PAUL BRYAN'S JOURNAL
From the diary about this episode:
en route - Paris
Sunday, May 1
Today would have been our first wedding anniversary, and before flying out to Paris, Kate and I went to the beautiful Franciscan monastery just outside Rio Santos, and recited wedding vows.
Rather than being a source of happiness or comfort, however, the gravity of this exchange under dark circumstances seemed to disintegrate all the joy we'd felt yesterday.
But then, it wasn't a real wedding, and that was probably what made it so sad. It was an emotional experience, and when I said, “I thee wed,” instead of using Kate's engagement ring as she'd expected, I placed my grandmother's wedding band on her finger, and after that, we were mostly silent until we left the captivating atmosphere of the garden, and joined the world again.
The worst kind of pain, which only hits from time to time, and is usually dispersed by distraction, has hung in the air through this flight to Paris, and we've found it difficult to talk.
Finally, I told Katie how much I admired her strength, and repeated what a support she has been to me.
Maybe it was just a weak moment from the morning's moving ceremony, but in response, she buried her head into my chest, and murmured that since the first day she knew, she'd cried herself to sleep every night - including all those we'd been together, always waiting until I was asleep to let the tears fall.
The broken pieces of my heart shattered then, and I told her what I've been wanting to say for a long while now, that when I know that the end is near, I want us to marry officially, in Rome, and asked her if she would.
Kate touched my face, and said, “of course,” and we will start making arrangements now, when it seems like some distant time in the future.
There is something about time being a kind of healer, and this flight has been so interminable that it slowly brought us out of the dark place into something a little better. We are together.
That means so much, and passing this marker on our journey, we began to go back to cherishing instead of regretting.
Even though Paris is my only real home now, going there with Kate frightens me a little. The idea that we would run into Armand or Nicole, and something might come between us.
Just as I had started to come to a point of looking forward to our vacation in France, spending the night together in my apartment, signing the big contract with the FIA for Formula 1 …. all the glow of the moment was turned to pitch black darkness.
Pete and June were there to meet us at the airport, and we could tell, as soon as we saw their faces that something was wrong. It was nonetheless little preparation for their news.
My dear friend and mentor, the man who had nurtured my faint political ambitions into what he said was a solid bid for Attorney General - and beyond, - was dead.
Kate embraced me, but I needed the weak Pete's support as well, to stand for a moment as everything seemed to go black. Dwight was killed in an auto accident, somewhere in the Midwest while campaigning for the anti-gambling amendment.
Pete and June knew little more, but had gotten a call just before leaving her apartment. It had been Marcella looking for me, and then came more calls from June's mother and Pete's father.
Now we have to go through all the falderal tomorrow. How I'd looked forward to it like a kid at Christmas. But, at this point, the FIA formalities are only something getting in my way.
At least, we have a quiet place to stay, and I'm glad Kate rejected my initial suggestion to go to The Ritz. Pete and June have moved to Rachel Pike's mansion, Rachel understanding when I declined her invitation, and offered very sincere condolences over Dwight's death.
Monday, May 2
Thank goodness I took Katie's advice not to drink as much as I felt like doing last night. Hung over from my mind, not dehydration, the day started with a mean headache.
The aspirins and orange juice she brought before I tried raising my head helped enough for me to stagger up, but even the wondrous Parisian view from my window only caused me more pain.
New everything to wear which was meant to be part of the celebration now meant nothing - just fabric - and we drove to the FIA headquarters in gloom.
Though officially, Pete and I are the only joint owners of the team, in addition to everyone's legal representatives, all the silent partners were there as well, Rhona and Clive as constructors and Rachel Pike as a new director of The Mastin Corporation.
Lots of photographs taken, and a fair amount of press there, interested in both the return of Mastin and Pete Gaffney to the top stage of motor racing.
Pete, whose only dealings with Dwight had been in his official capacity as Mayor, was at least able to savor the occasion, but I couldn't share my friend's big moment with even a little happiness.
There was a press conference, and I realized just how bad my French had gotten, despite the refreshing it had received lately.
Pete's fluency, however, was total, and most journalists weren't that interested in what I had to say anyway. My stony countenance would have put off any who might have been.
