Shadow of a Broken Man

That stopped her. Her green eyes caught the light from the hallway and glinted like those of a hunted animal. 'Whom have you been talking to? Who told you that?' 'Was he a telepath?'

'Victor Rafferty is dead! Let him stay dead!'

'Were you and Arthur Morton conducting experiments in parapsychology?' My own voice rose, trembled as if in sympathy with her emotion, her fear.

'Victor Rafferty was a monster! A monster and a traitor!'

The vehemence of her statement was totally unexpected, and it brought me down. 'Why was he a monster, Dr. Llewellyn? What did he do?'

She looked at me a long time in silence. When she spoke again, her voice had regained its icy reserve. 'Get out of here or I'll call the police,' she said evenly.

Something was happening inside my head. The phone had begun to ring. Mary Llewellyn cursed softly and pushed past me. It took her a moment to find the light button; then she picked up the phone.

There was a fire raging inside my brain and it felt as though every muscle in my body were cramping. Once again I was hanging on the bar, electricity coursing through my body, my brain melting under the onslaught of pain. I heard Mary Llewellyn calling me from what seemed a long distance.

'Mr. Frederickson…? Mr. Frederickson, are you all right?'

Reeling, my hands pressed to my ears, I tried to say something, but the words wouldn't leave my throat. I wheeled and stumbled out of her office.

There was no longer any doubt in my mind. I was finished.

17

The guard in the lobby looked over his shoulder at me, then stuck his nose back into his paper when I went to the pay phone in the lobby. It was going to take more than a sweating, shaking dwarf running around his lobby after hours to budge him out of his chair.

I took a deep breath and held it, then dropped a dime into the slot and dialed Tal's number. A woman answered. I gave my name and asked for Tal. There were a few whirs and clicks as the call was channeled through what I assumed were a number of different exchanges.

The attack in the psychologist's office had been the worst, and it wasn't over yet. I was still having flashes, falling to pieces. I was going to take Garth's advice and run to a place where there was a lot of sun and no death. After that I was going to check myself into the best psychiatric clinic I could find. I was scared.

Tal came on the line. 'Hello, Mongo. I called the hospital and was told you were gone. When are you going to North Carolina?' His voice sounded odd, uncharacteristically weak.

'I've been.'

'Did you find out anything?'

'It's finished, Tal. I can't function. I'm taking myself out of this. I'll reimburse you for the plane trip.'

'You want to talk about it, Mongo?'

I bit my lip to keep from sobbing. Sweat was running into my eyes, and the telephone booth seemed to be shrinking. 'I don't feel like talking about it!' I shouted into the mouthpiece. 'I'm just finished! Okay?' I pressed a fist hard against my forehead and forced myself to speak in what I hoped resembled a normal tone. 'Sorry, Tal. It's nothing personal. I've got… problems. I can't do anything until I get them worked out.'

'Where are you? I'll pick you up.'

'That won't do any good. I know what I have to do.' And I knew I'd end as a catatonic if I didn't do it.

'Of course,' Tal said easily. 'I understand. But I would like to know what you did in North Carolina, if you feel up to telling me about that. May I pick you up?'

'All right,' I said after a pause. 'I'm at the Harlick Building.'

'I know where it is. Hang in. I'll be there in fifteen minutes.'

Tal arrived twelve minutes later in a year-old Pontiac. He pulled over to the curb and I slid in next to him. He looked pale, tired. As he pulled away, I became conscious of my own odor: I smelled of sweat and fear.

'Sorry I turned out chicken,' I mumbled. 'I have to get away from things for a while.'

'You left the hospital too soon,' he said evenly.

'It wouldn't have made any difference if I'd stayed there a year; it's not the kind of hospital I need. My body's fine; it's my head that's screwed up.'

'You're impatient. It's going to take time for everything to heal properly.'

'You want to hear what I found out in North Carolina? It isn't much; in fact, it probably isn't anything.'

'Hold on to it for a few minutes, okay? There's someone else who'd like to hear what you have to say.'

'Who?'

'The Secretary General.'

Rolfe Thaag was sitting in a leather armchair in Tal's suite of offices. Perhaps because legends are always larger than reality, he seemed smaller in person than I'd imagined, although he was close to six feet, and hard- muscled. He had a full head of snowy white hair and a neatly trimmed beard to match. His eyes were a pale, Nordic blue; they were sharp and brooding, bright with intelligence, mellowed slightly by compassion. They matched the cardigan sweater he was wearing. The hand I shook was hard and sinewy.

'It's nice to meet you, Dr. Frederickson,' he said in a slightly accented voice that was lower than it sounded on radio and television. 'I meant to come out and meet you the other day while you were with Ronald, but I was quite busy. I hope you'll forgive my bad manners.'

Not quite sure what to say, I mumbled something about knowing what a busy man he was. I was nervous, and afraid that my mind was going to pick just such an inopportune moment to launch another sneak attack.

Thaag said, 'Would you like a drink?'

'No, thank you. If you don't mind, I'd just like to get on with it.'

'Of course,' the Secretary General said.

I moved across the room to a window and began talking in a monotone, reporting on my conversation with Fritz James, concluding by saying that I thought the mystery surrounding Victor Rafferty could well have something to do with parapsychology. When I turned back from the window, Rolfe Thaag was staring straight ahead, and Tal was absently rubbing his temples with his fingers. 'If you don't mind my saying so, neither of you seems particularly interested in all this.'

'Forgive us, Dr. Frederickson,' Thaag said. 'We appreciate what you've done and been through. At the moment we're distracted because we have reason to believe that the Russians have delivered an ultimatum to the Americans. If the Americans don't produce Victor Rafferty, the Fosters will… disappear. Soon.'

For a moment my own anxiety was eclipsed by a growing excitement. 'Then the Americans do have Rafferty?'

Rolfe Thaag slowly passed a hand across his eyes. 'The Russians think so,' he said wearily. 'Now, I must appear to remain neutral, but it has always been my policy to prevent the deaths of innocent people, whenever possible and by whatever means.'

'You'll pardon me if I sound cynical,' I said, 'but it seems to me that you're risking a great deal for the sake of two people.'

Thaag and Tal exchanged glances. It was Tal who spoke.

'All right, Mongo; there are other considerations. First, I feel a measure of responsibility for the Fosters because I was the one who urged you to stay on the case. But it's also important that we find out once and for all what power or knowledge Victor Rafferty possesses, and whether or not he is alive. We certainly don't want the Russians-or the Americans-to control Rafferty, if they don't already. Rescuing the Fosters may be the only alternative.'

Thaag glanced at me sharply. 'Ronald tells me he thinks the Fosters might be rescued … if you would be willing to help.'

'This is the second time I've heard that proposal,' I said, startled.

'Really?' Tal said. 'Someone else wants to rescue the Fosters?'