The Miracle Part 28

"I'm sorry-" Zimborg's far-off voice tried to soothe her again.

"Never mind, Roy," she said, recovering. "I'll hve. I'll live to see you and thank you properly in person."

"I wish it had worked out."

"You've done your part, and I appreciate it. You're a love, and I can't wait to see you. I'll write you when I'm coming to New York."

"I hope it's soon, Gisele."

"Somehow, real soon, I promise you, Roy."

After she'd hung up on him, she realized that she was smiling like an idiot and that her heart had risen from her stomach to its familiar and happier cage.

G.o.d, this was wonderful.

No more uncertainty. There was no Talley. There was only Tikha-nov. There was Tikhanov here and in Lourdes and at her mercy.

Now to nail him.

Relis.h.i.+ng what came next, she brought the Lourdes telephone book to her lap, thumbed through it until she found the telephone number for the Hotel de la Grotte. Dialing, she wondered if she should ask to be connected to Samuel Talley's room, but decided against that. She wanted no confrontation on the telephone. She preferred to present her terms to Talley in person. It would be more threatening, more effective. She would meet with him in his room, if he was in. She would find out if he was in.

When the switchboard operator answered, Gisele asked to speak to her friend, Gaston, at the receptionist's desk.

"Reception desk," she heard Gaston say.

"Gaston, this is Gisele Dupree. How are you?"

"Gisele, dear. Never better. And you?"

"Fine. I'd like to know if one of your guests is in, the one we found the room for. You know. Mr. Samuel Talley, of New York. Is he in?"

"One moment, I can tell you." A pause. "Yes, Gisele, his key is not here. He must have it and be in his room. You want me to put you through?"

"No. I prefer to see him. I'll drop by."

Hanging up, she came to her feet, grabbed her purse, and was out the door in less than a minute.

Emerging from the apartment building, she sought a taxi. Not one was in sight. She knew that there was a taxi stand two blocks away. She made for it in quick strides. There were three taxies lined up at the curb. The familiar driver in the first one hailed her with a greeting, and started the motor as Gisele opened the rear door and climbed in.

"Hotel de la Grotte," she ordered him breathlessly. "Make it fast, Henri."

"At your service, Gisele."

Ten minutes later they swung into the blacktop driveway and pulled up before the blue and orange awning of the white stucco hotel.

Unlatching the rear door, Gisele said, "Keep your meter going, Henri. Til need you to go back. I won't be long."

The driver pointed off to the parking lot below and alongside the hotel. "I'll park down there."

"Be right back," she called, and hurried under the awning to the gla.s.s entrance door and pushed it open. With growing confidence, she went down the hall past the lobby and started for the elevators, which were beyond the reception desk. At the desk Gaston was taking a room key from a male guest and speaking to him.

Gisele was going past the two men when she caught a glimpse of the guest turning away to go to the hotel entrance. She recognized him inmiediately. The Slavic face and flowing fake mustache belonged to the estimable Samuel Talley, the professor who never was.

She skidded to a halt, put a finger to her lips so that Craston would not address her, and pivoted to sneak up on her quarry. She fell in behind her ambulatory gold mine, matching him step for step as he moved to the door.

Suddenly, she spoke. "Mr. Tikhanov," she called out.

He stopped so abruptly that she almost collided with his back. She retreated a step and waited. He had not moved an inch. He stood very still.

She wondered if he was shocked to the roots and trying to recover his composure.

"Mr. Tikhanov," she repeated mercilessly.

Because there was no denying that he was the one being addressed, he slowly wheeled around, feigning surprise. "Oh, it's you. Miss Du-pree? Were you calling me by some other name? You must have thought I was someone else."

Wearing her most innocent expression, Gisele shook her head and her blond ponytail gently. "No, I was not mistaken. It was you I wanted. Perhaps I should have addressed you more correctly as Foreign Minister Sergei Tikhanov. Now do I have it right?"

He made an effort at exasperation. "Miss Duprec, you know my name very well. We've spent enough time together. What kind of nonsense game is this?"

"I think in most countries, even yours, it is called the truth game. I suggest you play it with me. I'd like a word with you, Mr. Tikhanov."

He was beginning to show irritation. "Unless you stop calling me by that ridiculous name-I won't speak to you any further."

"I think you'd better, for your own sake," said Gisele. "I think we should sit down for a minute and talk. Please follow me."

"Really, Miss Dupree-" he protested. "I must get to dinner."

But she went back down the hall, and she knew that he was following her. She continued, without slowing, past the reception desk, and then said over her shoulder, "There's a nice little lounge here. We can have a lovely tete-a-tete in privacy."

She entered the small blue lounge as he caught up with her. He was protesting again. "Miss Dupree, I have no time to humor your foolishness. I-"

Ignoring him, she went directly to an armchair, and plumped herself down into it, reaching to draw a second armchair closer to her own. Imperiously, she gestured toward the seat beside her, and reluctantly he took it.