After the toasts and well wishes, Kate and I returned to the apartment. Though we prefer to remain here, and maybe grab a quiet bite somewhere in the neighborhood, Rachel Pike's dinner tonight in honor of the team is not something we'd be allowed to skip.
en route to San Francisco
Tuesday, May 3
We'd thought Rachel's dinner to be something only involving people connected to her new interest in Mastin, and my mind had been too flattened to pick up any of the chat going around FIA headquarters about the evening.
But it turned out to be an occasion attended by everyone who was anyone in Paris, and of course, that included Monsieur and Madame Armand de Martignac.
He surely knew that Kate would be at the event, and should have stayed away. But no, he even came up to us. We all acted civilized, Odette and Kate even hugging one another.
I had never met Armand's wife before, and was shocked how old and frail she appeared, though she's not much over 40. He, however, looked stunning, and the magnetic force between Katie and this man was obvious and overwhelming.
They conversed casually, but their eyes said everything, and I felt embarrassed, intruding on their privacy, trying to speak to Odette with some semblance of normality while the two of them made love on some higher plain.
I not only felt like an outsider, but also moved by their poignant and impossible situation. When he shook my hand in parting, Armand's eyes met mine with the most profound kindness and compassion.
But if I might have anticipated Armand's presence when noting the size of the crowd, it never would have occurred to me that Nicole would also be there - on the arm of a decrepit-looking guy whose tuxedo was ill-worn.
Nicole looked out of place herself in the grand company, her hair much as she'd wear it for a stroll around San Patrazio. I saw her before she turned and looked over at me, and Katie recognized Nicole immediately.
Though I found it impossible to break the link between us for the longest while, I finally moved away, hoping that my glance across the room had been kind, and led Katie to Rachel's table, forced to endure an evening of buzzing around me.
For a moment - just a moment - I thought it might have been better that I died before this dinner took place. An instant later I thought what a jerk I was, this night of glory for Pete - the culmination of the one consistent goal I've been trying to achieve since the diagnosis.
It was our team's night, but not easy to smile and wave each time I was referred to in speeches by Pete, Clive, Rhona, Rachel, and even the wealthy and high-ranking French politician who was her escort.
Restricted my own words to two sentences - the same thing, once in French, once in English. Today, it all seems like a dream, but my premonition that something would come between Katie and me in Paris turned out to be frighteningly correct.
It's as if there's a glass wall between us, and I feel as if I weigh a thousand pounds. Back at the apartment I wanted to ask her if she preferred to stay in Paris instead of flying back to San Francisco …. to ask about Armand, and the obvious pain they were going through ….
But I just couldn't bring myself to speaking about it. Nor did Katie. When I embraced her, it seemed like there was no one in my arms. All the chemistry, heart, and even spiritual contact between us was absent.
I don't think that either of us slept at all last night, but Kate's now taken a pill, and has finally dozed off. The fatigue is starting to hit me now too.
en route to Chicago
Wednesday, May 4
It was certainly one of the largest funerals I've ever attended, and I was overwhelmed that Dwight's brother asked me to be one of the pall bearers.
The glories and tragedies of this valiant man's life were spelled out most movingly, and I was also asked to read out Dwight's favorite poem as part of the service. By concentrating on the words, and not their touching meaning, I just about made it through.
In my mind was not only the loss of this dear friend, but the bequest Edgar had quietly informed me of last night. Dwight had left $500,000 in trust as a contribution towards my future political campaigns.
I was never able to tell him about the diagnosis, but have felt that I let him down, and yet, he was still behind me.
At the wake, Edgar Sinclair asked me if I'd be willing to temporarily take over chairmanship of the Constitutional Amendment Committee until someone permanent could be secured. Whatever thoughts I had of moving about the world went out of my head, and I said yes instantly.
Though no one seemed to know a lot about the accident, the inner circle were all aware of the incident last month that Dwight had felt certain was an attempt on his life.
Important as any Committee business might be, not least taking Dwight's place at the Senate hearing on the 16th - which officers had decided I should do even before my agreeing to accept the Chairmanship - it seems that the most urgent thing right now is to look into the “accident” that killed my mentor.
Knowing this could involve a certain amount of personal danger, I talked it over with Katie who was solemn and mostly silent, just nodding when I said it was something I have to do.
