The Sky Is Falling

The Sky Is Falling Page 19

THE HEADQUARTERS OF NATO, the North Atlantic Treaty Organization, is at Building Leopold III, and over the roof the Belgian flag flies, three equal vertical bands of black, yellow, and red.

Dana had been sure it would be easy to find the information about Taylor Winthrop's premature retirement from his post at NATO, and then she would be on her way home. But NATO turned out to be a nightmare of alphabet soup. Beside its sixteen member states, there were offices for NAC, EAPC, NACC, ESDI, CJTF, CSCE, and at least a dozen more acronyms.

Dana went to NATO's press headquarters on rue des Chapeliers and found Jean Somville in the pressroom.

He rose to greet her. "Dana!"

"Hello, Jean."

"What brings you to Brussels?"

"I'm working on a story," Dana said. "I need some information."

"Ah. Another story about NATO."

"In a way," Dana said cautiously. "Taylor Winthrop was the United States adviser to NATO here at one time."

"Yes. He did a fine job. He was a great man. It's such a tragedy about that family." He looked at Dana, curious. "What is it you wish to know?"

Dana chose her next words carefully. "He left his post in Brussels early. I wondered what the reason was."

Jean Somville shrugged. "That's very simple. He finished what he had come here for."

Dana felt a sharp sense of disappointment. "While Winthrop was serving here, did anything...unusual happen? Was there any scandal about him of any kind?"

Jean Somville looked at her in surprise. "Certainly not! Did someone say that Taylor Winthrop was in a scandal at NATO?"

"No," Dana offered quickly. "What I heard was there was a...a quarrel, some kind of disagreement between Winthrop and someone here."

Somville frowned. "You mean a quarrel of a private nature?"

"Yes."

He pursed his lips. "I don't know. I can possibly find out."

"I would appreciate that very much."

Dana telephoned Jean Somville the following day.

"Were you able to find out anything more about Taylor Winthrop?"

"I'm sorry, Dana. I tried. I'm afraid there is nothing to find out." Dana had half expected Jean Somville's answer.

"Thanks, anyway." She felt let down.

"No problem. I'm sorry you wasted the trip."

"Jean, I read that the French ambassador to NATO, Marcel Falcon, unexpectedly resigned and went back to France. Isn't that unusual?"

"In the middle of a posting, yes. I suppose so."

"Why did he resign?"

"There's no mystery about that. It was because of an unfortunate accident. His son was killed by a hit-and-run driver."

"A hit-and-run driver? Did they ever catch him?"

"Oh, yes. Shortly after the accident, he turned himself over to the police."

Another dead end. "I see."

"The man was a chauffeur by the name of Antonio Persico. He was Taylor Winthrop's chauffeur."

Dana felt a sudden chill. "Oh? Where is Persico now?"

"St. Gilles Prison, here in Brussels." Somville added apologetically, "I'm sorry I could not be more helpful."

Dana had a resume of the story faxed to her from Washington. Antonio Persico, a chauffeur to Ambassador Taylor Winthrop, was sentenced to life imprisonment by a Belgian court today when he pleaded guilty to the hit-and-run death of Gabriel Falcon, the son of the French ambassador to the United Nations.

St. Gilles Prison is near the center of Brussels, in an old white building with turrets that make it resemble a castle. Dana had telephoned ahead and gotten permission to interview Antonio Persico. Dana walked into the prison courtyard and was escorted to the warden's office.

"You are here to see Persico."

"Yes."

"Very well."

After a brisk search, Dana was led by a guard into the interview room, where Antonio Persico was waiting. He was a small, pale man, with wide-set green eyes and a face that was constantly twitching.

When Dana walked in, Persico's first words were "Thank God someone has finally come! You'll get me out of here now."

Dana looked at him, puzzled. "I - I'm sorry. I'm afraid I can't do that."

Persico's eyes narrowed. "Then why have you come? They promised someone would come to get me out."

"I came to talk to you about the death of Gabriel Falcon."

Persico's voice rose. "I had nothing to do with that. I am innocent."

"But you confessed."

