The Miracle Part 35

"Looking for the Virgin Mary?" Trask burst out laughing. "What is this, the silly season or what? Tikhanov in Lourdes? That's plain funny."

"I think so, too. That's why I'm calling you. Because it is funny, the idea of it. But I have a reason for asking you to check on him."

"Well, if you have a reason-" said Trask doubtfully.

"Bill, please have someone ring the Soviet Emba.s.sy and find out if Tikhanov is there. Then buzz me right back. I'll be in my room waiting for your call."

"Okay, let me see. Stand by."

Liz hung up and literally did stand by. She was too restless to sit, so she stood up, and wondered if her wild hunch, based on an oddity, could be converted into a last-hour newsbeat that would save her job and save Paris for her.

She had just noted that six minutes had pa.s.sed, when the telephone rang.

Trask wasted no time. "Liz, we called the Soviet Emba.s.sy, as you requested. Yes, Foreign Minister Tikhanov is here, which is hardly unusual, since he's always bouncing back and forth. Tomorrow he will be in Moscow again."

"No." Liz had to restrain herself from crying out. She said excitedly, "Bill, don't let him get away. He's got to be detained for questioning.

"Questioning about what?"

"The murder of that French kid in Lourdes yesterday, the girl I told you about."

"Oh, that. How am I supposed to detain the foreign minister of the Soviet Union?"

"By getting the Stiett to put a hold on him until he can be questioned."

"If the Stiett were to hold him, they'd have to charge him with the crime. What evidence do you have-"

"He may have killed the girl to get back some damaging information she had on him."

"Liz, hard evidence, real evidence."

"I don't have any yet, but given half a chance-"

"Liz, I haven't quite finished what I was saying. Even if the Surete had such real evidence, they couldn't do a d.a.m.n thing about it. Young lady, haven't you heard? Sergei Tikhanov is the foreign minister of the Soviet Union. He's a top-notch diplomat visiting France. Have you ever heard of diplomatic immunity?"

"Oh, s.h.i.+t, they wouldn't invoke that."

"You bet the Soviets would invoke that. Besides, what difference, you don't have the goods in hand. Listen, stop spinning wheels. You forget Tikhanov. You keep your eyes open for the Virgin Mary. You hear me? That's an order."

"All right, boss," she said in a small voice.

"An order and don't forget it," repeated Trask. "And get back to work. Get us something from Lourdes."

She heard the loud chck on the other end, and hung up, also.

She lowered herself into a chair, bereft. Another hope for survival had been snuffed out. She was trying too hard, s.n.a.t.c.hing at anything, becoming too desperate. Shaking out a cigarette, lighting it, smoking, she tried to calm herself. There had to be something she could file from this danm place. Her thinking cap had become a helmeted Iron Maiden. There was no reach in her head, only a buzzing pain. Well, since there was no story here, what would be a story, even a lousy one, but an acceptable one? Her mind clanked slowly toward the only person she knew who might be a story. Edith Moore.

Reluctantly, Liz requested the information operator to give her the phone number of that new restaurant, or renovated one, the one now named Madame Moore's Miracle Restaurant. Once she'd obtained the phone number, Liz called it. She told the woman who answered the phone that she wanted to speak to Mr. Reggie Moore. "Tell him Liz Finch of API, the American syndicate, wants to speak to him."

There was hardly any wait at all, and Reggie was on the phone, sweet as mola.s.ses in his wrong-side-of-the-town London accent.

Liz had no taste for mola.s.ses this moment. "Mr. Moore, I want to do a story about your wife, an interview with her concerning her cure and her feelings about her imminent crowning as the new miracle woman of Lourdes. This will be a top feature for our international wire. Think she'll cooperate?"

"I-I'm absolutely positive she'll be delighted."

"All right, let's make it your restaurant at two o'clock tomorrow afternoon. We'll have tea and talk healing. You produce the body and I'll produce the story."

"Happy to do so," chirped Reggie. "Tomorrow, I agree. Looking forward."

As she hung up once more, not looking forward, Liz's mind flashed to her glamorous rival. Marguerite, and her glamorous scandal story on the glamorous Andrew Viron.

And she was left with the crumbs, the dowdy Edith Moore.

For the hundredth time Liz wanted to kill herself, but then philosophically decided that a girl's gotta live, gotta earn her keep, and make the best of it. In the interim she would go out and buy a bagful of eclairs to keep her busy.

Amanda made it back to Lourdes from Bartres in no time fiat.

She had the Renault's radio on all the way, and hummed gaily to the tunes of a French medley. On the pa.s.senger seat beside her were the original and three photocopies of Bernadette's last journal, and with the journal she knew that she had everything that she needed.

Entering Lourdes she was more aware than ever of the shops in the town, the hotels and cafes, the pious pilgrims on the sidewalks, and she realized again that on the seat beside her lay the material that would devastate the community, level it for all time. In a way she was sorry it had to be done to this French Pompeii. Even if Lourdes was a fake it had made millions of gullible people throughout the world feel better about their lot and it had given most of them hope. Nevertheless, Amanda a.s.sured herself, what she was about to do to the town would be appreciated by all the rational, civilized people on earth who wanted honesty and truth.