So now I fly to Chicago. For revenge? For the Committee? For Dwight? I really don't know, but until I have looked into the matter myself, I cannot take another step in my own life.
Hard to believe that this morning I was in Dr. Mason's office for the monthly check. It seems months ago.
Thursday, May 5
The Lieutenant who processed Dwight's crash was convinced that there was no foul play, but nevertheless, gave me access to the accident file, and before lunch, I was lucky enough to reach the two truck drivers who sounded the alarm.
They were most accommodating, and without realizing that they'd seen anything, were able to give me a tip - the brush-like hat ornament worn by one of the men in a car which had passed them just before they encountered the crash scene.
Spent the afternoon tramping to one gas station after another, describing the hat, and not only found an attendant who'd seen it, but was able to get the driver's name and that of his company here in Detroit from a credit card receipt.
Significantly, the plates were Michigan, not Illinois, as clearly noted by the truckers. After the short flight from O'Hare, am ready for a stiff drink, large meal and a hot bath.
Phoned Edgar and General Andrew Douglas regarding what I've found, then had a long call with Katie who seemed low.
At least, the desolation I've been feeling is now diluted by a sense of purpose, but I know she's worried, even if she said no more than “be careful.” Throughout the nearly two hours we talked, I kept wanting to bring up Armand, but just couldn't.
Detroit - Columbus
Friday, May 6
Consulted a local detective about the man who signed the credit card, and got Pielow's address here in Detroit, as well as the information that his company is in the gaming machine business.
As this has to mean something, I'm going to fly to Columbus, and confer with the General.
General Douglas was quite concerned about my findings, and I believe he too is now convinced that Dwight was the victim of organized crime.
Journal continued in next column
Paul testifies before a US Senate hearing
The police lieutenant is dubious, but encourages Paul
Finally an attendant remembers the hat
The private detective looks up Pielow in the phone book
The General's security man says Paul is being followed
Paul catches the man who's been following him
Paul gets Tony Cupid to sign a confession
Huffschmidt threatens to reveal Paul's secret
Paul gives the General a tip
Was about to talk unofficially with my old Stanford Law pal Jed Marshall who's with Justice in Columbus when Ames Farley, the General's security man, stopped me in an elevator.
Saying that the General asked him to watch out for me, he indicated that, since I left the company offices, I've been alternately followed by two cars owned by a D.C. based firm.
If that weren't enough, he then informed me that Vincent Pielow, the driver of the car who caused Dwight's crash, had been gunned down in the street outside his house this afternoon.
Farley then provided me with a clever escape route, and I'm going to hide out for the weekend.
PAUL SPENDS THE WEEKEND AT A "SAFE HOUSE" PROVIDED BY THE GENERAL, HIS VISIT TO A "HAUNTED HOUSE" IN "The Night of the Terror
Monday, May 9
Picked up my car where I'd left it, assured by Farley that it was safe, and began driving back towards Detroit. Aware now that I was being followed, I stopped in a curio shop, and found exactly what I was looking for - an antique pistol.
It enabled me to confront and disarm the man who was following me, and find out who was employing him. Flew to Washington to see his boss, one Frederick Hufschmidt who fronts one of the largest detective agencies in the US, but is surely mob.
Having reached the anger stage of bereavement, I went in with guns blazing, and informed him that nothing he could try could prevent me from testifying at the Senate hearing on Monday.
A lot of bravado backing up my wrath, but I really felt the entire Mafia couldn't stop me. I had this same sensation with Angie Zeno, and it hasn't escaped my notice that Gene Mason said that the earliest symptoms of the disease are psychological - claustrophobia, the sense of a need to escape or run away, and a feeling of invincibility.
Well, safe enough I feel tonight at the secure home of a military colleague of the General's, but tomorrow, I'm going to go into the fray again, and see if I can find any information in Vincent Pielow's Detroit neighborhood.
Tuesday, May 10
Flew into Detroit and struck gold. Had only asked at a few neighbor's homes when I ran into a local kid who supplied me with his “memento” of the shooting.
It was the hat with the brush ornament belonging to Pielow's companion, and I'm flying to Columbus to see if General Douglas' security man might be able to find out who owned it.
