Authors: David Hagberg
Heartland (20 page)
“I don't mind telling you, I don't like this. Not any of it. And now you show up, wanting to talk. What is happening, Delos?”
“I was hoping you would tell me. You said big things were happening. What did you mean?”
“I was shooting off my mouth to an old friend,” Vostrikov said sadly.
Vostrikov's office was a tiny room with a large map of European Russia tacked on the wall. Vostrikov took off his jacket and tossed it aside. He poured them both a vodka, then waved vaguely toward a chair as he went to
the window and looked outside. It was a lovely, sunny day.
the window and looked outside. It was a lovely, sunny day.
“What can happen on such a day as this?” he asked rhetorically. He tossed back his drink, then turned and poured himself another, offering more to Dybrovik, who shook his head.
“What's wrong, Vladi? Why the long face?”
Vostrikov looked at him, drank his second vodka, and poured another.
“I got to thinking after you called me, you know. About Shalnev. And I asked myself, how does my old friend from Exportkhleb know the name Yuri Pavlovich Shalnev? So I called Comrade Shalnev downstairs in his office, just to ask him. He was not there, in banking. So then you know what cute thing I did?”
Dybrovik had been quite sure that Shalnev was the little man's watchdog over this entire operation, but hearing that he had an office here was startling. It
proved
the connection. Vostrikov was involved as well. He wondered what hold the little man had on him.
proved
the connection. Vostrikov was involved as well. He wondered what hold the little man had on him.
“I called Exportkhleb on a whim. Not to talk to you. No, I asked to speak with Comrade Shalnev. And of course you know he was there. I tell you, Delos, I was so frightened that I hung up the telephone without giving my name. I just hope to hell my telephone has not been monitored. I have been sitting here in fear and shame.”
Fear and shame? The little man's hold was evidently powerful. And his orders explicit: secrecy would be maintained at all costs. He had an excuse for being here, but poor Vostrikov had none for calling Shalnev at Exportkhleb.
“Please leave, Delos. Go now, before more damage is done.”
Dybrovik forced a smile. “What damage, Vladi? You speak as if there is some dark, nefarious plot underfoot here. I have come merely to discuss the transportation of the year's grain with you. There will be more than usual. Much more.”
Vostrikov nodded. “I know it all too well. We have been getting ready for months. Quietly. No one around here really knows what's happening. Except for me.” He tossed back his drink and immediately poured himself another, this time not bothering to offer Dybrovik more.
“It'll be the largest gathering of railroad cars in our history, Delos. By September all the grain will be moving. But you know all that. You know Shalnev. You must know the rest. Right, Delos?”
Dybrovik was about to correct him, to tell him that Newman's grain wouldn't begin coming until October, and it would be shipped throughout the year, not finishing until late spring or early next summer. But again something held him back.
“Where the ships will be found to get rid of it all, I couldn't begin to tell you. But the grain will be there, ready to ship.”
The grain will be there, ready to ship.
What the hell did that mean?
What the hell did that mean?
Vostrikov had turned away with his vodka and was once again staring out the window across at Lennin's mausoleum as Dybrovik got to his feet.
He had come here seeking answers, and he had found them. Only they were answers of a far different sort than he had expected. A far different sort.
The United States Department of Agriculture was housed in a large, traditional building between Jefferson Drive and C Street. Its columns and windows faced the Mall, southeast of the White House. Newman and Paul Saratt had arrived in Washington just an hour ago and had taken a cab over, sending Jacob along to the Newman Company apartment in the Watergate with their bags. At the north portico of the great building, they paid the cabby and mounted the stairs to the main floor, then took an elevator upstairs. On the way up Newman reflected on all that had happened since Dybrovik's call had been routed to him through Abex, and tried to put it into some understandable order. Cargill, Louis Dreyfus, and Vance-Ehrhardt. All direct strikes against the grain industry. He wondered if he shouldn't include his wife's defection as a blow against
himself. But if the other events had indeed been engineered by one hand (as he suspected), then Lydia's refusal to return home came only as a serendipitous benefit to the plotter. Lydia's people were hitting some of the spot markets, and there had been a minor drive for corn out of Milwaukee, but the Newman Company had been there first, and Vance-Ehrhardt's efforts were mostly ineffective for the moment. He was certain that Lydia had sent someone to speak with Dybrovik, but her mission had evidently failed, because the Russians continued to play ball.
