Yes. Are you a friend of his?'
Yes.'
'Did you know he's lost his memory? He didn't even know his own name, until I told him.'
Anthony suppressed a curse. He had been afraid of this from the moment Elspeth had said she had spoken, to Luke. He knew who he was.
'I need to locate Dr Lucas urgently,' Anthony said.
'What a shame, you just missed him.'
'Did he say where he was going?'
'No. I tried to encourage him to see a doctor, get himself checked out, but he said he was fine. I thought he seemed very shocked-'
Yes, thank you, I appreciate your help.' Anthony turned and walked quickly away. He was furious.
Outside on Independence Avenue he saw a police cruiser. Two cops were checking out a car parked on the other side of the road. Anthony went closer and saw that the car was a blue-and white Ford Fairlane. 'Look at that,' he said to Pete. He checked the license plate. It was the car Nosy Rosy had seen from her Georgetown window.
He showed the patrolmen his CIA identification. 'Did you just spot this car illegally parked?' he said.
The older of the two men replied. 'No, we saw a man driving it on 9th Street,' he said. 'But he got away from us.'
You let him escape?' Anthony said incredulously.
'He turned around and headed right into the traffic!' the younger cop said. 'Hell of a driver, whoever he is.'
'Few minutes later, we see the car parked here, but he's gone.'
Anthony wanted to knock their wooden heads together. Instead, he said: 'This fugitive may have stolen another car in this neighbourhood and made his getaway.' He took a business card out of his billfold. 'If you get a report of a car stolen nearby, would you please call me at this number?'
The older cop read the card and said: I'll make sure to do that, Mr. Carroll.'
Anthony 'and Pete returned to the yellow Cadillac and drove away.
Pete said: 'What do you think he'll do now?'
'I don't know. He might go right to the airport and get a plane to Florida; he could go to the Pentagon; he may go to his hotel. Hell, he could take it into his head to go visit his mother in New York. We may have to spread ourselves kind of thin.' He was silent, thinking, while he parked and entered Q Building. Reaching his office, he said: 'I want two men at the airport, two at Union Station, two at the bus station. I want two men in the office calling all known members of Luke's family, friends and acquaintances, to ask if they're expecting to see him or if they've heard from him. I want you to go with two men to the Carlton Hotel. Take a room, then stake out the lobby. I'll join you there later.'
Pete went out and Anthony shut the door.
For the first time today, Anthony was scared. Now that Luke knew his own identity, there was no telling what else he might find out This project should have been Anthony's greatest triumph, but it was turning into a foul-up that might end his career.
It might end his life.
If he could find Luke, he could still patch things up. But he would have to take drastic measures. It would no longer be enough simply to put Luke under surveillance. He had to solve the problem once and for all.
With a heavy heart, he went to the photograph of President Eisenhower that hung on the wall. He pulled on one side of the frame, and the picture swung out on hinges to reveal a safe. He dialed the combination, opened the door, and took out his gun.
It was a Walther P38 automatic. This was the handgun used by the German army in the Second World War. Anthony had been issued with it before he went to North Africa. He also had a silencer that had been specially designed by OSS to fit, the gun.
The first time he had killed a man, it had been with this gun.
Albin Moulier was a traitor who had betrayed members of the French Resistance to the police. He deserved to die - the five men in the cell were agreed on that. They drew lots, standing in a derelict stable miles from anywhere, late at night, a single lamp throwing dancing shadows on the rough stone walls. Anthony might have been excused, as the only foreigner, but that way he would have lost respect, so he insisted on taking his chances with the rest. And he drew the short straw.
Albin was tied to the rusty wheel of a broken plough, not even blindfolded, listening to the discussion and watching the drawing of lots. He soiled himself when they pronounced the death sentence, and screamed when he saw Anthony take out the Walther. The screaming helped: it made Anthony want to kill him quickly, just to stop the noise. He shot Albin at close range, between the eyes, one bullet. Afterwards, the others told him he did it well, without hesitation or regrets, like a man.
Anthony still saw Albin in his dreams.
He took the silencer from the safe, fitted it over the barrel of the pistol, and screwed it tight He put on his topcoat. It was a long camel-hair winter coat, single-breasted, with deep inside pockets. He placed the gun, butt down, in the right-hand pocket, with the silencer sticking up. Leaving the coat unbuttoned, he reached in with his left hand, pulled the gun out by the silencer, and transferred it to his right hand. Then he, moved the thumb safety lever on the left of the slide up to the 'fire' position. The whole process took about a second. The silencer made the weapon cumbersome. It would be easier to carry the two parts separately. However, he might not have time to fit the silencer before shooting. This way was better.
He buttoned his coat and went out.
.
6 P. M.
The satellite is bullet-shaped, rather than spherical. In theory, a sphere should be more stable; but in practice, the satellite must have protruding antennae for radio communication, and the antennae spoil the round shape.
Luke took a taxicab to the Georgetown Mind Hospital and gave his name at the reception desk, saying he had an appointment with Dr Josephson.
She had been charming on the phone: concerned about him, pleased to hear his voice, intrigued to know that he had lost his memory, eager to see him as soon as she could. She spoke with a southern accent, and sounded as if laughter was forever bubbling up at the back of her throat.
Now she came running down the stairs, a short woman in a white lab coat, with big brown eyes and a flushed expression of excitement Luke could not help smiling at the sight of her.
'It's so great to see you!' she said, and she threw her arms around him in a hug.
He felt an impulse to respond to her exuberance and squeeze her tightly. Afraid that he might do something to cause offence, he froze, his hands in the air like the victim of a hold-up.
She laughed at him. 'You don't remember what I'm like,' she said. 'Relax, I'm almost harmless.'
He let his arms fall around her shoulders. Her small body was soft and round under the lab coat.
'Come on, I'll show you my office.' She led him up the stairs.
As they crossed a broad corridor, a white-haired woman in a bathrobe said: 'Doctor! I like your boyfriend!'
Billie grinned and said: You can have him next, Marlene.'
Billie had a small room with a plain desk and a steel filing cabinet, but she had made it pretty with flowers and a splashy abstract painting in bright colours. She gave Luke coffee and opened a package of cookies, then asked him about his amnesia.
She made notes as he answered her questions. Luke had had no food for twelve hours, and he ate all the cookies. She smiled and said: 'Want some more? There's another pack.' He shook his head.
'Well, I have a pretty clear picture,' she said eventually. 'You have global amnesia, but otherwise you seem mentally healthy. I can't assess your physical state, because I'm not that kind of doctor, and it's my duty to advise you to have a physical as soon as you can.' She smiled. 'But you look all right, just shook up.'
'Is there a cure for this type of amnesia?'
'No, there's not The process is generally irreversible.'
