Brain Storm

23

Wearing grim expressions, the network anchors broke into the afternoon soap operas, each telling the same story.

Arkady Rokossovsky, Russian ambassador to the United Nations, had entered the offices of Schuler Designs on the fifty-seventh floor of the Empire State Building at approximately one o'clock, Eastern standard time.

He was questioned by the firm's receptionist, but Rokossovsky had ignored her.

Rokossovsky had wandered beyond the woman's desk and into the office. Several people asked what he was doing, but he trudged resolutely past them. It was only when he got to the window that someone thought to call security. By then it was too late.

The window panes had been specially devised for high-buildings.

They were triple-enforced plates of high-density polymer. Invisible steel strands crisscrossed the pane.

Each window was guaranteed by the manufacturer to withstand a thousand pounds per square inch of pressure.

A marketing embellishment, as most people had imagined, but it was understood that the panes could not be shattered by conventional means. It was agreed by all that Arkady Rokossovsky should never have been able to break one.

In a crowded conference room, Rokossovsky

kicked out with the heel of his foot. It impacted with the center of a high windowpane.

Against all design specifications, the heavy plastic rattled on its frame, a long, spidery fracture spreading up its middle. Finally the pane cracked apart in a half-dozen huge sections. Broken sheets of simulated glass exploded out onto Fifth Avenue.

Rokossovsky followed them.

Those who witnessed the obvious suicide found it troublesome for more than just the apparent reasons.

To a man, they all said the same thing. Arkady Rokossovsky didn't look or sound like someone who wanted to die. His actions were incongruous with his words. Or at least to his tone.

From the moment he stepped through the office door to the instant he impacted with the sidewalk far below, Rokossovsky could be heard screaming in Russian.

An immigrant who was standing nearby when Rokossovsky hit the ground translated his final words for the networks. Psychologically, it all seemed to fit.

Loosely interpreted, Arkady Rokossovsky had been pleading for someone to stop the voices inside his head.

Holz had wanted Rokossovsky to do a swan dive off of the observation platform at the top of the Empire State Building, but was disappointed to find that the powerful antennae high atop the structure would have interfered with the signal. Reluctantly he had opted for the fifty-seventh floor.

The Dynamic Interface System van had several portable signal boosters tucked away behind the other equipment. Holz had positioned one in a hallway on the twenty-seventh floor. He was worried that the signal strength would not be strong enough even with special enhancement, but any concerns he might have had were dispelled the instant Arkady Rokossovsky splattered like a fat Russian meatball across the pavement of Fifth Avenue.

A crowd had quickly formed around the ambassador's body. The gawkers offered unintentional cover. Holz had slipped back inside the building to retrieve the booster.

When he was gone, Erich von Breslau motioned Holz's assistant to him. Even though they were alone in the back of the white van, he pitched his voice low. "I have been in contact with the village," von Breslau whispered to the young man. He had left the truck seconds after Holz had gone to place the booster signal, returning not long before the R&D

vice president. He had been unable to speak freely until now. "Our Lothar Holz has not been entirely forthright with me."

The blond-haired man was listening, but there was a distracting twitch at the corner of his mouth. It was a nervous tic that had developed late in the morning.

It had grown steadily worse as the afternoon wore on. Von Breslau's expression was dubious as he watched the young man attempt to suppress the twitch.

"He lied to me," von Breslau growled. "He was instructed to return to the village. He disobeyed a direct order. Kluge is furious."

The young man stared at the Nazi doctor. Despite the muscle spasm at the corner of his mouth, his face remained impassive.

"We have the new Sinanju information, collected from you and the other test subjects. I will bring this back to the village." Von Breslau glanced at the door that led into the cab. "Kluge does not want attention drawn to Four. Not yet. When this fool takes us back to where the Britisher and American are being held, you will kill him."

Von Breslau leaned back in his chair, intertwining his fingers over his slight paunch. He had spoken the words as casually as if he had just given the afternoon train schedules.

Holz's assistant of the past eight years did not even raise an eyebrow at the command. He nodded obediently.

Ever so slightly, the corner of his mouth twitched in punctuation.