After all, she had been the mistress of Armstead's father. Yet, in the unlighted entry hall, attired in Oriental kimono and pajamas, her features smooth, her flaxen hair as long and light blond as Victoria's own, she seemed astonishingly girlish.

'The guard downstairs told me you were with the paper,' Kim said.

'I am,' said Victoria.

'What do you want with me?'

'I'd like to speak to you briefly, if I may.'

219.

Kim Nesbit remained suspicious. 'What about?'

Victoria felt uneasy, but knew she would have to be forthright. T understand you're a friend of Mr.

Armstead.'

'Friend, ha. Maybe I am a friend. What about it?'

For the first time Victoria sensed that Kim might be drunk. 'I hoped that I could discuss him with you.'

'This isn't an interview, is it?'

'No, it's something personal,' Victoria said hastily. 'It's really something I'd like to discuss with you in private.'

Kim looked her over. 'Ed didn't knock you up, did he?'

'Oh, G.o.d, no. Nothing like that.'

'All right,' said Kim grudgingly, 'come on in.'

Victoria walked past Kim through the dark entry, to be blinded by the white brightness of the large living room. Kim, behind her, said, 'Sit down anywhere. Would you like a drink?'

Victoria shook her head. 'No, thanks.'

There were three pillow-strewn green sofas, and Victoria chose the one to her left. She watched Kim go to the bar, retrieve a half-finished drink, come toward her. Victoria could see that the woman's gait was unsteady, and the harsh lighting in the living room had aged her considerably.

She was disheveled, and there were lines of discontent in her face.

Kim sat down on the middle sofa, took a slow swallow from her gla.s.s, and set it on the coffee table.

'What about Ed Armstead?' said Kim. 'What do you want to know, and why?'

Victoria's fingers worried her purse. 'I'm not sure how to begin,' Victoria said.

'Just begin,' said Kim.

'I work for Edward Armstead, as you know. I'm one of the new reporters at the Record. I went to Europe for him, with another reporter, to research a series on modern-day terrorism, and some other stories. During that period, and recently, a lot of things happened that made me worry a little.'

'Worry about what?'

'About Mr. Armstead himself. I - I don't know how to say it. I want to be honest with you, but I'm a little afraid. I'm afraid you might repeat to Mr. Armstead what I have to tell you.'

'And he'll fire you?'

'Something like that.'

'I don't know what you have on your mind, or if I can help you with it. But one thing for sure. You can be as honest as you like. You don't have to worry about me repeating anything. Repeat anything? I'm not speaking to the b.a.s.t.a.r.d anymore. I hate his guts.' She picked up her gla.s.s, took another swallow. 'What's the b.a.s.t.a.r.d done to you? Go ahead, tell me.'

220.

'Nothing. He's done nothing to me personally. But I am concerned about what he may be doing to other people.'

Kim seemed to have misunderstood. 'He's done plenty to me, to his wife and to me. Neglecting us, abusing us. He's a b.a.s.t.a.r.d. Most people don't know it, but he's a real b.a.s.t.a.r.d.'

'I don't know anything about that,' said Victoria. 'I meant, the way he's been treating people worldwide. The harm he may be doing them. I'm referring to his interest in terrorism. He seems to be close to terrorists, possibly condoning, possibly even inspiring, some of their activities.

Certainly, he knows more about each recent terrorist act than anyone else. He seems to be writing about it as it happens. He's the first in print with each event. It leads me to believe he has some terrorist connection.'

Victoria had been more direct than she had intended, but she felt that she could trust this woman, and was now relieved that she had put it on the line. She waited for Kim's reply.

Kim was finishing her drink. 'Terrorists' mumbled Kim vaguely. 'You think he has something to do with them?'

T want to know what you think, Miss Nesbit.'

Kim contemplated her empty gla.s.s. 'Power,' she said. 'He likes it. He'd trample on anyone for power.'

'Do you mean that?'

'He'd do anything for power.'

'Like what?'

'He'd kill for power.'

Victoria was not sure that Kim was sober enough to know what she was saying. 'Can you prove it?'

Victoria asked.

Kim relapsed into silence for a spell. 'I can tell you plenty -' she muttered. She raised her head. '- but I won't.'

'You won't?'

'I can't.' With effort, she managed to rise. 'You better go.' She headed to the bar, weaving, to pour another drink.

Victoria came up swiftly and followed her. 'If you don't feel well, maybe we can talk another time.'

Kim set her gla.s.s on the bar. 'Another time, yes. I'm going to lie down.'

Victoria was scribbling on her pad. She tore the page out and pushed it into Kim's hand. 'Let me give you my address and phone number,' Victoria said. 'I'll be there almost every evening.' She sought Kim's attention. 'I hope you consider what we've been discussing, and get in touch with me.'

