Shadow of a Broken Man

17

The guard in the lobby looked over his shoulder at me, then stuck his nose back into his paper when I went to the pay phone in the lobby. It was going to take more than a sweating, shaking dwarf running around his lobby after hours to budge him out of his chair.

I took a deep breath and held it, then dropped a dime into the slot and dialed Tal's number. A woman answered. I gave my name and asked for Tal. There were a few whirs and clicks as the call was channeled through what I assumed were a number of different exchanges.

The attack in the psychologist's office had been the worst, and it wasn't over yet. I was still having flashes, falling to pieces. I was going to take Garth's advice and run to a place where there was a lot of sun and no death. After that I was going to check myself into the best psychiatric clinic I could find. I was scared.

Tal came on the line. "Hello, Mongo. I called the hospital and was told you were gone. When are you going to North Carolina?" His voice sounded odd, uncharacteristically weak.

"I've been."

"Did you find out anything?"

"It's finished, Tal. I can't function. I'm taking myself out of this. I'll reimburse you for the plane trip."

"You want to talk about it, Mongo?"

I bit my lip to keep from sobbing. Sweat was running into my eyes, and the telephone booth seemed to be shrinking. "I don't feel like talking about it!" I shouted into the mouthpiece. "I'm just finished! Okay?" I pressed a fist hard against my forehead and forced myself to speak in what I hoped resembled a normal tone. "Sorry, Tal. It's nothing personal. I've got… problems. I can't do anything until I get them worked out."

"Where are you? I'll pick you up."

"That won't do any good. I know what I have to do." And I knew I'd end as a catatonic if I didn't do it.

"Of course," Tal said easily. "I understand. But I would like to know what you did in North Carolina, if you feel up to telling me about that. May I pick you up?"

"All right," I said after a pause. "I'm at the Harlick Building."

"I know where it is. Hang in. I'll be there in fifteen minutes."

Tal arrived twelve minutes later in a year-old Pontiac. He pulled over to the curb and I slid in next to him. He looked pale, tired. As he pulled away, I became conscious of my own odor: I smelled of sweat and fear.

"Sorry I turned out chicken," I mumbled. "I have to get away from things for a while."

"You left the hospital too soon," he said evenly.

"It wouldn't have made any difference if I'd stayed there a year; it's not the kind of hospital I need. My body's fine; it's my head that's screwed up."

"You're impatient. It's going to take time for everything to heal properly."

"You want to hear what I found out in North Carolina? It isn't much; in fact, it probably isn't anything."

"Hold on to it for a few minutes, okay? There's someone else who'd like to hear what you have to say."

"Who?"

"The Secretary General."

Rolfe Thaag was sitting in a leather armchair in Tal's suite of offices. Perhaps because legends are always larger than reality, he seemed smaller in person than I'd imagined, although he was close to six feet, and hard-muscled. He had a full head of snowy white hair and a neatly trimmed beard to match. His eyes were a pale, Nordic blue; they were sharp and brooding, bright with intelligence, mellowed slightly by compassion. They matched the cardigan sweater he was wearing. The hand I shook was hard and sinewy.

"It's nice to meet you, Dr. Frederickson," he said in a slightly accented voice that was lower than it sounded on radio and television. "I meant to come out and meet you the other day while you were with Ronald, but I was quite busy. I hope you'll forgive my bad manners."

Not quite sure what to say, I mumbled something about knowing what a busy man he was. I was nervous, and afraid that my mind was going to pick just such an inopportune moment to launch another sneak attack.

Thaag said, "Would you like a drink?"

"No, thank you. If you don't mind, I'd just like to get on with it."

"Of course," the Secretary General said.

I moved across the room to a window and began talking in a monotone, reporting on my conversation with Fritz James, concluding by saying that I thought the mystery surrounding Victor Rafferty could well have something to do with parapsychology. When I turned back from the window, Rolfe Thaag was staring straight ahead, and Tal was absently rubbing his temples with his fingers. "If you don't mind my saying so, neither of you seems particularly interested in all this."

"Forgive us, Dr. Frederickson," Thaag said. "We appreciate what you've done and been through. At the moment we're distracted because we have reason to believe that the Russians have delivered an ultimatum to the Americans. If the Americans don't produce Victor Rafferty, the Fosters will… disappear. Soon."

For a moment my own anxiety was eclipsed by a growing excitement. "Then the Americans do have Rafferty?"

Rolfe Thaag slowly passed a hand across his eyes. "The Russians think so," he said wearily. "Now, I must appear to remain neutral, but it has always been my policy to prevent the deaths of innocent people, whenever possible and by whatever means."

"You'll pardon me if I sound cynical," I said, "but it seems to me that you're risking a great deal for the sake of two people."

Thaag and Tal exchanged glances. It was Tal who spoke.

