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1.30 P. M.
The Sergeant motors have undergone 300 static tests, 50 tests and 290 ignition-system firings without a failure.
Anthony sat in the conference room, fuming with | impatience and frustration.
Luke was still running around Washington. No one knew what he might be up to. But Anthony was stuck here, listening to a State Department time-server drone MI about the need to combat rebels massing in the fountains of Cuba. Anthony knew all about Fidel Castro and Che Guevara. They had fewer than a thousand men under their command. Of course they Would be wiped out - but there was no point If Castro ere killed, someone else would take his place.
What Anthony wanted to do was get out on the street and look for Luke.
He and his staff had put in calls to most of the police stations in the District of Columbia. They had the precincts to call in details of any incidents involving drunks or bums, any mention of a perpetrator who talked like a college professor, and anything at all out of the ordinary. The cops were happy to cooperate with the CIA: they liked the thought that they might be involved with international espionage.
The State Department man finished his talk, and a round-table discussion began. Anthony knew that the only way to prevent someone like Castro taking over was for the US to support a moderate reformist government Fortunately for the communists, there was no danger of that The door opened and Pete Maxell slipped in. He gave a nod of apology to the chairman at the head of the table, George Cooperman, then sat next to Anthony and passed him a folder containing a batch of police reports.
There was something unusual at just about every station house. A beautiful woman arrested for picking pockets at the Jefferson Memorial turned out to be a man; some beatniks had tried to open a cage and free an eagle at the zoo; a Wesley Heights man had attempted to suffocate his wife with a pizza with extra cheese; a delivery truck belonging to a religious publisher had shed its load in Petworth, and traffic on Georgia Avenue was being held up by an avalanche of Bibles.
It was possible that Luke had left Washington, but Anthony thought it unlikely. Luke had no money for train or bus fares. He could steal it, of course, but why would he bother? He had nowhere to go. His mother lived in New York and he had a sister in Baltimore, but he did not know that He had no reason to travel.
While Anthony speed-read the reports,' he listened with half an ear to his boss, Carl Hobart, talking about US ambassador to Cuba, Earl Smith, who had worked tirelessly to undermine church leaders and those who wanted to reform Cuba by peaceful means, Tony sometimes wondered if Smith were in fact a agent, but more likely he was just stupid. One of the police reports caught his eye, and he it to Pete.
'Is this right?' he whispered furiously.
Pete nodded. 'A bum attacked and beat up a patrolman on A Street and Seventh.' 'A bum beat up a cop?'
'And it's not far from the neighbourhood where we live.'
'It might be him!' Anthony said excitedly. Carl who was speaking, shot him a look of annoyance. Anthony lowered his voice to a whisper 'But why would he attack a patrolman? Did he I anything - the cop's weapon, for example?' but he beat him up pretty good. The officer treated in hospital for a broken forefinger on his hand.' tremor ran through Anthony like an electric 'That's him!' he said loudly. Carl Hobart said: 'For Christ's sake!' George Cooperman said good-humouredly 'Anthony shut the fuck up, or go outside and talk, why don't you?'
Anthony stood up. 'Sorry, George. Back in a flash.' He stepped out of the room, and Pete followed. 'That's him,' Anthony repeated as the door shut 'It was his trademark, in the war. He used to do it to the Gestapo - break their trigger fingers.'
Pete looked puzzled. 'How do you know that?'
Anthony realized he had made a blunder. Pete believed that Luke was a diplomat having a nervous breakdown. Anthony had not told Pete that he knew Luke personally. Now he cursed himself for carelessness. 'I didn't tell you everything,' he said, forcing a casual tone. 'I worked with him in OSS.'
Pete frowned. 'And he became a diplomat after the war.' He gave Anthony a shrewd look. 'He's not just having trouble with his wife, is he.'
'No. I'm pretty sure it's more serious.'
Pete accepted that. 'Sounds like a cold-blooded bastard, to break a guy's finger, just like that'
'Cold-blooded?' Anthony had never thought of Luke that way, though he did have a ruthless streak. 'I guess he was, when the chips were down.' He had covered up his mistake, he thought with relief. But he still had to find Luke. 'What time did this fight occur?'
'Nine-thirty.'
'Hell. More than four hours ago. He could be anywhere in the city by now.'
'What'll we do?'
'Send a couple of men down to A Street to show the photo of Luke around, see if you can get any dues where he might have been headed. Talk to the cop, too.'
'Okay.'
'And if you get anything, don't hesitate to bust in on this stupid fucking meeting.'
'Gotcha.'
Anthony went back inside. George Cooperman, Anthony's wartime buddy, was speaking impatiently. 'We should send in a bunch of Special Forces tough guys, clean up Castro's ragtag army in about a day and a half.'
The State Department man asked nervously: 'Could we keep the operation secret?
'No,' George said. 'But we could disguise it as a local conflict, like we did in Iran and Guatemala.'
Carl Hobart butted in. 'Pardon me if this is a dumb question, but why is it a secret what we did in Iran and Guatemala?'
The State Department man said: 'We don't want to advertise our methods, obviously.'
'Excuse me, but that's stupid,' Hobart said. 'The Russians know it was us. The Iranians and the Guatemalans know it was us. Hell, in Europe the newspapers openly said it was us! No one was fooled except the American people. Now, why do we want to lie to them?'
George answered with mounting irritation. 'If it all came out, there would be a Congressional inquiry. Fucking politicians would be asking if we had the right, was it legal, and what about the poor Iranian shit kicking farmers and Spic banana-pickers.'
'Maybe those aren't such bad questions,' Hobart persisted stubbornly. 'Did we really do any good in Guatemala? It's hard to tell the difference between the Armas regime and a bunch of gangsters.'
George lost his temper. 'The hell with this!' he shouted. 'We are not here to feed starving Iranians and give civil liberties to South American peasants, for Christ's sake. Our job is to promote American interests - and fuck democracy!'
There was a moment's pause, then Carl Hobart said: 'Thank you, George. I'm glad we got that straightened out'
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2 P. M.
Each Sergeant motor has an igniter that consists of two electrical matches, wired in parallel, and a jellyroll of metal oxidant encased in a plastic sheath. The igniters are so sensitive that they have to be disconnected if an electrical storm comes within twelve miles of Cape Canaveral, to avoid accidental firing.
In a Georgetown menswear store, Luke bought a soft grey felt hat and a navy wool topcoat. He wore them out of the store and felt, at last, that he could look the world in the eye.
Now he was ready to attack his problems. First he had to learn something about memory. He wanted to know what caused amnesia, whether there were different kinds, and how long it might last Most importantly, he needed information on treatment and cures.
Where did one go for information? A library. How did one find a library? Look at a map. He got a street map of Washington at the news-stand next to the menswear store. Prominently displayed was the Central Public Library, at the intersection of New York and Massachusetts Avenues, back across town. Luke drove there.
It was a grand classical building raised above ground level like a Greek temple. On the pediment above the pillared entrance were carved the words:
SCIENCE-POETRY-HISTORY
