Revolution

part two

Part two

The Hotel Ste. Catherine was in the east end of Montreal, the French side of town where Victor always chose to meet Prescott, a place neither of them would ever run into anyone they knew. No one from the American diplomatic corps would even know it existed, this far from Westmount. 

Victor was already in the little bar off the lobby when Prescott walked in and sat across from him, not even taking off his coat, saying, "How do you get here so quickly, way out here," and Victor said, "What's going on, Alan?" His English perfect, no trace of an accent. 

The waitress, a young French woman, came to the table and Prescott ordered a bourbon and then caught himself and said, "I mean whiskey, Canadian Club." 

Victor drank his coffee and waited until Prescott said, "She's dead." 

"Who is?" 

Prescott was sweating, pulling off his scarf, dropping his hat and gloves on the table, saying, "Greta, in her apartment." 

The young French woman came back to the table and put down a glass of Canadian Club whiskey, a glass of water, a glass full of ice cubes and walked away without a word. 

Victor watched Prescott's hands shake as he picked up the whiskey and drink, ignoring the water and ice. 

"You're sure?" 

"Of course I'm sure. You have to help me." 

"I do?" 

"This will ruin me." 

Victor said, "You didn't do it," and after a moment added, "did you?" 

"Don't be ridiculous, of course not. But it doesn't matter, I went to the apartment, even if I just get questioned by the police that'll be it for me here, it'll be out that I've been seeing her, my whole reputation, everything." He looked right at Victor and said, "I wouldn't be any use to you." 

Victor said, "No, you wouldn't be." 

He drank his coffee looking at Prescott, seeing the man already moving on, already leaving Greta behind, someone else's problem now, his diplomat's façade returning. 

Then Victor turned away and reached to the next table, picked up a French newspaper, Le Devoir, and glanced at a young man sitting at the bar by himself. Prescott hadn't noticed the man at the bar and now Victor looked from the headline to Prescott and said, "This Tet Offensive took you by surprise," and Prescott waved it away like it was nothing. 

Victor read from the paper, "... country-wide assault completely stunned the South Vietnamese and Americans... more than 80,000 communist troops." He looked at Prescott and said, "If my French is correct," and again Prescott shrugged it off. 

Then Victor said, "You didn't perhaps leave the door open a little for this, did you?" 

Prescott shrugged and said, "As if I'd know, what kind of clearance do you think I have?" 

"It's not what clearance you have," Victor said, "it's what clearance you'll get in the next administration." 

Prescott nodded. He was leaning back in his chair now, feeling better, looking to the future and he said, "This war will be over by spring, that was the communists' last gasp." 

Victor let that go and said, "So now you can say this 'Strategy of Attrition' isn't working and send in far more troops?" 

"That's a possibility." 

"And you're not worried about losing support for that? Mr. Johnson isn't worried about the primaries?" 

Prescott motioned to the newspaper, a picture of students protesting on the steps of a campus administration building and said, "You think a bunch of hippies going 'Clean for Gene,' is going to have any impact at all? Especially now?" 

Victor shrugged and said, "I don't really understand your politics. Mr. Kennedy isn't going to try his hand?" 

"Not this time, but he will run in '72, it'll be a smooth transition, Johnson to Bobby." And then Prescott added, "Don't worry, I'll be moving up very high in my government." 

"And you're not worried about Mr. Nixon?" 

Prescott almost smiled. "Nixon is a pig, he'll never be elected president." 

Victor gave a small shrug, said, "You know best," and Prescott stood up and said, "Yes, I do," then leaned in closer and said, "So it's very important to both of us that this little incident goes away," and he turned on his heel and walked out of the bar. 

Victor watched him go, still a little amazed how quickly the man could put the death of the prostitute behind him, how easily he only thought of himself.  

The young man got up from a barstool and sat down across from Victor, saying in Russian, "Do you think he killed her?" 

Victor spoke Russian, also without the trace of an accent, saying, "I doubt he'd have the balls," and the young man, Leonard, said, yeah, that was true. 

"You have a good contact on the local police?" 

Leonard was in his late twenties, wearing a leather jacket and jeans and looking like a street-smart factory worker. He said, "Yes, a detective who buys hashish from me. He'll know about this." 

"Good, we'll keep them away from Prescott, then make this go away." 

"We should have supplied him with a girl." 

Victor said, yes, of course, "But he was here before I was, he was already seeing her. Let's just fix this." 

Leonard nodded, got up and walked out of the bar and Victor signalled the waitress and asked for another cup of coffee. He'd already decided he wasn't going to mention this meeting to his boss. 

Prescott was his mole and if he was right about the way things were going to go in Washington he'd go far - and that would mean Victor would go far, too.