Arthur Hailey - Evening News

He continued, "The way it works is that CDA News pays my salary each month into a New York account I have at Chase Manhattan. From there I move the money to accounts in other countries—the Bahamas, Singapore, the Channel Islands, where savings can interest, totally tax-free.”

"What about taxes in countries you go to—those you work in?”

“As a TV correspondent I'm never in one place long enough to be liable for tax. That even includes the U.S., provided I'm there no more than 120 days a year, and you can be sure I never stay that long. As for Canada, I don't have a domicile here, not even this one. This is solely your place, Viv, as we both know.”

Partridge added, "The important thing is not to cheat—tax evasion's not only illegal, it's stupid and not worth the risk. Tax avoidance is quite different He stopped.”Hold it! I have something here.”

Partridge produced a wallet and from it extracted a folded, well-fingered news clipping.”This is from a 1934 decision by Judge Learned Hand, one of America's great jurists. It's been used by other judges many times.”

He read aloud, “ 'Any one may so arrange his affairs that his taxes shall be as low as possible; he is not bound to choose that pattern which will best pay the Treasury; there is not even a patriotic duty to increase one's taxes. ' “

"I can understand why people envy you,” Vivien said.”Are there others in TV who do the same?”

"You'd be surprised how many. The tax advantages are a reason Canadians like to work overseas for American networks.”

Though he didn't mention them, there were other reasons, including U.S. network pay scales, which were substantially higher. But even more important, to work for an American network was to have made the prestigious "big time”and be on the exciting center stage of world affairs.

For their part, the U.S. networks were delighted to have Canadian correspondents, who came to them well trained by CBC and CTV. They had learned also that American viewers liked a Canadian accent; it was a contributing reason for the popularity of many news figures—Peter Jennings, Robert MacNeil, Morley Safer, Allen Pizzey, Barrie Dunsmore, Peter Kent, John Blackstone, Hilary Bowker, Harry Partridge, others . . .

Continuing to prowl through the apartment, Partridge saw on a sideboard the tickets for the Mozart concert the next day. He knew he would enjoy it and was grateful once more to Vivien for remembering his tastes.

He was grateful too for the three weeks of vacation—restful idleness, as he thought of it—that lay ahead.

Jessica went household shopping every Thursday morning and she intended to follow her usual routine today. When Angus learned this, he volunteered to accompany her. Nicky, who was home because of a school holiday, asked to go as well so he could be with his grandfather.

Jessica asked doubtfully, "Don't you have some music to practice?”

"Yes, Mom. But I can do it later. I'll have time.”

Knowing that Nicky was conscientious about practicing, sometimes for as long as six hours a day, Jessica raised no objection.

The three of them left the Park Avenue house in Jessica's Volvo station wagon shortly before I I A.M., about an hour and a quarter after Crawford's departure. It was a beautiful morning, the trees rich with fall colors and sunlight glistening off Long Island Sound.

The Sloanes' day maid, Florence, was in the house at the time and, through a window, watched the trio leave. She also saw a car parked on a side street start up and follow in the same direction as the Volvo. At the time she gave no thought to the second vehicle.

Jessica's first stop was, as usual, the Grand Union supermarket on Chatsworth Avenue. She parked the Volvo in the store lot, then, accompanied by Angus and Nicky, went inside,

The Colombians, Julio and Carlos, in the Chevrolet Celebrity which had trailed the station wagon from a discreet distance, observed their movements. Carlos, who had already reported the departure from the house, now made another cellular phone call, announcing that "the three packages are in container number one.”

This time Julio was driving, and he did not turn into the store parking lot, instead making observations from the street outside. Following instructions given earlier by Miguel, Carlos now left the Chevy and moved on foot to a position near the store. Unlike other days when he had been casually dressed, today he was wearing a neat brown suit and tie.

When Carlos was in place, Julio drove the Chevrolet away, in case it had been noticed, to the safe seclusion of the Hackensack operating center.

* * *

When the first of the two phone messages reached Miguel, he was in the Nissan passenger van, parked near the New Haven Railroad's Larchmont station. The van was inconspicuous, surrounded by other parked vehicles left by New York commuters. With Miguel were Luis, Rafael and Baudelio, though all four occupants were mostly out of sight because of dark, thin plastic sheets covering the side and rear windows. Luis, because of his specialized driving skills, was at the wheel.

When it became known that three people had left the house, Rafael exclaimed, "Damn! That means the viejo's along. He'll be in our goddamn way.”

"Then we'll 'off' the old fart,” Luis said. He touched a bulge in his suede jacket.”One bullet will do.”

Miguel snapped, "You'll follow the orders you have. Do nothing else without my say-so.” He was aware that Rafael and Luis were perpetually aggressive, like smoldering fires likely to burst into angry flame. Rafael, heavily built, had been a professional boxer for a while and bore visible fight scars. Luis had been in the Colombian army—a harsh, rough schooling. There could be a time when the belligerence of both men would be useful, but until then it needed to be curbed.

Miguel was already considering the complication of the third person. Their long-standing plan had involved, at this point, only the Sloane woman and the boy. All along, they —not Crawford Sloane—had been the Sendero Luminoso/Medellin objective. The two were to be seized and held as hostages for as yet unspecified demands.

But now the question was how to handle the old man? Killing him, as Luis suggested, would be easy, but that could create other problems. Most probably Miguel would not make up his mind until the crucial moment, which was coming soon.

One thing was fortunate. The woman and the boy were now together. The several weeks of careful surveillance had shown that the woman always shopped on Thursday mornings. Miguel had also known that the boy had a school holiday today. Carlos, posing on the telephone as a parent, had obtained that information from the Chatsworth Avenue grammar school, which Nicholas attended. What had remained in doubt was how to corral the woman and the boy together. Now, without knowing it, they had solved that problem for him.

When the second message from Carlos came, indicating that all three Sloanes were inside the supermarket, Miguel nodded to Luis.”Okay. Roll!”

Luis put the Nissan van in gear. The next stop, just a halfdozen blocks away, would be the store parking lot.

While they were moving, Miguel turned his head to look at Baudelio, the American in the Medellin group, who continued to be a source of worry.

Baudelio—the name had been chosen for him and, like the others, it was an alias—was in his mid-fifties but looked twenty years older. Gaunt, lantern-jawed, with a sallow skin and a droopy gray mustache he seldom trimmed, he had the appearance of a walking ghost. He had once been a medical doctor, a specialist in anesthesiology practicing in Boston, and a drunk. When left to his own devices he was still a drunk, but no longer a doctor, at least officially. A decade earlier Baudelio's license to practice medicine had been revoked for life because while in an alcoholic haze he had overanesthetized a patient undergoing surgery. There had been similar lapses before and colleagues had covered for him, but in this instance it cost the patient's life and could not be overlooked.