“I think this meeting is concluded.” Newman and Saratt got to their feet.
“Not so fast,” Lundgren said, jumping up. “You were here before asking about Soviet crop projections. Can you explain that?”
“It was common knowledge that the President was lifting the grain embargo. I wanted some indication of the depth of trade.”
Lundgren was obviously unconvinced, and it was clear that he was controlling his anger only through great effort. “The Newman Company has shipped all the grain it is going to ship to the Soviet Union. Should we find out that you have violated this order, you will be prosecuted. Have I made myself clear?”
Newman looked at the man in disgust. “The day that this government, or any other government, regulates the grain trade to the extent it regulates nearly everything else will be the day the world’s food chain will snap. And that’s not merely my opinion, Lundgren. Ask Bunge or Cargill or Continental or any of the others; they’ll tell you the same.”
“When it comes to dealing with a foreign power inimical to the United States, every aspect of trade becomes this administration’s business. Every aspect, Mr. Newman.”
“God help us if Congress ever gives you the power to make it so,” Newman said.
“And God save us from profiteers like you,” Lundgren said furiously.
Newman wanted to punch the bastard in the face, but he held himself in check. Instead, he and Saratt turned and left the office.
“What the hell is the matter with you, Kenneth?” Saratt asked as the elevator doors slid closed.
“The son of a bitch has been spying on us.”
“So what? If he could have proved anything, he wouldn’t have called us in; he would have done whatever he wanted to do. We’re just going to have to be careful with Dybrovik, that’s all.”
“What do you think Lundgren and his crowd are going to do when it gets out?”
“It’s not going to get out,” Saratt said. “At least not our part in it. Are you having second thoughts?”
“I’ve been having second thoughts since day one, Paul. But it was either us or someone else. And so far Dybrovik has been true to his word. We’ll just have to wait and see.”
They stepped off the elevator and headed toward the main doors, only to see Stansfield rush around a corner and cross the lobby to them. He had apparently taken the stairs down; he was out of breath.
“If I could have a word with you, Mr. Newman,” he said.
“Did Lundgren send you down?” Newman asked.
“No, sir. I’d be fired if he knew I was here.”
Newman believed him. “What is it?”
“You are dealing with the Soviets,” Stansfield said, and when Saratt started to object, he held him off. “Hear me out, please. We know that you are dealing with the Soviets, we just don’t know exactly how, although I can guess. And if I’m right, then you must know that the Soviets are planning on a massive corn crop. I mean really massive. The biggest in their history. It’s no less than a major agrarian reform.”
“How do you know that?” Newman asked. He had been afraid of just that; he was afraid again.
“Satellite data. Which is one more thing I should not be telling you.”
“Why do you come to me?”
“Because I think you believe in what you’re doing, and I think you’re an honorable man. If the Russians are up to something, which we believe they are, I wouldn’t want your company to be their tool.”
Newman and Saratt looked at each other. “Why didn’t Lundgren tell us this?” Newman asked.
“I don’t know, sir. I truly do not know,” Stansfield said, and he looked over his shoulder. “I have to get back. I just wanted to make sure I caught you before you left the city.”
“Thank you,” Newman said.
“Are you dealing with the Russians, sir?” the man asked.
Newman just smiled at him.
In their taxi, heading across town to the Watergate, neither man trusted himself to speak, each lost in his own dour thoughts.
Saratt finally broke the silence. “If Stansfield is telling the truth…”
Newman nodded. “We’ll have to find out, but I have a feeling he is.”
“So what’s next?”
“We’re going to have to put it to Dybrovik.”
Saratt looked at him in disbelief. “You don’t mean to tell me that we’re going to go through with this. That you’re even considering continuing?”
“You’re damned right I am, Paul. We’re going to keep on buying futures with Soviet money. We’re not shipping much corn now; the big shipments won’t start until October.”
“And if it is a market manipulation?”
“We’ll have the futures, not the Russians. At low prices. We’ll sell on the open market.”
“The Russians would howl.”
“I don’t think so. They’d have too much explaining to do. They’d be happy to get their money back.”
Saratt fell silent again. He was still bothered.
“What’s eating you, Paul?” Newman asked.
“There’s more to this than Stansfield has told us. I’m convinced of it. Dybrovik is just too smart to try and pull another Grain Robbery. He’d have to know we’d find out sooner or later.”
Newman shrugged. He was remembering the look on Dybrovik’s face the last time they had met. The man had been holding something back. He had been frightened.
“Let’s get a telex off to him in Geneva. I want a meeting on neutral ground.”
“Athens?”
“Anywhere, it doesn’t matter. I’m going to lay it all out for him and see what he does.”
“I think we should just back out of it, Kenneth, and leave well enough alone.”
“I won’t quit. We’ll hang on a bit longer, at least until I meet with him. Maybe we can come up with some kind of a holding agreement. If worse comes to worst, we’ll sell him the futures but ship the grain to an intermediate, neutral port until we find out what the hell is really going on.”
The telephone was ringing when they got to the apartment, and Newman answered it as Saratt poured them each a drink.
It was a person-to-person call to Kenneth Newman from Lydia Newman. He took it in the bedroom.
“Lydia! God, it’s good to hear from you,” Newman said, when the connection was made.
“I talked with Coatsworth from Tri-States Security, and he told me that you had canceled your security contract,” Lydia said in a rush. There was something wrong. “He’s sending someone down from New York. They’ll be there sometime this afternoon. Stay where you are until then. Someone is trying to kill you, do you understand?”
“No, I don’t, Lydia. What the hell are you saying? Who’s going to try to kill me, and why?”
The doorbell rang again. “Hold on,” Saratt shouted.
“You’re in danger, Kenneth, please believe me. It’s Perés, he’s been crazy ever since you managed to get away.”
“You say Perés is going to have me killed?”
“No, not him—because of him!”
“I don’t understand…”
“I can’t talk any longer. I must go. Please be careful, darling. Please!”
“Lydia?” Newman shouted, but the connection was broken.
From the living room came a tremendous explosion. Glass flew everywhere and the lights went out.
“Paul?” Newman shouted, tearing open the bedroom door and leaping into the living room.
Flames were eating at a huge hole in the wall where the door used to be. Bits and pieces of tattered flesh and clothing were spread all over the floor.
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