"I lied."

Dana said, "Why would you...?"

Antonio Persico looked into her eyes and said bitterly, "I was paid. Taylor Winthrop killed him." There was a long silence.

"Tell me about it."

The twitching got worse. "It happened on a Friday night. Mr. Winthrop's wife was in London that weekend." His voice was strained. "Mr. Winthrop was alone. He went to the Ancienne Belgique, a nightclub. I offered to drive him, but he said he would drive himself." Persico stopped, remembering.

"What happened then?" Dana urged.

"Mr. Winthrop came home late, very drunk. He told me that a young boy had run in front of the car. He - he ran him down. Mr. Winthrop didn't want a scandal, so he kept driving. Then he became afraid that someone might have seen the accident and given the license number to the police and that they would come for him. He had diplomatic immunity, but he said if the news came out, it would spoil the Russian plan."

Dana frowned. "The Russian plan?"

"Yes. That's what he said."

"What is the Russian plan?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. I heard him say it on the telephone. He was like a crazy man." Persico shook his head. "All he kept saying on the phone was "The Russian plan must go on. We've gone too far to let anything stop it now." "

"And you have no idea what he was talking about?"

"No."

"Can you remember anything else he said?"

Persico thought for a moment. "He said something like "All the pieces have fallen into place."" He looked at Dana. "Whatever it was, it sounded very important."

Dana was absorbing every word. "Mr. Persico, why would you take the blame for the accident?"

Persico's jaw tightened. "I told you. I was paid. Taylor Winthrop said that if I would confess that I was the one behind the wheel, he would give me one million dollars and take care of my family while I was in prison. He said he could arrange for a short sentence." He was gritting his teeth. "Like a fool, I said yes." He bit down on his lip. "And now he is dead, and I will spend the rest of my life in this place." His eyes were filled with despair.

Dana stood there, shocked by what she had heard. Finally she asked, "Have you told this to anyone?"

Persico said bitterly, "Of course. As soon as I heard that Taylor Winthrop was dead, I told the police about our bargain."

"And?"

"They laughed at me."

"Mr. Persico, I'm going to ask you something very important. Think carefully before you answer. Did you ever tell Marcel Falcon that it was Taylor Winthrop who killed his son?"

"Certainly. I thought he would help me."

"When you told him, what did Marcel Falcon say?"

"His exact words were "May the rest of his family join him in hell.""

Dana thought, My God. Now there are three.

I have to talk to Marcel Falcon in Paris.

It was impossible not to feel the magic of Paris, even as they flew over the city, preparing to land. It was the city of light, it was the city of lovers. It was no place to come by oneself. The city made Dana ache for Jeff.

Dana was in the Relais in the Hotel Plaza Athenee talking to Jean-Paul Hubert, with Metro 6 television.

"Marcel Falcon? Of course. Everyone knows who he is."

"What can you tell me about him?"

"He's quite a character. He's what you Americans call "big time.""

"What does he do?"

"Falcon owns a huge pharmaceutical company. A few years ago he was accused of forcing smaller companies out of business, but he has political connections, and nothing happened. The French premier even made him ambassador to NATO."

"But he quit," Dana said. "Why?"

"It's a sad story. His son was killed in Brussels by adrunk driver, and Falcon couldn't handle it. He left NATO and returned to Paris. His wife had a nervous breakdown. She's at a sanitarium in Cannes." Jean-Paul looked at Dana and said earnestly, "Dana, if you're thinking about doing a story on Falcon, be very careful what you write. He has the reputation of being a very vindictive man."

It took Dana a day to get an appointment with Marcel Falcon.

When she was finally ushered into his office, he said, "I agreed to see you because I am an admirer of your work, mademoiselle. Your broadcasts from the war zone were very courageous."

"Thank you."

Marcel Falcon was an imposing-looking man, heavyset, with strong features and piercing blue eyes. "Please sit down. What can I do for you?"

"I wanted to ask you about your son."

"Ah, yes." His eyes looked desolate. "Gabriel was a wonderful boy."

Dana said, "The man who ran him down - "

"The chauffeur."