"All right, Mongo; there are other considerations. First, I feel a measure of responsibility for the Fosters because I was the one who urged you to stay on the case. But it's also important that we find out once and for all what power or knowledge Victor Rafferty possesses, and whether or not he is alive. We certainly don't want the Russians-or the Americans-to control Rafferty, if they don't already. Rescuing the Fosters may be the only alternative."

Thaag glanced at me sharply. "Ronald tells me he thinks the Fosters might be rescued … if you would be willing to help."

"This is the second time I've heard that proposal," I said, startled.

"Really?" Tal said. "Someone else wants to rescue the Fosters?"

"Lippitt. He came to visit me in the hospital."

"What's his plan?"

"He didn't go into details, but it was a two-man operation: himself and me."

"He must have been thinking of the same point of entry," Thaag said as he turned to Tal. "That would explain his need of Dr. Frederickson."

"Then Lippitt must have schematics too," Tal said as he went to a desk and opened a locked drawer. He brought out a roll of papers that had been tightly bound with a rubber band, unrolled the sheets, and anchored them flat on the desk top.

What I saw was detailed schematic drawings of the inside of the Russian consulate. I wondered what they'd cost.

"It's no good," I said. "Whatever you've got in mind, I can't do it."

"Your fear?" Tal queried softly.

"It hits me with no warning, and when it does I'm no good for anything. I'm not going into any Russian consulate like this; I could get us all killed."

"I'm willing to take that chance," Tal said.

"I'm not."

Tal stared at me. "I think you want to go."

The pressure was building on me, from within and without. It was true that I wanted to go after the Fosters, but it was also true that Kaznakov would probably be inside the building. Try as hard as I might to ignore that fact, my subconscious would remember-and react.

"I have to think about it," I said weakly.

"There isn't time," Tal said. His voice was soft but insistent. "If we're going to go, we have to do it tonight."

I heard someone say, "I'll try," and was shocked to discover that the voice was mine.

Tal looked at his watch. "Good," he said curtly. "Afterward, arrangements will be made for you to go into hiding, if that's what you still want to do." He rose, stretched, winced as if in pain. He immediately caught himself, thrust his hands into his pockets, and smiled. I thought he was favoring his left side. "There are some things I have to get," he continued. "Are you hungry, Mongo?"

Not trusting my voice, I shook my head.

"You may be later. It's eight thirty now. I'll be gone a couple of hours. I suggest that you try to get some sleep."

"I don't want to sleep," I said. "I want to get this show on the road and over with."

"I'll get you something to help you relax," Rolfe Thaag said, rising from his chair.

He went into a small kitchenette off the office and I heard the sound of water running, a teakettle being filled. Tal nodded to me, then went to the elevator. A few seconds later the elevator doors sighed open; they closed after him and he was gone.

Everything seemed surreal, moving too fast. I sat and tried to think of nothing.

The teakettle began to whistle. The sound died, and moments later Rolfe Thaag appeared carrying a steaming cup of something that looked like tea and smelled sharp and bitter. I made an effort to control hands that had suddenly begun to tremble as I reached for the cup.

"What's this?"

"Tea," the Secretary General said, "with a touch of ginseng. A special preparation made by a Chinese friend of mine. Drink it; it will soothe you and help you to sleep."

The hot tea scalded the roof of my mouth and my tongue, but I welcomed the pain with a kind of masochistic relief: it made me temporarily forget the other, sharper pain in my mind. I set down the cup on the coffee table in front of me.

"You should drink it while it's hot," Thaag said, picking up the cup and handing it back to me. The tone of his voice was almost hypnotic.

I didn't argue but drank some more of the bitter tea. It burned in my stomach, but it was not an unpleasant sensation. I laughed suddenly, without humor. "I can't believe I'm sitting here with the Secretary General of the United Nations, who has just assisted in the planning of a break-in at the Russian consulate, a plan to be personally carried out by his top assistant."

Thaag shrugged. "It's true that it's a risky venture."

"Then why involve yourself? I told you that Lippitt has a plan of his own."

Thaag looked at me a long time, as if I'd said something stupid and he were searching for a way to be polite. "I do not make a practice of depending on American agents," he said at last. "We must all, on occasion, take risks, and responsibility."

"Tal could be killed. If we're discovered in there, it will be the end of your tenure."

"Being Secretary General means nothing to me in itself, Dr. Frederickson; not unless I can be effective. I have a lovely home and a profitable business in my native country; I can always return to those. As far as Ronald is concerned, I believe he can guarantee your safety while you're inside the consulate."

"I don't follow you."

"If Ronald is killed inside the consulate, I will take steps to make certain he's regarded as a martyr. I will get up in the General Assembly and tell all I know. And I will be believed. I will admit my role in trying to rescue the Fosters, and then I will resign. Every investigative reporter in the United States will be digging for information about Victor Rafferty. That would not please any of the parties involved. I think the Russians, if they should catch you, will let both of you go."

