Cut and Run

Eight

U nited States Senator Samuel Ryder, Jr., was backpedaling as fast as he could.

Plausible deniability. That was what was required now.

He stared into the flames of the fire he’d built in the cozy study of his Georgetown townhouse and tried to think of ways he could distance himself from Phillip Bloch and Hendrik de Geer.

“Jesus,” one of his aides had said, handing him a copy of the Monday morning paper, “can you believe you luck? Talk about your providential accidents. You get to look like a nice guy on the front page of the Times and get her off your back at the same time. This lady was a no-win situation.”

Yes, indeed. What luck.

Which one had done it, he wondered. Bloch? De Geer? Each had so much to lose. Each was capable of giving a tiny old woman a little shove. Or having someone else do it.

Each had learned of her threat from him.

It’s not your fault! Rachel Stein had known the risks before she came to him.

Her death might have been accidental. Indeed, as his aide had said, providential.

He wished he’d hear from de Geer. There’d been nothing since their meeting outside Lincoln Center, while Rachel Stein was dying-or before? After, perhaps? Could he kill a woman and then smoke a cigar? The man was a lowlife. He could do anything. But if he came up with the Minstrel, then-at last-Sam Ryder could put an end to his relationship with Phillip Bloch, be free of him once and for all.

And if not?

Plausible deniability. That was what would be needed. It wasn’t his fault. He didn’t know. I didn’t do anything! Yes, those were the words he needed to be able to say, with credibility. Just in case.

His telephone rang. He tried to ignore it, but the damn ringing persisted. He was alone in the house, mercifully so. Cursing, he snatched up the receiver. “Yes?”

“Lieutenant.”

Bloch. “What is it? I asked you not to call here-”

“Cut the bullshit, Sam. How’re you coming with the diamond?”

Ryder stiffened, remembering the Dutchman’s warning reiterated in the car on Saturday. De Geer would cooperate, he said, on one condition: Ryder was not to mention the Minstrel, Rachel Stein, or the Peperkamps to Bloch. “If you do,” he’d said, “I will kill you.”

“Sergeant,” Ryder said carefully, “I’ve made careful plans, and I cannot have you interfering. You could ruin everything. Please, just let me handle things on my end. Look-look, I’m taking a chance, all right? Guessing. This stone might not even exist, and if I can’t come up with it, I don’t want you to blame me. I’ve told you as much as I have out of courtesy.” And if de Geer finds out… He refused to consider the possibilities. He was a U.S. senator. De Geer couldn’t touch him.

“Bullshit, Lieutenant,” Bloch said, laughing at him. “You told me because you knew if you didn’t I’d come up there and wring your fucking neck. But did I say I wanted to interfere? Just want to ask you a couple of questions, that’s all. Tell me some more about Stein’s connection to de Geer.”

“What more is there to tell? He betrayed her family and the people who were hiding her.”

“Those’re the ones I’m interested in. You say Stein told you de Geer pretended to be helping them while they were in hiding, bribing the Germans with diamonds. Where’d he get the diamonds?”

“From a stash the Peperkamps had, I believe. They were careful to keep diamonds that would be used for war purposes out of Nazi hands and offered them only to Germans who wanted them for their personal use, and-” A cold shiver ran up his spine and he stopped, hearing the dead silence on the other end of the receiver.

“What’s that name again, Sammy? Peperkamp?”

Damn. Oh, dammit to hell, Ryder thought. Well, it wasn’t his fault. Bloch had manipulated him into talking, into dropping the name Peperkamp. In any case, there was nothing the sergeant could do with this knowledge. So what if he knew their name?

“Don’t tell de Geer I told you,” he said.

“Sure, Sammy. No problem. You think they’ve got this diamond?”

Ryder said nothing, wishing only that he could be warm and safe and away, far away, from the fear that had gripped him since Phillip Bloch had called three months ago and said he was setting up a temporary camp at Ryder’s isolated fishing camp in northwest Florida. There had been nothing Ryder could do about it then or now. Bloch would do as he pleased. The only way to get rid of him-my only chance!-was through the Minstrel. It would provide Bloch the means to get a permanent camp, out of Ryder’s life. But first he had to get the Minstrel, and to do that, he had to deal with Hendrik de Geer.

