The Fourth Estate

“Good. I will give you until the end of the month to fulfill your obligations. Then I fear we may have to resort to a less subtle approach. I think I pointed out to you many years ago, Lubji, that at some time you would have to make up your mind about which side you were on. I remind you only because at the moment, to quote another English saying, you seem to be playing both sides against the middle.”

“No, that’s not fair,” protested Armstrong. “I’m on your side, Sergei, I’ve always been on your side.”

“I hear what you are saying, Lubji, but if our money is not returned by the end of the month, I will be powerless to help. And after such a long friendship, that would be most unfortunate. I am sure you appreciate the position you have put me in.”

Armstrong heard the line go dead. His forehead was dripping with sweat; he felt queasy. He put down the receiver, took a powder puff from his pocket and began dabbing his forehead and cheeks. He tried to concentrate. A few moments later he picked up the phone again. “Get me the prime minister of Israel.”

“Is that a Manhattan number?” asked the temp.

“Damn it, am I the only person left in this building who can carry out a simple task?”

“I’m sorry,” she stammered.

“Don’t bother, I’ll do it myself,” shouted Armstrong.

He checked his Filofax and dialed the number. While he waited to be connected, he continued to turn the pages of his Filofax. He had reached H—Julius Hahn—when a voice on the end of the line said, “The prime minister’s office.”

“It’s Dick Armstrong here. I need to speak to the prime minister urgently.”

“I’ll see if I can interrupt him, sir.”

Another click, another wait, a few more pages turned. He reached the letter L—Sharon Levitt.

“Dick, is that you?” inquired Prime Minister Shamir.

“Yes it is, Yitzhak.”

“How are you, my old friend?”

“I’m just fine,” said Armstrong, “and you?”

“I’m well thank you.” He paused. “I’ve got all the usual problems, of course, but at least I’m in good health. And how’s Charlotte?”

“Charlotte’s fine,” said Armstrong, unable to remember when he had last seen her. “She’s in Oxford looking after the grandchildren.”

“So how many do you have now?” asked Shamir.

Armstrong had to think for a moment. “Three,” he said, and nearly added, “or is it four?”

“Lucky man. And are you still keeping the Jews of New York happy?”

“You can always rely on me to do that,” said Armstrong.

“I know we can, old friend,” said the prime minister. “So tell me. What is it I can do for you?”

“It’s a personal matter, Yitzhak, that I hoped you might be able to advise me on.”

“I’ll do everything I can to help; Israel will always be in your debt for the work you have done for our people. Tell me how I can assist you, old friend.”

“A simple request,” replied Armstrong. “I need a short-term loan of $50 million, no more than a month at the most. I wondered if you could help in any way?”

There was a long silence b

efore the prime minister said, “The government does not involve itself in loans, of course, but I could have a word with the chairman of Bank Leumi if you thought that would be helpful.”

Armstrong decided not to tell the prime minister that he already had an outstanding loan of $20 million with that particular bank, and they had made it clear that no more would be forthcoming.

“That’s a good idea, Yitzhak. But don’t you bother, I can contact him myself,” he added, trying to sound cheerful.