The Cold Smell Of Sacred Stone

want him used, and I have to do what I think is in his best interests.'

It was certainly true that I didn't want Garth to be used as a guinea pig-firsthand by the D.I.A., or secondhand by the K.G.B. But it was also true that Garth was simply talking too much, about things he shouldn't be talking about at all, and that was information I couldn't share with Tommy Carling, or anyone else. It was certainly a convenient irony that Charles Slycke and the rest of the staff at the clinic should dismiss Garth's stories about Orville Madison and the Valhalla Project as the fantastic delusions of a madman, but the fact that Garth wasn't believed when he told the simple truth about things which obviously still troubled him very deeply could only complicate his therapy.

If Garth's little tales got out-which they certainly would if the K.G.B. had ears in the clinic and they decided to do some serious digging for facts-and if he was believed, Mr. Lippitt, Veil, and I could end up in prison for a very long time, and the administration of Kevin Shannon would fall.

A third horn on the head of my curious, and increasingly ugly, dilemma.

'You seem to know a lot about intelligence work, Mongo,' Carling said in a neutral tone.

'I know a lot about the kinds of people in whose heads those wheels are turning; they relate best to scenarios, not people.'

'But, in the end, you still have Mr. Lippitt to protect Garth's interests.'

'Mr. Lippitt might not agree that the agency's interests and Garth's aren't the same. Besides, he's only one man; he's a powerful man, but there are a lot of powerful men in the intelligence community. He's in Washington, not here, and he could die-or be dismissed-tomorrow.'

'Assuming these so-called strategic types are thinking what you say they're thinking-'

'They are.'

'Then there would still be problems, even if you did take Garth out of here. The interest of these people wouldn't stop just because he wasn't here; if anything, they'd just get very nervous. How would you protect Garth from that. . continuing interest?'

'I'd just take him home and lock the door,' I said, only half joking.

Carling sighed, lit a third cigarette. 'Some of your points are good, Mongo, but I still think the doctors here are doctors first, and agency employees second. They would resist pressure from those strategic types. Maybe you're being just a bit paranoid.'

'That could be, and if so there's no harm done by talking to you. I have to deal with scenarios, too.'

Tommy Carling was silent for some time, and together we watched Garth talking with the old man and woman down by the swings. I wondered what they were talking about.

Carling finished his cigarette, tossed it away. 'Mongo?'

'What?'

'I'm supposed to report on anything we discuss. It's a rule covering all conversations with visitors.'

'That doesn't surprise me,' I said evenly, still watching Garth. He had said something to make the old woman laugh. 'I understand that this is a D.I.A. clinic, not the Mayo. I'm glad I talked with you, because it's helped me to clarify a lot of my thoughts and focus my thinking. I don't care what you tell Dr. Slycke, or anyone else. I told you; I won't be giving them any new ideas, and it may be just as well that they know what I'm thinking.'

'I don't think I'll report this conversation.'

'Do what you think you have to do, Tommy. In the meantime, I'd like to ask for your personal and professional opinion on something.'

'Which is?'

'Should I discuss any of this with Garth? In particular, should I discuss with him the possibility of his going home?'

'You're Garth's brother, Mongo; even more germane to this situation, you have a Z-13 badge. You can talk about anything you want, with anyone you want, any time you want.'

'That doesn't answer my question, does it?'

'Mongo, I'm truly flattered that you should ask for my advice on something which is so important to you-but I can't give it to you. It's clearly a medical question about something that could have a large bearing on Garth's state of mind, and I wouldn't feel right about advising you. I can't take the responsibility. That's a question you'll have to take up with Dr. Slycke-if you care to.'

'All right. I understand.'

'I will say that, despite the concerns you've brought up, I still believe this is the best place for Garth-without question. What you're witnessing now could be just one more phase Garth is going through. You don't know what may happen, how he may be acting tomorrow, or the next day. As you pointed out, you might only have to bring him back here, anyway. What would happen if he suddenly turned violent, or uncooperative, and you couldn't handle him? We're an hour away from the city-when there's no heavy traffic. This clinic is still a government installation, and the results of all tests done on Garth-even the description and causes of his condition-are highly classified. Nobody here will share any information about Garth's condition or NPPD with any other hospital. I think you'd be shouldering a very heavy responsibility if you decided you wanted to take him out of here just yet-assuming he would want to go, which may be a very large assumption.'

'Thanks, Tommy. I'll bear all that in mind.'

When I did broach the subject of going home with Garth, he gave no indication that he cared one way or another what was done with him. Indeed, I couldn't even be certain he was listening to me; he was playing his Walkman so loud that I could hear Siegfried's Funeral March, from Gotterdammerung, clearly through the earphones.

Without going into the reasons for my concern, I asked Charles Slycke what he thought of the idea of Garth's going home. He told me he would advise against it, and he gave the same reasons Tommy Carling had. It didn't surprise me. I tried to tell myself that my fears for Garth were ill-founded, and that I had no real choice but to leave Garth where he was, regardless of the fact that there might be a K.G.B. informant in the clinic, and regardless of the fact that Garth was continuing to chatter away about the Valhalla Project and the shooting of Orville Madison. I remained anxious and undecided.

That didn't surprise me either.

11

The next day, I met Tommy Carling in the corridor on my way to Garth's room.

'Garth's visiting in the secure unit,' the male nurse said. 'It looks like he's in a pretty heavy conversation with Marl Braxton, so he'd probably prefer that you go down there. Besides, I know Braxton would like to talk with you. It seems he's a fan of yours.'

'What about Mama Baker?'

'Mama went off last night, and they had to put him in a camisole and give him a needle. He'll be in the Critical Care room all day, so he's not a problem. It's very quiet in there. That key you have will let you in.'

'I'd rather not do that-use my key.'

'Then just knock on the door. One of the nurses will let you in.'

Just to be on the diplomatic safe side, I checked back with Slycke to make certain he had no objections to my going into the secure unit. The director of the clinic seemed very distracted, and he merely waved a hand at me in what I took to be a gesture of approval. I went out of his office and down the orange corridor to the secure unit, knocked on the thick Plexiglas door.

Marl Braxton was sitting with my brother at the far end of the huge commons room, near a bank of barred windows. Garth had his earphones around his neck and was leaning toward Braxton as he spoke, occasionally waving his arms for emphasis. The animated discussion stopped when I entered, and both men rose as I walked toward them.

'Dr. Frederickson,' Marl Braxton said, extending a large hand. His large, piercing black eyes gleamed with pleasure. 'Now I'll shake your hand.'

'Then you'll have to call me Mongo,' I replied, taking his hand. His grip was firm, the muscles in his hand and forearm sinewy and clearly articulated; the man with the glittering black eyes and pronounced widow's peak kept