"You want to know what this is all about," she said in a low voice. "Now I will tell you with no embellishments. Please listen and don't interrupt. I told you once that I had worked at the United Nations. There I saw you up close briefly. I was with the French amba.s.sador, Charles Sarrat. When you came to Lourdes at the beginning of the week, I did not recognize you. But when I was taking some photographs at the grotto last Monday, I saw you and happened to take some pictures of you just as your mustache fell off, after the baths. When I compared this snapshot of you with the photograph of you in the newspaper, and some I have seen from a magazine file, I could see that the picture of Samuel Talley near the grotto and the pictures of Sergei Tikhanov were one and the same. Now you know I know-"

"A mere happenstance," he broke in, with a short laugh. "My resemblance to Tikhanov has been remarked upon before. Every one of us has a Doppelganger, a look alike, somewhere in the world."

"I wanted to be sure I'd made no mistake," resumed Gisele, relentlessly, "so I decided to check on the person you claim to be. I telephoned New York to inquire about the status of Professor Samuel Talley, a faculty member of Columbia University." She barely paused. "I had my reply from New York not an hour ago. There is no Professor Talley at Columbia, and there never has been. But a.s.suredly, most a.s.suredly, there is a Minister Sergei Tikhanov in Lourdes, France -- the foreign minister, and soon to be premier, of the leading atheistic nation on earth, now begging for health at the shrine of the most Holy Blessed Virgin. I tell myself-that is incredible. I also tell myself-it need be only between us, the two of us, if you wish it so, if you are ready to be reasonable."

Gathering up her purse, she studied his drained face, and she rose to her feet with cool poise.

Never taking her eyes off him, she said, "If you want my print of the photograph of you, and the negative, and my silence, you must pay the fair market price for my initiative and cleverness. After all, as you know, I am only a poor working girl who wants to live -- and let live. If you will bring yourself and $15,000 to my apartment -- an apartment I'm temporarily using -- at eleven o'clock tomorrow morning, you will find me there waiting to conclude our exchange. Here, I will leave you the address and apartment number." She took a slip of paper from her purse and offered it to him. He ignored it. She placed the slip on the table behind her.

"If you have the money in cash," she resumed, "it must be in francs, dollars, or pounds. If it is too much to expect you to carry around such a sum in cash, you may pay by a cas.h.i.+er's check on a Paris, New York, or London bank. If that can't be done, then mail me the sum in cash next week, and give me a place where I can send you the pictures and negatives. What do you say to that, Mr. Tikhanov?"

He sat Sphinx-like, both of his hands spread flat on the arms of his chair. His flinty face was raised toward hers. "What do I say, Miss Dupree? I say you are quite insane. I am not coming to your apartment at eleven tomorrow morning or at any other time. I will not allow myself to be frightened by your fiction-not frightened or blackmailed. If you expect me to submit to this madness of yours, you can wait till h.e.l.l freezes over."

A tough b.a.s.t.a.r.d, the foreign minister, she thought, as hard as a rock. But she was certain that there was a fissure in that seeming solidity.

"Up to you," she said cheerfully. "It's your grave-to avoid or to dig. Be my guest."

Feeling good, feeling victorious, after the encounter with Tikhanov, and free of an engagement to lead another tour, Gisele had requested that her taxi driver make a detour to the photo shop. There she had picked up another package of prints of her tourists, then hopped back into the taxi and told Henri he could now take her to Dominique's apartment.

As they drove toward the domain, slowed by the evening traffic, Gisele spotted someone famihar eating in one of the outdoor caffes. Squinting through the rear window, she made out the mop of orange hair that could only belong to Liz Finch.

As Liz slid from view, and the taxi proceeded on its course, Gisele had a sudden thought.

The probabihty that she had been victorious in her meeting with Tikhanov was still likely, but yet not entirely certain. One shadow of a doubt had cast itself over her encounter. While she did not wish espe- dally to expose the Russian leader -- her only interest was obtaining money from him-there was always the faint possibility that Tikhanov might stand firm. He was a man of peculiar character, on the surface inflexible, and he might decide not to give in to her demand for money but instead risk having his abberation of behavior publicized, feeling that he was powerful enough to ride out any storm. Gisele believed that he would not hazard exposure, yet his stubbornness might induce him to stonewall it, another one of her favorite American expressions.

If, by chance, her prospects of getting money from Tikhanov fell through, she would be left with an empty victory, with merely the knowledge that she had destroyed a Soviet leader. In that case, she would want the money from another source, and having just fleetingly seen Liz Finch, she realized that there remained a second source.