"If they stop long enough to ask questions," I said.

"That's a risk we'll have to take."

"You could speak up now."

"I am not prepared to resign unless it is necessary," Thaag said forcefully. "And I cannot make charges without proof unless I am prepared to leave. What I say must have impact. If you and Ronald are able to rescue the Fosters without publicity, so much the better. I am hoping the Russians will dump you in the street, if you are caught."

Not Kaznakov, I thought, but I didn't say anything. I was surprised to find that I was getting sleepy. I shook my head and it felt as though my brain was sloshing around inside my skull. I mumbled something, closed my eyes, and breathed deeply, launching myself into sleep. Kaznakov came calling, riding in on a black dream. Suddenly I was reliving the torture session.

I knew I was dreaming, tried to wake up, and couldn't. The giant with the smashed nose was hanging me up by the elbows, wiring me to the telephone. I was strangling, writhing on the bar; waves of excruciating pain coursed through every nerve in my body. As before, I thought I heard a door open; someone was with me in the farmhouse cellar.

Then it started all over again: Kaznakov killing the British agents, chasing after me, stringing me up. However, this time there was a difference, however slight: The pain was not quite as bad. It was almost as though I were no longer a direct participant; I was floating outside myself, watching a man who looked like me suffering on an iron bar. I could heartily sympathize with him, but his pain was no longer my own.

The second show ended, then promptly began again. And again. It went on and on until finally I was quite bored with it all.

When I woke up, sweat was pouring down my face and my clothes were pasted to my body. I sat bolt upright in the chair. It was dark and I was sopping wet. But something was different, and it took me a long time to figure out exactly what it was.

Suddenly it came to me that I was no longer afraid.

The burning ball of fear that had taken up residence in my belly had cooled, leaving me weak and warm but unafraid. I could think of Kaznakov and the telephone and the electricity and it had no more emotional impact than the last run-through of the dream. The fever in my mind had broken, and I was whole again.

A telephone rang out in the darkness. I had no emotional reaction; now it was no more than just a phone ringing. A door opened somewhere in the outer suite of offices and I heard the muffled sound of footsteps in a carpeted hallway. The door to the office I'd been sleeping in suddenly opened and the room flooded with light.

Tal moved quickly across the room and picked up the phone on the desk. He was dressed all in black, from his shoes to the seaman's cap he wore on his head. He spoke a few curt words into the telephone, then hung up and turned toward me. "Wrong number," he said. "Wouldn't you know? I'm sorry it woke you." He paused, came closer. "You look terrible. You must have been dreaming."

"I feel better," I said. My voice was weak but steady. I stood up and experienced a sudden wave of dizziness, but it passed. "Where's the bathroom, and when do we go?"

Tal smiled. I thought he still looked pale. "The bathroom's out the door to your left, and we leave soon. I was going to wake you up in half an hour. I've prepared some food."

"Good. I can use something to eat." In fact I was ravenously hungry, and I knew the hunger was the result of the long journey I'd taken during the night, from sickness to health, from nowhere to now.

I went into the bathroom and sponged myself off. There was a surprise waiting for me when I went back into the office; the surprise had pale eyes and a bald head.

"Jesus," I said.

"Hello, Frederickson," Lippitt replied softly.

I looked at Tal as I jerked a thumb in Lippitt's direction. "What's he doing here?"

"An extra hand," Tal said wryly.

"Do you object, Mongo?" Tal asked.

"Who, me? I'm just along for the ride."

"You're the key to the plan," Lippitt said tightly.

"It seems Mr. Lippitt has been industriously following me," Tal said, an easy smile playing around the corners of his mouth. "Since he seems to have come up with a similar plan, it seemed a good idea to pool our resources."

Lippitt laughed; it was a sharp, harsh sound. "What resources?"

"If you don't think this is going to work, why did you approach me in the first place?" I asked.

"Masochism, and the fact that I wanted you to start paying some dues."

"I don't think so. The Fosters-or Mrs. Foster-is very important to you, Lippitt: so much so that you'd risk your own life, not to mention mine, to save her. Why?"

"It's none of your business," Lippitt said simply.

"Do you have Rafferty?" I persisted.

Lippitt heaved a deep sigh. "Rafferty's dead. I killed him. At least, I thought I did."

I repeated his words. "Thought you did?"

"You look like hell, Frederickson," Lippitt said, his eyes suddenly cold. "I'm beginning to wonder if this is such a good idea. You're going to get yourself killed, and I'm not as mad now as I was in the hospital."

I stood up straight, "Lippitt, I've never felt better in my life." I looked at Tal. "Where's the Secretary General?"

"In his own apartment, sleeping."

"You mentioned something about food."

Tal nodded. "Steak, eggs, and coffee. We'll go over the plan in detail while we eat."