Nearing the Hotel Gallia & Londres, Amanda looked about for a parking place, luckily found one immediately. Grabbing the journal and the three photocopies she'd had made, she dashed into the hotel, eager to see Ken and have him read the journal for himself. She expected to find Ken on the bed, resting after another prolonged visit to the grotto.

But he was neither on the bed nor in the room. What was on the bed, instead, was a note, a sheet of stationery folded over and bearing her own name on it.

Unfolding the note, she found the handwriting barely recognizable, but realized it was from Ken. Deciphering the words, she read: Amanda, became more ill this mom. The hotel arranged for me to be taken to Centre Hospitalier General de Lourdes, 2, Avenue Alexandre-Marque, for examination and treatment Don't worry. G.o.d will look after me.

Love, Ken Amanda felt herself sag. Maybe it was too late. Maybe all her efforts, and her great find, had been for nought. Ken's potentially fatal disease was overcoming him, and now probably the hasty return to Chicago would do no good.

Amanda pulled herself together. s.n.a.t.c.hing up one of the envelopes that contained a copy of Bernadette's journal, she was immediately on the run.

Twenty minutes later, following the hotel receptionist's directions, Amanda was inside the Centre Hopitalier General de Lourdes, hurrying along the second-floor hallway until she found the number of Ken's room. There was a sign posted on the door stating "No Visitors." Ignoring it, Amanda nervously knocked. After a brief wait, the door partially opened. A woman poked her head out and gazed at Amanda inquiringly.

Amanda said, "I'm told Mr. Kenneth Clayton is here. I must see him."

The woman bobbed her head. "You are Mrs. Amanda Clayton?"

"Yes, his wife."

"One moment, please."

The door closed once more, and Amanda waited impatiently until the door opened again.

The woman, who was in street dress, not uniform, took Amanda lightly by the arm and turned her away, moving her down the hall.

"But I want to see him," Amanda protested.

"Not yet," said the woman. "I am Dr. Kleinberg's nurse, Esther Levinson, and I will explain. We will go to the visitors' room where we can talk."

"How is he?" Amanda demanded to know.

"Better, better."

Inside the shaded waiting room, Esther pushed Amanda toward the sofa, and sat down beside her.

"Why can't I see him?" Amanda insisted.

"Because the doctor is with him," said Esther. "You have apparently been outside the city-"

"Yes, but if I'd known-"

"Never mind. Allow me to give you the sequence. When Mr. Clayton felt so ill before noon, he summoned the hotel reception to get him help. The reception telephoned Dr. Berryer at the Medical Bureau, and he said that there was a sarcoma specialist in Lourdes from Paris, my employer, Dr. Paul Kleinberg. Since Dr. Kleinberg had gone to the airport to pick up a colleague, and to pick me up as well, he could not be reached. So Dr. Berryer located a resident physician in Lourdes, Dr. Escaloma, who is with Mr. Clayton right now. As for Dr. Kleinberg, after he picked us up at the airport, he dropped me at our hotel, and went off-I do not know where-to sit and confer with his colleague. In the meantime, in our hotel, I found the message for Dr. Kleinberg from Dr. Berryer. Since I had no idea where Dr. Kleinberg was, I decided to come straight to the hospital to see what was going on and to wait for Dr. Kleinberg."

"I'm so grateful," said Amanda. "But what is going on with Ken now?"

"He is being examined, and being made comfortable until Dr. Kleinberg gets the message and comes here." Esther c.o.c.ked her head, studying Amanda, and said, "I can be frank with you, can I not?"

"Please tell me what you can."

"There is only one thing to tell you, but you must already know it. I have seen so many of these cases, and I know Mr. Clayton's one hope is to have surgery. I am sure Dr. Kleinberg will confirm the necessity. But I am afraid Dr. Kleinberg will get no further than I did when I discussed the matter with your husband. He refused."

"He still won't consider surgery?"

"Unfortunately, he will not consider it. He is putting his life entirely in the hands of the Virgin Mary and her curative powers. But- forgive me if you are a believer-"

"Just the opposite."

" -- but the Virgin Mary is not the specialist I would depend upon in a case as-as grave as this one."

"I agree," said Amanda. "I've been working every day to get Ken back to Chicago and on the operating table. I haven't been able to convince him." She touched the manila envelope on her lap, about to speak of it but decided against it. "Now I think I have the means of convincing him to submit to surgery immediately. That's why I want to see him this minute."

"Mrs. Clayton, you cannot see him this minute nor for a while. When I stepped out, Mr. Clayton was being sedated. By now he'll be fast asleep."

"When will he wake up so I can speak to him?"

"Not for a couple of hours, at least, that is my guess."

'Then I'll stay right here and wait. I want to be here when he awakens."