“It’s about all that makes sense,” Bloch said.

Of course it was. The Minstrel’s Rough had to be in Peperkamp hands-if it existed. Rachel Stein decidedly did not believe it did. “It’s said Hendrik used the Minstrel as collateral to help us,” she’d told him in her desperate attempt to get the senator’s backing to go after the Dutchman. “But that’s nonsense. Where would he get his hands on such a stone? The Minstrel’s a myth. Hendrik de Geer has always been out for himself, and he’d promise anyone anything to save himself.”

In his own desperation, Ryder had seized on the Minstrel and decided it had to exist. It had to. And that the Dutchman could get it for him-could be made to get it for him. It was a gamble-an insane gamble, perhaps. But it had to work.

If only he knew where de Geer was now.

“I will come with the stone,” the Dutchman had said. “Wait. Do nothing and talk to no one. Otherwise you will answer to me.”

The cold shiver had developed into a cold sweat, and Ryder leaned in toward the fire. Who frightened him more? Block? De Geer? Lowlifes! His only chance was to play them off against each other.

“I want their names, Lieutenant,” Bloch said. “I want to know who they are, where they live, everything.”

“I can’t!”

“In case you fuck up, Sammy, I want to be able to go after the stone myself. So talk.”

“My God.” Ryder breathed deeply, sweat pouring down his back even though he was so cold. “Will you promise not to interfere-dammit, Sergeant, will you give me a chance?”

“Sure, Sammy.”

Bloch might have just laughed in his face; it would have been no less convincing than this empty promise. But what choice did Ryder have? He knew when he was beaten. If he didn’t talk, Bloch would come to Washington. And then what would Ryder do?

“All right,” he said stiffly, trying not to sound defeated. “According to Miss Stein, there are four Peperkamps. Johannes Peperkamp, a diamond cutter in Antwerp, is in my opinion the most likely candidate to have or know where to find the Minstrel.”

“Johannes Peperkamp, diamond cutter, Antwerp. Sounds good. Go on.”

“But he’s the main one-”

“And if he doesn’t know diddly? Then what? You said there were four. I want the other names.”

Ryder shut his eyes, tasting the salt of his sweat on his upper lip. The fire crackled at his feet. “There’s a Wilhelmina Peperkamp. She resides in Rotterdam and is a retired civil servant of modest means. I don’t believe-”

“That’s two. Next.”

“She has a sister, Catharina Fall, who lives in New York and runs a bakery. She apparently was willing to corroborate Miss Stein’s accusations against de Geer, but now with her-umm-death…” His voice trailed off. Why had he brought that up?

“Handy, wasn’t it? A loose end we don’t have to worry about.”

Sinking deeper into the couch, Ryder recalled how Master Sergeant Bloch had never been able to tolerate anything he deemed a loose end. In combat, that compulsion had saved lives. But this was civilian life. Ryder bit down hard on his lower lip, nearly drawing blood, but he told himself it made no sense for Bloch to have killed Rachel Stein or to have had her killed. It was an accident. You saw how old and frail she was.

Until now, frail had not been a word he had associated with the tough, cynical, and somehow warm-hearted old Hollywood agent.

“That’s three then,” Bloch said. “Who’s number four?”

Ryder didn’t move. He opened his eyes, and in the redorange flames he saw the pale silken hair of Juliana Fall, the dark green eyes, the curve of her breasts. Bloch wouldn’t dare touch her. She was too famous, too beautiful. “A young woman,” he said hoarsely. “She couldn’t possibly know anything about any of this. She’s not-”

“For chrissake, her name.”

“No!”

“Goddamnit, then, I’ll find out myself.”

“Don’t-no, don’t. Fall.” He put a shaking hand to his mouth, as if somehow it might catch the words as they came out and keep them from Bloch. “Her name is Juliana Fall. She’s Catharina Fall’s daughter.”

“Lives in New York too?”

“Yes,” Ryder hissed.

“Then that’s all four.”

He could hear Bloch’s yawn. “Sergeant, I’ve been more than fair to you. At least tell me what you plan to do-”

“Sammy, Sammy. I’m going to make sure you don’t screw up. Isn’t that what I always do?”