Fellowship of Fear

his appearance. “Sir,” he said, “I’ve just come from NSD. Tom Marks told me that the reason you changed my schedule a few weeks ago was so that they could use me as an informant at Sigonella and Torrejon. Is that true?”

“Well,” said Dr. Rufus, frowning and reaching into the puffed wheat, “well now—”

“Dr. Rufus, I’ve been through a lot since I came to USOC. I’d certainly appreciate the truth.”

Dr. Rufus absent-mindedly popped a kernel into his mouth. “All right, Gideon, I agree with you.” He was still frowning, and Gideon could see little beads of sweat glistening on his pink forehead. “I’m just not sure how much I’m allowed…” He wiped his brow, snorted forcefully, and appeared to come to a decision.

“All right,” he said, looking extremely uncomfortable. “About a week before the new faculty came to Heidelberg, Mr. Marks called me. He had a list of, oh, three or four of you. There was you, and Dr. Kyle, and, um, Mr. Morgan, I think. Mr. Marks asked me if I could assign any of you to both Sigonella and Torrejon, as a favor to the NATO Security Directorate. Ah, no, it wasn’t Mr. Morgan, it was Dr. Gordon. I remember because—”

“You mean he would have taken any of us? He didn’t want me, specifically?”

“You, specifically? Oh, no, no. They ran checks of the incoming faculty, and the three of you—you know, I think it was Morgan—were found to be entirely trustworthy; ‘clean’ was the way Mr. Marks put it. Choosing you, I’m afraid, was my doing.”

“Why did you pick me?”

“Well, Dr. Kyle teaches physics, you see, and Torrejon had just had physics last semester; and Mr. Morgan— yes, it was Morgan, I’m sure of it—teaches only undergraduate courses, and Sigonella needed a graduate offering. You, on the other hand—”

“… got into this incredible situation because I happen to teach graduate anthropology.”

Dr. Rufus looked contrite. “I’m afraid that’s right. I can’t tell you how sorry I am that it’s resulted in so much trouble for you. If I’d had any idea you’d be hurt…” He spread his hands, palms upward, in an impotent gesture of sympathy.

“Dr. Rufus,” said Gideon, “forgive me, but just what sort of thing did you think NSD had in mind?”

The chancellor shook his head woefully. “I suppose I didn’t think. Mr. Marks assured me there wouldn’t be any risk. And I, well, I felt it was USOC’s duty to provide assistance to NATO, as long as it didn’t interfere with our plans.”

“Well, it sure interfered with my personal plans.”

Abstractedly, Dr. Rufus ate some more puffed wheat. “Of course,” he said, “I don’t know what it is Marks asked you to do; I never do. But are you certain that your, ah—” he gestured at Gideon’s scarred face—“is a result of your… um, association with NSD?”

Gideon ignored the question. “What do you mean, you never do? Has Marks asked you to do this before?”

“What?” In his surprise at the question, Dr. Rufus put back into the bowl a kernel he had been about to eat. “Well, yes, certainly, of course. Didn’t I say that? Nearly every semester. There’s always some small schedule rearrangement or program change they’d like us to make. If we can, we do. If we can’t, that’s the end of it. But nothing like this has happened before… Sicilian gangsters shooting at you…”

“What about the two previous visiting fellows?”

“Oh no, surely you don’t think… why, I can’t really recall… Mr. Marks asks us not to keep records of that sort of thing… But look, Dr. Dee wasn’t attacked; he was killed in an automobile accident in Italy.”

“And so would I have been, if I hadn’t been able to brake in time. Dr. Rufus, I can’t believe you’ve allowed your faculty to be used like this.”

The chancellor’s remorseful expression made him relent a little. “Of course,” Gideon went on, “I understand why you’d want to help NATO. I feel the same way. But to simply do whatever they want without asking any questions, and to put your staff into situations of danger without their even knowing it…” Feeling unpleasantly sanctimonious, he let the sentence trail away. Dr. Rufus hadn’t put him into his situation; he’d done it himself. If he hadn’t wanted to go along with NSD, he’d had his chance to say so to Marks and Delvaux.

Dr. Rufus mopped the back of his neck and put his handkerchief in his pocket. He was done with sweating, the gesture seemed to say. He sat up straight, his hands on his knees. “You’re entirely right,” he said. “I’ve always been ambivalent about this sort of thing, you know. I should never have allowed it. My God, to think I might be responsible… My boy, we’ll cancel your Torrejon assignment, of course. Where would you like to deliver your lectures instead? I’ll personally arrange it anywhere we have an education office. We certainly owe that much to you. Rome? Athens? How about Istanbul? Berlin?”

“Torrejon.”

Dr. Rufus looked at him with his mouth open. Gideon had an urge to toss in a puffed wheat kernel.

“Yes, Torrejon. Now that I’m in it, I want to stay in it. There are too many loose ends for me to just give it up.”

“But my boy, my boy, you’ve already been nearly killed. Oh, I could never let you… oh no, it’s out of the question. I’d never forgive myself…” The handkerchief was out and at work again. “Besides, Mr. Marks, Mr. Delvaux… They’d never permit it—”

“Are you saying that, as chancellor, you have to get their permission to assign your own faculty?”

“Well, in a case like this… Why, I think I should…After all…”

“Dr. Rufus, I’ve nearly been killed twice. I’ve got thirty-some stitches in my face. I’ve been driven to hurting other people, maybe killing one. My privacy’s been repeatedly violated. And,” he said, realizing for the first time what the heart of it was, “I’ve been made to feel like a puppet, a pawn… a fool. I’m not out for vengeance; at least I don’t think I am. But I can’t just walk away from it now and let it ferment for the rest of my life.” Embarrassed and a little surprised by his vehemence, he stopped.

Dr. Rufus looked at Gideon with a mixture of pride and concern, as a father might watch a son going off to war.