Esther came to her feet. "Stay if you wish. I'll let you know when Mr. Clayton is awake."

Once alone, Amanda settled back on the sofa and lightly tapped the copy of Bernadette's journal on her lap. It made her feel safer. In her mind's eye she saw Ken post-surgery, restored to health and vigor, she saw the two of them at their wedding, she saw them on their honeymoon in Papeete, and she saw them a few years later with their first child, their son.

Amanda closed her eyes to shut out all else except the sweetness of what her mind's eye sought. She tried to open her eyes, but the lids were heavy, and drooped, and she closed them again. Her body, enveloped by fatigue, gradually relaxed and soon she dozed off.

How long she slept on the waiting room sofa, she did not know, but a gentle hand on her shoulder finally wakened her.

She squinted up at the nurse, the one named Esther, who was standing over her with a smile. Amanda looked around. The lamps in the room were on, and through the shutters she could see that it was night outside.

A sudden awareness of what had happened and where she was roused Amanda to full wakefulness. She sat erect.

"What time is it?"

"After eleven, going on midnight."

"Can I see Ken now?"

"No, not tonight. He will sleep through the night. Dr. Kleinberg was here after dinner and looked in on him. Dr. Kleinberg says Mr. Qayton must rest-the best thing for him-and must not be disturbed tonight. Dr. Kleinberg will return in the morning. Then Mr. Clayton will be awake, and you will be permitted to see him. Right now I thought you should be notified and you should return to your hotel and get a good night's rest yourself."

"Yes, I guess there's no choice." Amanda struggled to her feet. "How early can I see Ken?"

"I'm sure nine-thirty in the morning will be fine. By then Dr. Kleinberg will have examined him."

"I'll be here before then. Thanks for everything."

After departing the hospital, and once inside her rented car again, Amanda realized that she still had the manila envelope containing the photocopy of Bernadette's journal in hand. But since Ken would not be able to read it until morning, she decided to bring Ken one of the other copies in their hotel room and turn this one over to Liz Finch as soon as possible. It would give Liz the story of her lifetime, and Liz deserved the break.

Instead of going directly to the hotel, Amanda detoured toward the press tent and parked her car close to the domain. The streets of Lourdes were virtually abandoned at this hour. Amanda walked toward the press tent, carrying her manila envelope, reached the entrance of the tent, and went inside.

The interior was brightly illuminated, and only three correspondents could be seen at work. Liz Finch's desk was unoccupied. By this time, Liz was certainly asleep, so Amanda decided to leave her gift on Liz's desk top with a brief note to her.

Going to the desk, Amanda sat in the swivel chair, found a red pencil and printed boldly on the manila envelope: FOR LIZ FINCH, API. PERSONAL AND VERY IMPORTANT.

Then Amanda took up a piece of scratch paper and scribbled out a hasty note: Liz dear, I hit pay dirt in Bartris. Here is a copy of Bernadette's journal I acquired - the part the church didn 't see. Read iL This should give you the scoop of the year. But don't do anything about it until we talk. I'll let you know all the details. Ken's in the hospital I'm seeing him at nine-thirty. Should be able to meet you at the hotel around eleven.

Ever, Amanda.

Rereading her note, Amanda had second thoughts about leaving it open on Liz's desk. Other reporters who shared or pa.s.sed Liz's desk might be tempted to read-and possibly confiscate-the journal. Wondering where Liz received her private mail, Amanda gave the interior of the press tent more careful scrutiny. Then she saw against a side wall what she had overlooked upon entering. There were rows of what resembled tiers of safe deposit boxes-several hundred of them-and, at one end, in front of them, a plump middle-aged female in the garb of a security guard, sitting at a st.u.r.dy table, reading a book.

Hastily folding the note that she had written, Amanda placed it inside the manila envelope. Then staggering to her feet, she approached the security guard.

"Pardon me, madame," said Amanda, "but where does one leave private mail for the reporters? In those deposit boxes?"

"Yes, every accredited reporter has a locked box with his own key."

"Good. Well, I'd like to leave something personal for the American reporter Liz Finch."

"If you give it to me, I can take care of it."

The security woman appeared bland and trustworthy, but having come this far with her precious find, Amanda was taking no chances. "If you don't mind, I'd prefer to leave it in her box myself."

"As you wish." The woman had pulled out a middle drawer beneath the table and was consulting some kind of cardboard directory. "Liz Finch. Box 126." Taking out a ring of keys, the woman got up and led Amanda past the rows of safe deposit boxes. The woman halted before a stack of tiers, inserted her key in a metal box at shoulder height, and opened it. "You can put your envelope in here. It will be absolutely private."

Inside the deposit box Amanda could see some other envelopes, Dentyne gum, several packs of cigarettes, and a tin of Altoid mints. Smiling to herself, Amanda pushed her valuable manila envelope into the box.

The woman closed the box and made a show of carefully locking it. 'There you are. Now you can be sure Miss Finch alone will have it."

"I thank you very, very much," said Amanda.