Farley seemed dubious, but between his FBI contacts and the General's muscle, I feel sure that we might get a lead. Staying at the General's massive home which is like a museum with all its historical memorabilia has been an event in itself.
We've had a great chance to talk at length, not just about history, but Dwight's mission to eliminate gambling in the US, and I am hoping that Andrew will take over the chairmanship of the Committee for the 26th.
There is no question that he is genuinely interested. We were still chewing the fat after midnight when Farley rang to say that they'd identified the owner of the hat, a Detroit hood named Tony Cupid.
Now the task of finding him. He knows that the mob are after him, so our own chances of locating him would seem to be slim.
Wednesday, May 11
Andrew said there was nothing I could do for the moment, and invited me to relax at his home, letting me loose in his fantastic library for the day.
Farley's team still hasn't turned up any sign of Tony Cupid, but we still have a few days, and if necessary, I can skip the fishing date with Ramon on the weekend.
Thursday, May 12
Even the General's library couldn't divert my mind from the countdown to find Tony Cupid, but I've just gotten a call from Farley who is coming by with information.
The circuitous route Farley advised to find the hotel in Detroit where Tony Cupid was staying could never have been matched by a cloak and dagger movie, but I not only managed to see him, but came away with a signed confession of all the events leading up to the Mafia hit on Dwight - in detail. All for only $25,000.
Whereas I could easily have then killed the man with my bare hands, I instead executed a few more bits of footwork to enable Cupid to get out of the hotel and the US as well.
It was all pretty tense, but I have to be getting something out of this disease, and if an insane brand of courage is one, then at least, I'm putting it to some good use. Nevertheless, I'm glad to feel safe back in Andrew and Carole's house now
Friday, May 13
In these conditions, what should I expect from a Friday, the 13th? Driving to the airport, who asked me for a lift but Frederick Hufschmidt. His message was simple. If I testify on Monday, he will make public my terminal illness.
Before leaving I contacted Farley, and said that, if he had any resources to get some dirt on Hufschmidt, such information would come in very handy.
Ramon was at the airport to meet me, and drove me to Puerto Seguero in a snappy convertible, apparently rich again from his latest conquest.
We are going to have one great night of it to celebrate my appearing for a fishing date I never expected to keep when we set it a year ago.
Saturday, May 14
To say that the day on the water did me good, and that Ramon's company blew away the tension of the last week would be an understatement.
That he was also understanding and compassionate over the murder of my friend was just another aspect of Ramon that makes him dear to me.
en route - Washington, D. C.
Sunday, May 15
By limiting last night's drinking, we were able to get out in the boat early and have a good morning's fishing before I had to head for Washington.
Ramon can be the most frivolous man one could meet, and then turn around and be able to discuss matters of the greatest gravity with a clarity few have.
I told him the whole story of my quest to find Dwight's killers, and felt his support and encouragement will be an asset when I go before the Senate Committee tomorrow.
When we said goodbye, he suggested another fishing trip for this same date next year, and I tried to humor him into believing I thought that would be possible.
Suggesting that we get together even sooner, and to counter a sinking feeling, I invited him to join us in Monaco next weekend, the resulting glimmer in his eye seeming to say the Riviera might make good Sparrow Hunting country.
Despite the good weekend, my nerves are on edge here in the hotel, so I'm going to ring Katie, and talk until I start falling asleep. Tonight, I feel I can finally speak to her about Armand - if she's able.
Journal continued in next column
When his friend Dwight Sinclair is killed on the road, Paul takes over the former San Francisco mayor's position as head of a committee for a constitutional amendment to outlaw gambling throughout the United States.
Testifying against gambling before a US Senate committee, Paul presents evidence he uncovered, indicating Dwight Sinclair's motor accident was actually murder.
Suspecting that Sinclair's death was no accident, Paul began his personal investigation into the incident by consulting the police lieutenant who handled the case. he indicates that there were no suspicious circumstances apparent.
Lt. Blix nevertheless encourages Paul to do his own investigation, and an interview with witnesses turns up a clue in the form of a hat ornament sported by the driver of another car they saw near Sinclair's vehicle at the time of the accident.
Paul asks in countless service stations about the quirky item without success.
He finally gets lucky when an attendant recalls it, and even produces a credit card receipt that gives the name Vincent Pielow,, his company and the fact that the car had Michigan plates (when the ones seen by the witnesses were local).