himself. But if the other events had indeed been engineered by one hand (as he suspected), then Lydia's refusal to return home came only as a serendipitous benefit to the plotter. Lydia's people were hitting some of the spot markets, and there had been a minor drive for corn out of Milwaukee, but the Newman Company had been there first, and Vance-Ehrhardt's efforts were mostly ineffective for the moment. He was certain that Lydia had sent someone to speak with Dybrovik, but her mission had evidently failed, because the Russians continued to play ball.
“Upstairs, the reception area was very large, and tastelessly decorated with a lot of chrome-and-glass furniture. The receptionist was a youngish woman who seemed to match the place. Even her green eyeshadow was the same shade as the cushions on the furniture.
“Mr. Newman and Mr. Saratt to see Secretary Lundgren,” Saratt said.
“We have been expecting you,” the receptionist said in a syrupy voice. She picked up the telephone and pushed one of the buttons. “Mr. Stansfield, they've just arrived, sir,” she said. “Certainly.” She hung up and smiled. “Mr. Stansfield will be right with you gentlemen.”
It was a new name to Newman. He gave Saratt a questioning look, but Saratt shook his head.
A moment later, a thin, mawkish-looking man appeared and bustled directly up to them, holding his hand out as he came.
“Aubert Stansfield, Undersecretary for Foreign Agricultural Trade,” he said in a reedy voice.
“Secretary Lundgren phoned last night. Here we are,” Newman said tersely.
Stansfield was taken back by Newman's obvious coldness, but he recovered smoothly. “If you will just come with me, the Secretary is waiting for you.”
Curtis Lundgren was a small man, a full head shorter than Newman. Everything about his face suggested a supercilious attitude, from his round nose to eyes made owlish by thick glasses, to the seemingly permanent sneer on his lips. His hair was thinning although there was no gray in it, and Newman strongly suspected he used hair tint. He was dressed, as usual, in a plain blue suit, with a white shirt and conservative tie. He got to his feet and came around his mammoth desk when they walked in.
“Kenneth,” he said with a soft politician's voice, “I'm glad you could come on such short notice. I've been worried for both of us for the past few days. We just had to talk.”
“You know my vice-president in charge of operations, Paul Saratt?”
The two men shook hands. “I've heard your name. Weren't you with Cargill at one time?”
“Continental,” Saratt said. “Years ago.”
“Good company.”
“Among the better.”
Newman and Saratt followed Lundgren over to the grouping of chairs.
“Would you like me to sit in on this, Mr. Secretary?” Stansfield asked.
“By all means, Aubert,” Lundgren said expansively. “We'll be dealing on your turf, so to speak.”
They all sat down, and there was an awkward silence. Newman was damned if he was going to help them out of it. He and Paul had discussed the meaning behind
Lundgren's summons to Washington, and they had both reached the same conclusions. The man had somehow gotten wind of the fact that the Newman Company was dealing with the Russians. How much he knew about the deal, however, was going to be the crucial factor, along with where and how he had gotten his information.
Lundgren's summons to Washington, and they had both reached the same conclusions. The man had somehow gotten wind of the fact that the Newman Company was dealing with the Russians. How much he knew about the deal, however, was going to be the crucial factor, along with where and how he had gotten his information.
Two walls held bookcases filled mostly with law-books, but on the other walls were enlarged photographs of various military aircraft, including a squadron of B-52's in formation flight. A curious choice for the Secretary of Agriculture, Newman thought. In fact, they could almost be in the office of the Secretary of Defense, except for the Farm Bureau magazines stacked in three neat piles on the coffee table in front of them.
“A hobby of mine,” Lundgren said, seeing Newman look at the photographs.