'Maybe,' said Kim. 'Good-bye.'

Entering the luxurious lobby of the On Fifth Towers, Victoria went straight to the uniformed guard at the table.

221.

She had to make sure that Armstead was not in the apartment. 'Has Mr. Armstead come home yet?'

she inquired. Flipping open her red wallet, she showed her press pa.s.s. 'I'm with Armstead Communications.'

'Not yet. Mr. Armstead's not back yet.'

'Actually, it's Mrs. Armstead I want to see. Is she in?'

'She's always in.' The guard reached for the phone. 'Who should I say is calling?'

'Miss Weston. I work for Mr. Armstead's newspaper, the Record. Say - say I have something to deliver to Mrs. Armstead.'

The guard rang up, repeated the message, listened, nodded at the phone and hung up. 'Okay, Miss Weston. Go on up to the penthouse.'

Ascending in the noiseless elevator, Victoria knew that all her hopes for a lead were pinned on Hannah Armstead. The session with Kim Nesbit had been futile. She had probably been too intoxicated to understand anything Victoria had said to her. Kim had definitely been hostile to her lover, yet too frightened to reveal any information. Too frightened or too drunk. Hannah would be another matter. Nick had advised her that the Armsteads got on badly. At the same time, Hannah was Armstead's wife, and no matter how she felt about him, she might be more protective. Victoria knew she would have to proceed with care.

There was only one apartment on the penthouse floor, and the grand entrance door off the elevator bore a single word lettered in bra.s.s: armstead.

Getting up her courage, Victoria pressed the doorbell. She could hear the faint chimes inside.

She hoped that Hannah herself would answer the doorbell. At first, no one answered. Victoria was about to ring the bell again when the door opened.

A flat-faced, brawny woman - she appeared to be of Nordic or Germanic origin - wearing a starched white nurse's outfit, filled the entry s.p.a.ce.

'Yes?' she said.

'I'm with Armstead Communications,' said Victoria, 'and I'm supposed to see Hannah Armstead.'

'Sorry, miss. You picked the wrong day. Doctor's orders are, she's to have no visitors today.'

'This is a personal matter. Mrs. Armstead would consider it vital.'

'Not today, miss. I've got to obey the doctor.'

'Is Mrs. Armstead ill?'

'After breakfast, she suffered a severe attack of ptomaine poisoning. They had to use a stomach pump on her.'

'Will she be all right?'

'She can thank the Good Lord. They got it all out in time.

She's recovering, but she's weak, and not allowed to see anybody for a day or two.'

With a sigh of relief that Hannah had survived, Victoria said, 'I'd like to leave her a personal note.

Do you mind giving her one?'

222.

'No harm in that,' said the nurse.

'Just give me a second-' Victoria found her pad and pen, realizing she would have to take a chance with what she wrote. She saw no choice. So she wrote, 'I work for your husband. Must see you privately about him. Utmost importance. Please don't let him see note or my name. Thanks.

Victoria Weston.' Beneath her name, she printed her apartment telephone number.

Tearing off the slip, she folded it and gave it to the nurse. 'This is for Hannah Armstead. For her eyes only. No one else is to see it.'

'Whatever you say, miss.'

'You don't know how much I appreciate this.'

Starting for the elevator, Victoria changed her mind about riding it down. There was always the chance that she might run into Edward Armstead riding it up. The one person she wanted to avoid right now was Armstead. She detoured toward the staircase.

Going down the steps, she realized that she should hurry if she wanted to get back to her apartment in time for the call from Sid Lukas in Paris. But then she slowed.

Somehow, Carlos didn't matter anymore.

Victoria was after bigger game.

In his Sherry Netherland bedroom, Harry Dietz, fully dressed, had propped the pillows of his bed against the headboard and reclined against them as he began to scan the first edition of tomorrow's New York Times. He liked to pay attention to what the opposition was doing daily, yet this evening he was barely attentive to the print.

The telephone at his bedside should have rung at least an hour or more ago. But there had not been a sound from it. Gus Pagano's call was long overdue. Dietz was an efficient man who expected efficiency in others. Pagano's tardiness was inexplicable, unless something had gone wrong. Dietz began to worry.

That instant, he heard the welcome jingle of the telephone. He took up the receiver.

'h.e.l.lo,' he said anxiously.

'It's Gus.'

'About time,' said Dietz with mingled irritation and relief. 'The job finished?'

'Finished, h.e.l.l,' said Pagano, revealing his own irritation, 'it's not even started.'

Dietz sat up on the bed. 'What do you mean?'

'I thought you told me the blond was heading straight back to her apartment at West Seventy-third.'

'She was. I even checked the garage. She signed out a company car over an hour and a half ago.

She was going to her apartment.'