Part 16 (1/2)

75.

It is the wrong way to go. But there's a right way. When a story happens, it's your own. Do you get the idea, Harry?'

'Vaguely. How - how do you make it happen, Chief?'

'By having your own terrorist group to make news for you,' said Armstead quietly. 'The existing groups won't cooperate. So we buy our own. Our own does what we tell it to do. The news it creates is exclusively our own. That could keep us Number One in New York and make us the top-selling paper in the world. What do you think, Harry? Is it harebrained? Yinger wasn't. Is this?'

Dietz was shaking his head vigorously. 'Absolutely not, Chief. It is a big idea, the biggest. A perfect concept. I think you're on the right track, but -' He hesitated.

'But what?' Armstead wanted to know.

'Can it be done?'

'It has been done - with Yinger.'

'I mean, getting a terrorist group. Where do we start?'

'With Gus Pagano,' Armstead said instantly. 'There's where we start. Presuming we still have the goods on him.'

'We have.'

Armstead smiled complacently and held a flame to his cigar. 'Then that's where we start.'

All through the night, Edward Armstead slept and awakened with the notion that he was onto something earth-shattering, a big idea that Gus Pagano could make possible. The immediate question was: Did Pagano have any important criminal connections or would he be acquainted with only the underworld small-fry? Given the important criminal connections, the more vital question was: Could he be trusted?

Then Armstead remembered the file folder on Pagano that Dietz had left for him. Having read it, Armstead knew that Pagano could be trusted. Rea.s.sured, he had fallen into a sound sleep.

Early the next morning, Armstead received Pagano in his office. Armstead knew that he would have to be frank with Pagano, but at the outset he was satisfied to nurse the informer along. They were drinking the coffee that had been placed on the desk between them. They had little in common with each other except for the fact that Pagano was on the payroll of the Reco.d, so they talked about that: Armstead was becoming increasingly impatient with the pointless chatter, and made up his mind to be direct and candid. He drained his coffee cup and put it down.

'Gus,' he said, 'I want to discuss something important with you. But I must be a.s.sured from the start of your loyalty to me.'

Pagano's beaky countenance was bland. 'You pay good. That's my loyalty.'

'I can pay better,' said Armstead, 'much better.'

'You have my complete loyalty. You mean, can you say something to me that's strictly between us?

You can.'

76.

'Not enough,' said Armstead. 'I need more. I have to be absolutely positive that you are one hundred percent trustworthy.'

Pagano sat up, curious. 'Meaning what?'

'Meaning this.' Armstead reached for the folder on his desk and opened it. 'Whenever we hire anyone, we set up a dossier on him. And we keep it up to date. When we hired you as an informant, we set up such a dossier.' He glanced up at Pagano. 'And we've kept it up to date.' He dropped his gaze to the contents of the folder once more. 'The Acme Jewelers of Lexington. There was a stickup there two years ago. There was some shooting. Ring a bell?'

Pagano made no reply. He sat sullenly staring at the publisher.

'During the shooting, in the cross fire, a customer was killed, the widow of a well-known millionaire was killed, a guard was wounded, but the guard managed to kill the stickup man.'

'What are you saying?' said Pagano. 'I've never killed anyone in my life.'

'I never implied you had,' said Armstead with feigned innocence. 'I'm merely saying a stickup man named Restell shot a woman to death during a holdup, and in turn he was shot to death. I'm also saying Restell had an accomplice. The accomplice got away. He was never caught. Because this was a big-name killing, one of my father's better crime reporters followed through. The reporter spent a lot of time with the jewelry shop guard showing him photographs of criminals on parole or with records. The guard identified one positively as the accomplice. The picture was of a man named Gus Pagano.'

Pagano did not stir, did not even blink. He remained silent.

'We could have turned this over to the police,' said Armstead, 'got a minor story out of it, and the accomplice would have wound up back in jail. For a long time, I'm sure. But my father did not want to have the paper's good name tarnished by having one of its employees mixed up in a tawdry bit of violence. My father chose to confine the information to this private dossier. I hope to keep it there.'

Armstead waited.

Pagano wriggled to reach the cigarette package in his pocket. He shook a cigarette loose, and calmly lighted it. He blew out some smoke, squinted through the smoke, and offered a half smile.

'Mr. Armstead, you want to know if I'm one hundred percent trustworthy.' He skipped a beat. 'Mr.

Armstead, I'm two hundred percent trustworthy.'

Armstead's face was wreathed in a smile. 'Good. Very good.' He cast aside the folder. 'We will never refer to this matter again.' Satisfied, Armstead was prepared to plunge ahead with no further hesitation. 'Let's begin with this,' he said. 'Do you know any gangs?'

'Gangs?' Pagano showed his surprise and relief at what he evidently regarded as an unexpected and childish question. 'Mr. Armstead, I grew up with gangs - in the Bronx, Brooklyn, New Jersey -'

'No, no,' Armstead interrupted, 'not street gangs. I am speaking of international gangs.'

'I - I'm afraid I don't get you.'

Armstead tried again. 'Terrorist-type gangs who work abroad.'

77.

'Oh, those,' said Pagano, 'like those Red Brigade kooks in Italy? Naw, I don't know any of them.'

Armstead's heart fell.

Pagano was going on. 'But international, like you said -yeah, I do have some connections to one outfit. It's not in Italy, though.'

'I don't give a d.a.m.n where it is. All right, where is it?'