Paul asks a private investigator in Detroit to find Pielow, but the man just gets the address in a phone book and charges Paul $25 for this, but also reveals Pielow's company makes gambling machines.
But when Paul asks for further investigation of Vincent Pielow, the detective says that he's too busy, and recommends another firm. After his client leaves, however, he makes a phone call, describing Paul, the nature of his inquiries, and giving the name of his hotel.
As a result of what he's found, Paul goes to see retired General Douglas, now head of an electronics firm, who is interested in the work of the anti-gambling committee. Paul tells him that he thinks it may be possible to prove that Sinclair was killed by an organized crime syndicate.
Late that afternoon Vincent Pielow is gunned down near his home.
An hour later, as Paul is about to make a critical inquiry , a man holds him at gunpoint in an elevator, but turns out to be General Douglas' security chief, observing whether Paul is being followed. He tells Paul that he is under constant surveillance by a team of cars owned by a firm who's offices are in Washington, D.C.
From then on, Paul starts watching out for one of the vehicles described by General Douglas' head of security .
The next day he manages to trap one of the drivers, and finds he's working for a detective firm with 80 branches across the US.
Paul goes to see it's head, Frederick Huffschmidt, and accuses him of trying to prevent Paul from testifying at the Senate hearing the following Monday, but declares that nothing will stop him.
Back in Detroit. a boy in Pielow's neighborhood gives Paul a hat he found with the distinctive ornament described by the witness to Sinclair's car crash.
Via fingerprints on the hat and with a massive input from the General's contacts, Paul is able to locate the man, Tony Cupid, and with an offer of $25,000 to get him out of the country before the mob kills him too, induces Cupid into telling the story of how Sinclair was killed, and putting it on paper.
Huffschmidt then contacts Paul, and in a last-ditch effort to keep him from testifying before the Senate committee, announces that he's discovered that Paul has a terminal illness that he'll do anything to keep secret.
Confident that he'll stop Paul, Huffschmidt declares that if Paul appears at the hearing, that information will appear in the press. If he doesn't, the secret will be kept.
But Paul does appear at the Senate on Monday, and calls Huffschmidt aside before the hearing begins, telling him that the anti-gambling team has rooted out important information about Huffschmidt. If the facts about Paul's illness are published, he will provide the press with documented evidence that will put the investigation boss out of business, if not behind bars.
Paul then advises the General that Huffschmidt can be bluffed .
At the hearing Paul offers in evidence the confession of Tony Cupid, the cohort of Vincent Pielow, that the two men were responsible for the death of Dwight Sinclair, whom an organized crime syndicate wanted removed over his campaign to outlaw gambling.
When the committee goes into recess, General Douglas tells Huffschmidt that he is taking over chairmanship of the Committee For The 26th Amendment.
Tightly written, directed and edited, this episode stands out on all scores.
en route to Paris
Monday, May 16
The big moment has come and gone. I have testified about the murder of Dwight Sinclair by gambling interests, and bluffed down Frederick Hufschmidt. While Andrew showed up, and supplied a folder of dirt on FH, it turned out not to be necessary.
When the Senate Committee heard my testimony and received the supporting documents, the Chairman adjourned the hearing until tomorrow, and then I later received a call that the hearings were being suspended indefinitely while the FBI looked into Dwight's murder.
Whether a lot of heads roll is questionable, but I did what I set out to. Andrew Douglas has also offered to take over the chairmanship of The Committee for the 26th Amendment, and to testify when the Senate hearings resume. The General is definitely the man to take them on.
Capitol Police were brilliant at getting me out a side entrance, and whisking me to the airport before the press knew I'd left the building. With so much buzz, decided to fly to Paris alone, Kate traveling with Violet and her husband.
It sounds like the entire Bradley clan will be on hand to cheer on June's investment. For now, I'm going to take a sleeping pill, and try to get some rest on this flight.
The heavy days in the past two weeks feel like they've taken their toll, but I'm going to do my best to be in good spirits for the debut of Pete Gaffney Racing.
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Director of Photography
William Margulies A.S.C.
John McCartey &
Robert C. Bradfield
Melvin M. Metcalfe Sr.
Color by Technicolor
Editorial Dept. Head
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