“I am a very busy man, Mr. Secretary, if you could get to the point,” Newman said.
The remark stung, and Lundgren bridled. “You've jumped the gun, and it has us worried here.”
“I don't know what you're talking about.”
“The Soviet grain-trade agreement, what else?”
Newman sat forward. “You're going to have to be more specific than that.”
Lundgren smiled. “Come on now, Kenneth. You were seen by two different reliable people in Geneva on two different occasions.”
“The department is spying on me? Is that what you've called me in to tell me?”
“Get off your high horse, Newman,” Lundgren snapped. “You're well known within the trade. You were spotted in Geneva, that's all.”
“So what?”
“Dybrovik has set up some kind of operation near Coppet. The Swiss won't tell us a thing, and we can't get close enough to it to find out much.”
“Newman and Dybrovik in the same cityâtherefore they are dealing?”
“Are you denying it?”
“I'm just trying to figure out how you think,” Newman said. “Have my licenses been approved?”
“Coincidentally, they have,” Lundgren said, and Stansfield opened a file folder and passed the documents across to the Secretary. “Now that the embargo has been lifted, the Newman company is authorized to ship seven hundred fifty thousand tons of grain to the Soviet Union.” He handed the documents across to Saratt.
Newman laughed. “We've already shipped a bit more than one million tons, including soybeans, barley, rice, and wheat.”
“I see,” Lundgren said, sitting back. “Without licenses.”
“That's right. The embargo has been lifted, and you're not going to set yourself up here in Washington as the paymaster, telling each company how much grain it can or can't ship, doling out the tonnage to those who please you. We don't do business that way.”
“We do now.”
“No.”
“Are you threatening me?” Lundgren asked. “I could have all your licenses.”
“The Mexican government has already asked that I set up my business in Mexico City. I'm giving it serious thought.”
“If you will permit me to interrupt, gentlemen?”
Stansfield asked. Lundgren glared at him, but said nothing. “There have been ⦠how shall I put it ⦠some very strange indications on the foreign market over the past few weeks.”
Stansfield asked. Lundgren glared at him, but said nothing. “There have been ⦠how shall I put it ⦠some very strange indications on the foreign market over the past few weeks.”
Now it comes, Newman thought.
“Secretary Lundgren brought it to my attention the day after the Cargill elevator explosion. He wondered what effect the disaster might have on our European trade. I expected there might be some slight agitationâat least a slight bitâthat Cargill might not be able to fulfill its obligations. So I went looking.”
“What did you find?” Newman asked.
“Not a thing. That is to say, none of my foreign contacts seemed the least bit worried at first. Your company picked up some of the slack from Duluth-Superior, and Louis Dreyfus managed the rest.”
“We certainly didn't pick up any slack after Gérard was assassinated,” Saratt said.
“We found no indications of it,” Stansfield said. “But what we found curious were the bodyguards you hired. Can you explain that?”
“It was my wife's idea. She felt I might need the protection. I no longer have them.”
“Then came the Vance-Ehrhardt kidnapping,” Stansfield continued. “And Mr. Newman, please, pass my condolences on to your wife. I hope that everything works out well.”
Newman nodded. The bastards had been spying on him, or at least around him. “What has all this to do with the Newman Company? If you could just come to the point.”
“I'm coming to it, sir,” Stansfield said, but Lundgren cut in.
“Coincidental to those happenings, Dybrovik shows up in Geneva, you do too, and within weeks the corn market begins to show signs of meddling.”
“Are you accusing me of market manipulation?”
“I'm accusing you of nothing,” Lundgren snapped. “I wanted to talk to you to clear the air.”
“Of what? Clear the air of what?”
“Misunderstanding. Your license to deal with the Soviet government will be extended to one million tons, no more. So you are finished trading with them. I'm doing that much for you in return for your providing me with information about Dybrovik, and what the man is up to.”
“I don't know what you're talking about,” Newman said. “And even if I did, it would be none of your business.”
“Foreign relations are this administration's business!” Lundgren exploded.
“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.”
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.
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.”
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.”
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