‘Yes. That’s the one.’
I sit back in my chair and look him straight in the eyes. ‘I’m sorry, son. But as you just said, there are some things money can’t buy.’
He smiles, unexpectedly. ‘But I don’t intend to offer you money.’
‘Really? What would you like to pay me with?’
He puts his hand in his pocket and takes out a small grey plastic object. He shows it to me and I see it’s a digital tape recorder. ‘With this.’
Experience has taught me to remain impassive. Even now I manage to do so. Problem is, he knows all about this ability of mine.
‘What’s that, if you don’t mind my asking?’
I’ve asked the question in order to gain time, but if I haven’t gone weak in the head all of a sudden, I know perfectly well what it is and what it’s been used for.
He confirms it. ‘It’s a recorder containing the phone calls you made to the general. This tiny thing in return for that contract.’
‘You’d never have the guts to use it against me.’
‘Wouldn’t I? Try me. I can see it already.’ He moves his hand in front of him, in a gesture indicating a banner headline. ‘A true story of corruption.’
I love chess. One of its rules is that when you’re beaten you give credit to your opponent. Mentally I take the king and lay it down on the board. Then I take the contract from the desk. With a theatrical gesture, I tear it into tiny pieces and drop it in the wastepaper basket.
‘It’s done. Your commitment is cancelled.’
Russell stands up and puts the tape recorder down in front of me. ‘I knew we’d come to an agreement.’
‘That was blackmail.’
He looks at me with an amused expression. ‘Of course it was.’
Russell checks the time. I see he’s wearing a cheap Swatch. He must have sold the gold watch I gave him.
‘I have to go. Larry King’s waiting to interview me.’
Knowing him, it might be a joke. But given his sudden fame I wouldn’t be surprised if it was true.
‘Bye, Dad.’
‘Goodbye. I can’t say it was a pleasure.’
He walks to the door. His steps are noiseless on the carpet. So is the door when he opens it. I stop him as he’s about to go out.
‘Russell…’
He turns his face to me, that face everyone says is the image of mine.
‘Yes?’
‘One of these days, if you’d like to, you could come to lunch at the house. I think your mother would be very pleased to see you.’
He looks at me with eyes I’ll have to become familiar with in future. He takes a moment to reply. ‘I’d like that. I’d like it very much.’
Then he leaves the room.
I sit there for a moment, thinking. In my life I’ve always been a businessman. Today I think I made a good deal. Then I reach out my hand to the recorder and press the button, ready to listen to the recording.
It hits me immediately. I always thought my son was a lousy poker player. But maybe he’s one of those people who have the ability to learn from their mistakes.
The tape is blank.
There’s not a damned thing on it.
I get up and go to the window. Below me is New York, one of the many cities I’ve conquered in my life. Today it seems to me a little more precious. An amusing thought crosses my mind.
My son, Russell Wade, is a great journalist and a great son of a bitch.
I think he got that second aspect of his character from me.
I’m in Boston, in the cemetery where my brother is buried. I’m inside the family vault, which has been welcoming the remains of the Wades for many years. The stone is white marble, like all the others. Robert smiles at me from his ceramic photograph, on which his face will never age.
We’re more or less the same age now.
Today I had lunch with my family. I’d forgotten how big and luxurious their house was. The domestics when they saw me come in gave me the kind of looks Lazarus must have had after he had risen from the dead. There were even a few of them who’d never seen me in person. Only Henry, who walked with me to meet my mother and my father, squeezed my arm as he opened the door and stood aside to let me pass.
Then he whispered a few words. ‘The true story of a false name. Nice work, Mr Russell.
At lunch, in that mansion where I grew up and shared so many things with Robert and my parents, things were a bit awkward after being away all those years. All that silence and all those harsh words couldn’t be wiped out in a moment just by an effort of goodwill. But the food was excellent and we talked as we hadn’t done for a long time.
Over coffee, my father mentioned something he had heard. He said several people had talked about my name in connection with the Pulitzer. When he added that this time nobody would take it away from me, he smiled. My mother smiled, too, and I was finally able to breathe.
I acted as if nothing unusual had been said, and stared down at the dark liquid steaming in my cup.
I remembered the call I had made on my way back from Chillicothe. I called the New York Times,gave my name and asked to be put through to Wayne Constance. Many years earlier, in my brother’s time, he had been in charge of the foreign desk. Now he was the editor of the whole damned paper.
Over the phone, his voice had sounded just the way I remembered it. ‘Hi, Russell. What can I do for you?’
A touch of coldness. Suspicion. Curiosity.
I hadn’t expected anything different. I knew I didn’t deserve anything different.
‘I can do something for you, Wayne. I have a real scoop on my hands.’
‘Oh, yes? What’s it about?’
A little less coldness. A bit more curiosity. Plus a hint of irony. The same suspicion.
‘For the moment I can’t tell you. The only thing I can tell you is that you can have the exclusive, if you want it.’
He took a moment to reply. ‘Russell, don’t you think you’ve disgraced yourself enough in the last few years?’
I knew the best response to that was to tell him he was right. ‘Absolutely. But this time it’s different.’
‘Who can guarantee me that?’
‘Nobody. But you’ll see me and look at what I bring you.’
‘Why are you so sure?’
‘Two reasons. The first is that you’re as curious as a polecat. The second is that you’d never miss an opportunity to disgrace me even more.’
He laughed as if I had cracked a joke. We both knew perfectly well it was the truth.