Shadow of a Broken Man

Thaag's periodic, and often scathing, 'assessments of the situation' usually backed off once they'd been caught with their political pants down on the well-lighted stage of world opinion. Above all, Thaag had a reputation for being scrupulously fair. He was called 'magician' in a hundred different languages; usually it was a sobriquet, often a curse.

Tal was the Secretary General's Chief Assistant, and he wasn't exactly what you could call eclipsed by his boss's fame. He was far and away the favorite hate object of the American right wing, but he'd been called 'traitor,' at one time or another, by national figures all along the political spectrum.

According to a Time capsule biography I'd read, Tal had been born in Norway of American parents. Orphaned at an early age, he'd been brought up by Rolfe Thaag, a friend of the family. Since joining his mentor at the U.N., Tal-as an American operating, as it were, in his own backyard-had caused almost as much controversy as Rolfe Thaag himself. It was Tal who delivered most of the speeches critical of the West; despite the fact that it was common knowledge that Tal was acting as no more than a mouthpiece for the views of Rolfe Thaag, it was Tal who took his countrymen's heat for these speeches. The man had guts, in my opinion, and I was anxious to meet him.

The elevator I was riding sighed to a stop and opened directly into a suite of offices where Ronald Tal was waiting for me. I knew biographies could be faked, and I immediately started looking for resemblances to Victor Rafferty. Except for eye color, there weren't any. There were no signs of scar tissue on the handsome face. His hair was brown, fuller than Rafferty's had been, and there was no indication he was wearing a toupee. His piercing black eyes reminded me of Rafferty's, but Tal was considerably heavier than Rafferty, with what I judged to be about a hundred and ninety pounds evenly distributed on an athletic six-foot frame. There was a sense of movement about him, even when he was standing still; I suspected he spent a lot of time out of doors and in a gymnasium. There was a quiet dignity about him that hadn't come across in the newspaper photos I'd seen.

'Dr. Frederickson,' Tal said, shaking my hand. 'It's nice to meet you.'

'My pleasure,' I said. 'I'll try not to take up too much of your time.'

'If I understood Abu correctly, you'd like to discuss Victor Rafferty.'

'That's right. You've heard of him?'

'Certainly.' He motioned me over to a leather settee and sat down in a straight-backed chair across from me. 'Rafferty was a seminal force in modern architecture, to say the least. Like you, he did a great deal of volunteer work for U.N. agencies. I believe he died a few years ago. May I ask what your interest in him might be?'

'There's reason to believe Victor Rafferty may still be alive.'

He took a green wooden pencil from his breast pocket and began to twirl it slowly back and forth between his thumb and forefinger. Tal was right-handed; Victor Rafferty had been right-handed. Elliot Thomas was right- handed; most of the world's population was right-handed. 'I don't understand,' he said. 'I can't remember the exact details, but I thought he died quite violently in the kind of accident no man could survive. It was reported on quite extensively.'

'If the accident ever happened,' I said as I showed Tal the photograph of the Nately Museum Foster had left with me.

He looked at the photograph, nodded approvingly. 'I don't know much about architecture,' he said, 'but it looks like a beautiful building. Who's the architect?'

'A man by the name of Richard Patern got the credit, but the building is almost certainly Victor Rafferty's idea.'

'Are you saying you believe this Richard Patern is actually Victor Rafferty?'

'Not exactly.'

'I don't quite understand how you think I can help you.'

The conversation was beginning to sound disturbingly similar to the one I'd had with Thomas. 'Patern admits he got the idea from a rough drawing he found here a couple of years ago,' I said. 'He was participating in your Seminar on Inexpensive Construction Techniques for Underdeveloped Countries.' I filled Tal in on a few of the details Patern had given me.

Tal shook his head. 'Wouldn't it be virtually impossible for a man as famous as Victor Rafferty to simply disappear without leaving a trace? And why would he want to do such a thing?'

'Because some people were after him; they wanted him very badly.' I handed Tal the list of names. 'If Rafferty was-or is-here, the name he's using should be on this list.'

Tal studied the list for a few moments, then said: 'I don't believe Rafferty can be any of these people. Obviously, they wouldn't have been invited to participate in the conference if they weren't established professionals in their own countries. I'm sure the careers of all these people predate Rafferty's supposed death.'

'You're probably right. Still, I'd like to do some preliminary checking. Do you know any of the people on the list?'

'Of course.' He smiled broadly. 'I see you have a circle around my name.'

'You're an American, about the same age as Rafferty would be. You don't look anything alike, but plastic surgeons work miracles these days. I'm just trying to narrow down the possibilities.'

Tal chuckled and held out his hands. 'Why don't you fingerprint me? That should dispel any doubt in your mind.'

I could feel my face grow hot. 'I didn't bring my fingerprint kit with me. Thanks anyway.'

Just then the phone on a desk at the other side of the office rang. Tal excused himself and rose to answer it. His back was to me as he spoke, and to be sure his offer to fingerprint him wasn't a bluff I picked up the pencil he'd left on the coffee table between us. Holding the pencil by the eraser, I dropped it into my pocket. Then I rose and moved toward the elevator; I didn't want to get caught pilfering pencils from the Secretary General's suite.

Tal finished on the phone and came over to me.

'I've used up enough of your time,' I said.

'May I keep this list of names?' Tal asked, smiling.

'Sure. I have another copy.'

'I'll look it over more carefully,' he said. 'If I think of anything I may have forgotten, I'll call you.'

I gave him my card and thanked him again.

Abu was in his office when I stopped back in. We had coffee, we reminisced a bit, and then I went out into the late morning. I intended to go to Jack's Cakewalk, and I didn't want company.

The man in the checked suit was studiously pretending to read the Daily News. He was chomping on a hot dog, and a strand of sauerkraut was pasted to his chin. He blinked rapidly as he watched me out of the corner of his eye.

The direct approach was called for. 'Hi,' I said pleasantly as I walked up to him. 'Why the hell are you following me?'

He didn't like it; I'd caught him with his mouth full. He chewed furiously, swallowed hard while his face auditioned a variety of expressions, and finally settled for a mixture of surprise and indignation. 'Excuse me, sir?'

'I asked you why the hell you're following me. You've got sauerkraut all over your chin.'

He swiped at his chin. He was getting mad; he did Mad better than Surprise and Indignation. 'What are you talking about, pal?'

'Does it have something to do with Victor Rafferty? If you'd just tell me why you're following, I might not have to do so much walking around and we could all go home and relax.'

His eyes narrowed. 'Nobody's following you. You're crazy.'

'Uh-uh. It's a sin to tell a lie. You're following me-and so is he.' I pointed across the street to where the man's partner sat in the pink Pinto staring hard at the two of us.

'You're out of your mind, fella.'

'Oh, good. Then I know I won't be seeing the two of you around anymore. Have a nice day.'

I walked half a block, then stopped and looked back. The two men were having a heated conversation. The one I'd confronted reached inside the car and snatched a mobile telephone. He spoke into it quickly.

I hustled along, ducking into and out of a few storefronts on the way, just in case they had a third man on the job. When I was sure I was clean, I headed for the restaurant.

Jack's Cakewalk was open, crowded with laborers enjoying a late coffee break or an early lunch. There were