Dana looked at him in astonishment.

Think carefully before you answer. Did you ever tell Marcel Falcon that it was Taylor Winthrop who was responsible for his son's death?

Certainly. As soon as I learned that Winthrop was dead.

What did Marcel Falcon say?

His exact words were "May the rest of his family join him in hell."

And now Marcel Falcon was acting as though he were unaware of the truth.

"Mr. Falcon, when you were at NATO, Taylor Winthrop was also there." Dana was watching Falcon's face, looking for the slightest change of expression. There was none.

"Yes. We met." His tone was casual.

That's it? Dana wondered. Yes. We met. What is he hiding?

"Mr. Falcon, I would like to speak with your wife if - "

"I'm afraid she is away on a holiday."

She had a nervous breakdown, and she's in a sanitarium in Cannes.

Marcel Falcon was either in a state of complete denial or he was professing ignorance for a more sinister reason.

Dana telephoned Matt from her room at the Plaza Athenee.

"Dana, when are you coming home?"

"I have just one more lead to follow, Matt. Taylor Winthrop's chauffeur in Brussels told me that Winthrop talked about some secret Russian plan that he didn't want interrupted. I have to see if I can find out what he was talking about. I want to speak with some of his associates in Moscow."

"All right. But Cromwell wants you back in the studio as soon as possible. Tim Drew is our correspondent in Moscow. I'll have him meet you. He can be helpful."

"Thanks. I shouldn't be in Russia more than a day or two."

"Dana?"

"Yes?"

"Never mind. Good-bye."

Thanks. I shouldn't be in Russia more than a day or two.

Dana?

Yes?

Never mind. Good-bye.

Tape ends.

Dana telephoned home.

"Good evening, Mrs. Daley - or rather, good afternoon."

"Miss Evans! It's grand to hear from you."

"How is everything there?"

"Just lovely."

"How is Kemal? Are there any problems?"

"None at all. He certainly misses you."

"I miss him. Will you put him on?"

"He's taking a nap. Would you like me to wake him up?"

Dana said in surprise, "Taking a nap? When I called the other day, he was taking a nap."

"Yes. The lad came home from school, and he felt tired, so I thought a nap would be good for him."

"I see...Well, just tell him I love him. I'll call tomorrow. Tell him I'm going to bring him back a bear from Russia."

"A bear? Well! He'll be excited."

Dana called Roger Hudson.

"Roger, I hate to impose, but I need a favor."

"If there's something I can do..."

"I'm leaving for Moscow, and I want to talk to Edward Hardy, the American ambassador there. I was hoping that you might know him."

"As a matter of fact, I do."

"I'm in Paris. If you could fax me a letter of introduction, I would really appreciate it."

"I can do better than that. I'll give him a call and tell him to expect you."

"Thank you, Roger. I'm very grateful."

It was New Year's Eve. It was a shock to remember that this was to have been her wedding day. Soon, Dana told herself. Soon. She put on her coat and went outside.

The doorman said, "Taxi, Miss Evans?"

"No, thanks." She had nowhere to go. Jean-Paul Hubert was away visiting his family. This is no city to be alone in, Dana decided.

She began to walk, trying not to think about Jeff and Rachel. Trying not to think. Dana passed a small church that was open, and on an impulse, she went inside. The cool, quiet vaulted interior gave Dana a sense of peace. She sat down in a pew and said a silent prayer.

At midnight, as Dana was walking the streets, Paris exploded in a cacophony of noise and confetti. She wondered what Jeff was doing. Are he and Rachel making love? He had not called. How could he have forgotten that this night was so special?

In Dana's hotel room, on the floor, near the dresser, the cell phone that had fallen from her purse was ringing.

When Dana returned to the Plaza Athenee, it was three in the morning. She walked into her room, got undressed, and crawled into bed. First her father and now Jeff. Abandonment ran through her life like a dark thread in a tapestry. I'm not going to feel sorry for myself, she swore. So what if this was going to be my wedding night. Oh, Jeff, why don't you call me?

She cried herself to sleep.