He studied her expression. 'Anything wrong?'

'Nick, the prime minister of Israel - he's dead.'

'Dead?'

'He died in surgery.'

'Dammit,' Ramsey said under his breath. 'Where'd you hear that?'

"They broke in with a bulletin on French television. Salmon recovered consciousness only once before surgery. Someone told him the Dead Sea scrolls had been stolen, and told him the ransom demand. In return for the scrolls, release of the five PLO terrorists who attacked the kibbutz Kfar Hana.s.si last month. The prime minister whispered, "Never, never in a million years. The scrolls are precious to all of us, but the safety of our people is more precious.

Israel does not give in to terrorists, now or ever." And then they rolled him into surgery. And then he died.'

'That's the whole story?'