Conjuring up her first meeting with Liz Finch last Sat.u.r.day, Gisele remembered that Liz had spoken of a big story, possibly an expose of Bernadette's veracity. When Gisele, knowing the impossibility of undermining the honesty of Bernadette, the very foundation of Lourdes, had inquired if anything else might qualify as a big story, she recalled Liz Finch's reply: Thousands of people /mm all over the world have been pouring into Lourdes, and more will come tomorrow for the Virgin's encore. Maybe some of them will be newsworthy, and crazy things will happen to them. There could be a story there, too, that would be worth considerable money. Mind you, it would have to be a big story.

It struck Gisele at once that she had what Liz Finch wanted.

The foreign minister of the Soviet Union in Lourdes for a cure by the Virgin Mary.

Certainly there couldn't be many bigger stories.

Liz Finch, Gisele realized, could be her life insurance. If Tikhanov, himself, failed to come through, there would be Liz to come up with the money.

Her mind made up, Gisele determined not to pa.s.s over this opportunity. Leaning forward, she tapped her taxi driver on the shoulder.

"Henri, I think I saw someone a few blocks back that I'd like to speak to for a minute or two. You can find a place to turn around, can't you?"

Nodding, the driver swung his car into the first side street, made a short U-turn, and drove down into the main thoroughfare and began to cover the distance they had already traveled. "Where to?" he wanted to know.

"I think it was the Cafe au Roi Albert," said Gisele, peering out the window and hoping that Liz Finch had not already left.

Then she saw the mop of orange hair once more, and felt relieved.

"You can let me off here, Henri," said Gisele. "Find a place to park somewhere. I'll just be a little while."

Negotiating the foot traffic in the street, Gisele could see that Liz Finch was quite alone, relaxed in a red wicker chair, munching away at a plate of pommes/rites and sipping an iced Coca-Cola. What ghastly eating habits Americans had, Oisele thought, but she knew that she loved them nevertheless.

"Hi, Miss Finch," Gisele greeted her.

Liz looked up. "It's you. How've you been?"

"Busy as usual." Gisele pulled back a chair. "Mind if I join you for a minute?"

"Please do," said Liz. "Just having an hors d'oeuvre before dinner. Want some?"

"No, thanks," said Gisele. "How's it been going for you? Found any big stories yet?"

Liz shook her head dolefully. "Not a d.a.m.n thing, nothing but pious hymn singers in this G.o.ddam dull village. I'm just hanging around the whole eight days until someone shouts hallelujah, I've seen the Virgin Mary, which seems to me most unlikely at this point. I can't wait to get back to Paris empty-handed and be fired."

"Be fired?"

"That's something else. Forget it." She held a French fry high and dropped it into her mouth. "How about you? Got any hot scoops for httle Liz?"

"As a matter of fact, I may have. I thought I should have a word with you, Miss Finch."

"Oh, yeah?" Liz stopped eating and sat up. "You've come across something?"

"I think I have, maybe," Gisele said with great earnestness. "I was remembering, when we first met, you advised me to keep my eyes open for a big story. You told me if I found one, well, it might be worth a lot of money, and your syndicate would willingly pay. Is that correct?"

"It's true." Liz was alert now. "What have you got?"

"Well, Miss Finch, I may be on the verge of obtaining such a story-"

"And you're sure this is a big one? No diddling smalltown c.r.a.p?"

"Miss Finch, I promise you, this is not merely a big one. It is a big, big one. The biggest, and with international overtones." She paused. "Are you interested?"

"You know I'm interested in any real news, anything super big that you can authenticate. It's not about Bernadette, is it?"

"No. More timely."

Liz pressed forward. "Okay, go on."

"It'll have to wait overnight. I'll know tomorrow if you can have it."

Liz sat back. "If it works out, if I decide it is that important, if you can prove it-all right, how much?"

"In your money, $15,000."

Liz emitted a low whistle. "You're not kidding around, I can see. You're sure this one is worth that much?"

"Maybe it is worth more, but $15,000 would satisfy me."

"I won't deny that's a lot of money, Gisele, but if the story is really a blockbuster, and you have the goods to support it, I could certainly get API to pay for it. You said you'd know tomorrow. How will I know when you have it available?"

Gisele took an agency card from her purse and wrote on it. She handed the card to Liz and stood up. "That's my phone number and address. It's a girl friend's apartment I'm staying at. Call me at noon tomorrow. I'll tell you if you have it."

"I'll be calling. Fingers crossed, for both of us."

Another Americanism Gisele adored. She smiled. "Yes, fingers crossed-until then."

Striding away, toward her driver on the comer, she felt giddy about her prospects. Now not one buyer, but two.

It was in the bag, as Roy Zimborg used to say.

Having heard in the press tent that Liz Finch had gone off to a cafe, Amanda Spenser was proceeding up the street, searching in every caffe for her. Then, at last, she saw Liz up ahead sitting at a sidewalk table with some young woman. The young woman was rising, leaving, and Amanda quickened her pace to catch Liz before she left, too.

Amanda reached the table just as Liz was cleaning up the last of her French fries.

"I'm glad I found you, Liz. I was looking everywhere for you."