returned the overcoat and scarf to Perez.
‘Shall we?’ Perez asked Hartmann.
Hartmann turned and started walking, Perez following him, and after Perez the collective federal body moved slowly and in single file like schoolchildren crossing the junction.
They walked through the main offices and entered the room at the rear, and here Ray Hartmann and Ernesto Perez sat facing each other.
‘If I could perhaps have a cup of strong coffee, without sugar but with ample cream, and also a glass of water, Mr Schaeffer,’ Perez stated. ‘And while you are attending to that, perhaps you could have one of your people arrange for whatever recording facility might be required?’
Schaeffer nodded in the affirmative, and walked away, neither questioning nor challenging Perez’s right to ask these things of him.
A few minutes later Lester Kubis appeared in the doorway, carrying a case from which he produced desk mikes and cables. He was fast and efficient, and within ten minutes he gave a thumbs-up from a desk situated six feet from the doorway. On it was a large reel-to-reel tape recorder and additional cables running into a PC that would record the discussions directly to CD.
Schaeffer returned with coffee for both Perez and Hartmann, also a glass of water and a clean ashtray.
‘So,’ he said as he paused in the doorway. ‘I’ll be here if you require anything further.’
‘Thank you, Mr Schaeffer,’ Perez said quietly, and then with his right hand he reached out and gently pushed the door to.
Hartmann looked at the old man; his lined face, his intense eyes, his heavy-set brows. The old man looked back and smiled.
‘So here we are, Mr Hartmann,’ he said, and his voice possessed a rhythm and timbre that seemed both relaxed and direct. ‘You are ready for this?’
Hartmann shrugged. ‘I’m ready,’ he replied. ‘For what, I don’t know, but I am ready.’
‘Good enough,’ Perez said. ‘I have a great deal to say, and not a great deal of time to say it, so pay attention. That is all I can ask of you.’
‘My attention you have,’ Hartmann replied. He wanted to ask the man what he meant. How much did he want to say, and how
‘Okay.’ Perez smiled. He leaned back in his chair, and before he spoke again he took the glass of water and drank from it. ‘So… we shall begin.’
Hartmann raised his hand.
Perez tilted his head to the right and frowned.
‘I must ask you something,’ Hartmann said.
Perez nodded. ‘Ask away, Mr Hartmann.’
‘It’s just… well, you said that there was some debt you owed me, that we had crossed paths before-’
Perez smiled. ‘Later,’ he said quietly. ‘It is not important now, Mr Hartmann. What is important here is the life of the girl, and the fact that until this matter is resolved you and I will be sharing one another’s company, and that is something that can be either straightforward or complicated. I have no wish to prolong this matter any more than is entirely necessary, and I am quite sure you have matters to attend to that are an awful lot more pressing than the well-being of the governor’s daughter. You have your own family, I understand?’
Hartmann’s eyes visibly widened.
Perez nodded. ‘You have your own family to go back to, and I can imagine this whole affair has been somewhat of an inconvenience to you already.’
Hartmann didn’t speak. He thought again of his wife and daughter; he thought of their appointed meeting, and whether or not he would make it out of here in time. He felt once again the frustration of being brought to Orleans, of now being committed to staying, and all of this because of the man facing him.
‘You are a dedicated and patient man, Mr Hartmann. I understand the nature of the work you do, and the degree of commitment required to continue spending your days dealing with the sort of things you have to deal with. Perhaps you and I are more alike than you imagine.’
‘Alike?’ Hartmann asked, a tone of antagonism in his voice, antagonism towards not only the man himself, but the sheer nerve he possessed to make any kind of comparison between them. ‘How could you think we were alike?’
Perez leaned back and smiled, relaxed and unhurried. ‘The things we see, the things we know about, the sort of people that populate our lives. They are the same people, you know. You and I are walking along different sides of the same track, and though we might look at something from a different perspective we nevertheless are still looking at the same thing.’
‘I don’t-’ Hartmann started, a feeling of anger rising inside him.
‘Don’t what?’ Perez asked, and his tone was one of worldly knowing and self-assurance that Hartmann found not only unnerving, but galling beyond belief. Perez might indeed have seen the same things as him, might even have been directly or indirectly involved, but here, at least in this situation, Perez was entirely and effortlessly in control. Somehow – despite being the perpetrator of one of the most important federal cases Hartmann had been connected to – he had managed to walk in amongst them and wrest control. He had the upper hand; he knew he had it, and he was going to bet everything he owned on how his cards fell. Irrespective of whatever sense of self- possession Perez maintained, he was still capable of preventing Hartmann from seeing his family at the end of the week. For this, for this alone, Hartmann could feel nothing but anger, even hatred.
‘You don’t believe we share a similarity of nature and viewpoint, Mr Hartmann?’ Perez asked. ‘I can assure you right here and now that there is a very narrow dividing line between the path you have walked and the one I myself chose. A religious man would perhaps speak of the dualist concept, where for every part of man that could be considered good there is also an opposed and equal part that is evil. How a man turns is dependent solely upon the events and circumstances of his life, but I can guarantee you that there is no difference when it comes to ethical and moral standpoints.’
Hartmann shook his head. He did not understand what Perez was saying; perhaps his emotional reaction to this situation prevented him from
‘Dependent upon the individual himself there is no difference between right and wrong. What I might consider right is entirely dependent upon what I consider to be the most constructive stance to take. The fact that you disagree with that stance doesn’t make you any more right than I. One man’s ceiling is another man’s floor. I believe that is a common saying here in the United States of America.’
‘But the law?’ Hartmann asked. ‘What you have done is a violation of the law.’ He heard the edge in his own voice, the same edge that would surface when he’d been drinking, when unacceptable circumstances had managed to invade his life and upset him.
‘What law would that be then, Mr Hartmann?’
‘The law established by the people.’
‘And what people would that be? Certainly not me. I never agreed to any such laws being established. Were you ever consulted? Did your government ever take the time to ask you what you considered to be the right and wrong thing to do in any given situation?’
Hartmann shook his head. ‘No, of course not… but we’re talking of guidelines that have been laid down for centuries about what is generally considered to be right and wrong behavior. These laws are based on what has been proven to be the most survival-oriented action in any given situation.’
‘Survival-oriented for whom?’ Perez asked. ‘And if that is the case then why is the vast majority of law in this society considered a perverse travesty of justice? Ask any man in the street and he considers the police and the courts corrupt, ruled by special consent, by legal technicalities, by nepotism and graft. Ask the average man in the street if he believes that justice can be attained here in your peace-loving and democratic society and he will laugh in your face.’
Hartmann could not respond. Angry and agitated though he was, he knew Perez was right.
‘So what do we have, Mr Hartmann? We have you and I, nothing more nor less than that. I have come here to speak my mind, to be listened to, and when I am done I will tell you what you want to know about the girl. That is
