Shadow of a Broken Man

'Lippitt. He came to visit me in the hospital.'

'What's his plan?'

'He didn't go into details, but it was a two-man operation: himself and me.'

'He must have been thinking of the same point of entry,' Thaag said as he turned to Tal. 'That would explain his need of Dr. Frederickson.'

'Then Lippitt must have schematics too,' Tal said as he went to a desk and opened a locked drawer. He brought out a roll of papers that had been tightly bound with a rubber band, unrolled the sheets, and anchored them flat on the desk top.

What I saw was detailed schematic drawings of the inside of the Russian consulate. I wondered what they'd cost.

'It's no good,' I said. 'Whatever you've got in mind, I can't do it.'

'Your fear?' Tal queried softly.

'It hits me with no warning, and when it does I'm no good for anything. I'm not going into any Russian consulate like this; I could get us all killed.'

'I'm willing to take that chance,' Tal said.

'I'm not.'

Tal stared at me. 'I think you want to go.'

The pressure was building on me, from within and without. It was true that I wanted to go after the Fosters, but it was also true that Kaznakov would probably be inside the building. Try as hard as I might to ignore that fact, my subconscious would remember-and react.

'I have to think about it,' I said weakly.

'There isn't time,' Tal said. His voice was soft but insistent. 'If we're going to go, we have to do it tonight.'

I heard someone say, 'I'll try,' and was shocked to discover that the voice was mine.

Tal looked at his watch. 'Good,' he said curtly. 'Afterward, arrangements will be made for you to go into hiding, if that's what you still want to do.' He rose, stretched, winced as if in pain. He immediately caught himself, thrust his hands into his pockets, and smiled. I thought he was favoring his left side. 'There are some things I have to get,' he continued. 'Are you hungry, Mongo?'

Not trusting my voice, I shook my head.

'You may be later. It's eight thirty now. I'll be gone a couple of hours. I suggest that you try to get some sleep.'

'I don't want to sleep,' I said. 'I want to get this show on the road and over with.'

'I'll get you something to help you relax,' Rolfe Thaag said, rising from his chair.

He went into a small kitchenette off the office and I heard the sound of water running, a teakettle being filled. Tal nodded to me, then went to the elevator. A few seconds later the elevator doors sighed open; they closed after him and he was gone.

Everything seemed surreal, moving too fast. I sat and tried to think of nothing.

The teakettle began to whistle. The sound died, and moments later Rolfe Thaag appeared carrying a steaming cup of something that looked like tea and smelled sharp and bitter. I made an effort to control hands that had suddenly begun to tremble as I reached for the cup.

'What's this?'

'Tea,' the Secretary General said, 'with a touch of ginseng. A special preparation made by a Chinese friend of mine. Drink it; it will soothe you and help you to sleep.'

The hot tea scalded the roof of my mouth and my tongue, but I welcomed the pain with a kind of masochistic relief: it made me temporarily forget the other, sharper pain in my mind. I set down the cup on the coffee table in front of me.

'You should drink it while it's hot,' Thaag said, picking up the cup and handing it back to me. The tone of his voice was almost hypnotic.

I didn't argue but drank some more of the bitter tea. It burned in my stomach, but it was not an unpleasant sensation. I laughed suddenly, without humor. 'I can't believe I'm sitting here with the Secretary General of the United Nations, who has just assisted in the planning of a break-in at the Russian consulate, a plan to be personally carried out by his top assistant.'

Thaag shrugged. 'It's true that it's a risky venture.'

'Then why involve yourself? I told you that Lippitt has a plan of his own.'

Thaag looked at me a long time, as if I'd said something stupid and he were searching for a way to be polite. 'I do not make a practice of depending on American agents,' he said at last. 'We must all, on occasion, take risks, and responsibility.'

'Tal could be killed. If we're discovered in there, it will be the end of your tenure.'

'Being Secretary General means nothing to me in itself, Dr. Frederickson; not unless I can be effective. I have a lovely home and a profitable business in my native country; I can always return to those. As far as Ronald is concerned, I believe he can guarantee your safety while you're inside the consulate.'

'I don't follow you.'

'If Ronald is killed inside the consulate, I will take steps to make certain he's regarded as a martyr. I will get up in the General Assembly and tell all I know. And I will be believed. I will admit my role in trying to rescue the Fosters, and then I will resign. Every investigative reporter in the United States will be digging for information about Victor Rafferty. That would not please any of the parties involved. I think the Russians, if they should catch you, will let both of you go.'

'If they stop long enough to ask questions,' I said.

'That's a risk we'll have to take.'

'You could speak up now.'

'I am not prepared to resign unless it is necessary,' Thaag said forcefully. 'And I cannot make charges without proof unless I am prepared to leave. What I say must have impact. If you and Ronald are able to rescue the Fosters without publicity, so much the better. I am hoping the Russians will dump you in the street, if you are caught.'

Not Kaznakov, I thought, but I didn't say anything. I was surprised to find that I was getting sleepy. I shook my head and it felt as though my brain was sloshing around inside my skull. I mumbled something, closed my eyes, and breathed deeply, launching myself into sleep. Kaznakov came calling, riding in on a black dream. Suddenly I was reliving the torture session.

I knew I was dreaming, tried to wake up, and couldn't. The giant with the smashed nose was hanging me up by the elbows, wiring me to the telephone. I was strangling, writhing on the bar; waves of excruciating pain coursed through every nerve in my body. As before, I thought I heard a door open; someone was with me in the farmhouse cellar.

Then it started all over again: Kaznakov killing the British agents, chasing after me, stringing me up. However, this time there was a difference, however slight: The pain was not quite as bad. It was almost as though I were no longer a direct participant; I was floating outside myself, watching a man who looked like me suffering on an iron bar. I could heartily sympathize with him, but his pain was no longer my own.

The second show ended, then promptly began again. And again. It went on and on until finally I was quite bored with it all.

When I woke up, sweat was pouring down my face and my clothes were pasted to my body. I sat bolt upright in the chair. It was dark and I was sopping wet. But something was different, and it took me a long time to figure out exactly what it was.

Suddenly it came to me that I was no longer afraid.

The burning ball of fear that had taken up residence in my belly had cooled, leaving me weak and warm but unafraid. I could think of Kaznakov and the telephone and the electricity and it had no more emotional impact than the last run-through of the dream. The fever in my mind had broken, and I was whole again.

A telephone rang out in the darkness. I had no emotional reaction; now it was no more than just a phone ringing. A door opened somewhere in the outer suite of offices and I heard the muffled sound of footsteps in a carpeted hallway. The door to the office I'd been sleeping in suddenly opened and the room flooded with light.