"Yes. Nevertheless, he will be incapacitated for weeks, maybe months. And Jean is dead. What happened there? Did your hand slip?"
"I don't think so, sir. She just gave a little gasp and folded up. By the time I'd caught her and eased her to the floor, she was dead."
"There was no heart condition. Dr. Perry checked her thoroughly. Jean was physically sound."
"And psychologically?"
"What do you mean?"
"She was scared," I said. "She didn't like what she had to face, either at my hands or the opposition's. She'd bad it, sir. She was sick of looking in the mirror and seeing a drunken slob. She could hardly face the thought of looking in the mirror and seeing a beat-up drunken slob. As for the rest of the job-well, I have a hunch she was simply trying not to think of it at all."
"Dr. Klein examined her, too, and passed her."
"Who's Klein, our new psychiatrist? They come and they go, don't they? Well, I have no degree in any branch of medicine, but I know a scared and fed-up female when I see one, sir."
Mac said coldly, "Jean was a good agent and an excellent actress. She was supposed to act frightened and shaky. What are you trying to say, Eric? That it wasn't your fault that she died? That she simply died of fright?"
I gripped the telephone hard. It was no time to get mad. It never is. "No, sir," I said. "It was my job and my responsibility, sure. I simply don't believe I killed her by hitting her too hard. I don't think my hand slipped. I'd like an investigation."
"It will certainly be investigated, as soon as we can confer with the local authorities without the risk of publicity. I'm told an autopsy will be performed. I'll try to get a copy of the findings. But in the meantime we have Jean dead and Alan seriously injured, at your hands. That is two agents put out of commission in one night, Eric. The enemy seldom does better."
"No, sir," I said. "Maybe I should have gone to Texas."
The minute I said it, meaning only to say something suitably humble and rueful, I knew it was a mistake. I knew it by the quality of the silence that followed.
"I see," Mac said slowly, at last. "I see. That is how you feel, Eric? That was Dr. Klein's theory. When an agent makes a serious error, as you know, we review his record immediately. I called up Klein at once, when Chicago called me."
I said, "I grant the error. I've got to; Jean's dead. But there's nothing wrong with my record, sir."
"No, except the sheer quantity of it. Since you came back to us, after your wife left you a few years ago, you've had no real time off at all. Fatigue, was Klein's immediate diagnosis."
"The hell with Klein," I said. "We fought the whole damn war without a headshrinker in attendance. And the hell with fatigue, too. I haven't asked for any leave, have I? Not until this time-"
"Precisely," Mac said. "Fatigue and subconscious resentment, Klein said. And, probably, what he referred to as a mild superman complex. I don't like the term, Eric, but I have seen it happen before in men whose occupation allows them to kill and get away with it. After a while, their judgment becomes impaired, since human life has ceased to have much value for them."
I laughed shortly. "Sir, if you're suggesting that I went out and murdered a woman, a fellow agent, simply because I was mad at you for interfering with my lovelife-"
"I said the resentment was subconscious, Eric."
"Sure," I said. "Thanks. I love being a subconscious murderer, sir. Let's just skip the analysis, if you don't mind. Right now, I'd better get Alan on the road; but first I'd like to know if Dr. Norman Michaelis, our missing genius, has a sister or daughter-Miss Michaelis was the form of address used. Age twenty plus, height five feet minus, say ninety pounds after a heavy meal, silver-blonde hair, blue eyes."
Mac hesitated. "There is a daughter. Theodora. But, Eric-"
"Theodora," I said. "That's a lot of name for a little bit of girl. What's the family picture? Is there a wife and mother?"
"The wife and mother died in childbirth. Eric-"
"The daughter is here, sir," I said. "In fact, she got me out of jail by lying her pretty little head off. I have a date to find out why, as soon as I get Alan off my hands. I'll report by phone as soon as-"
"You will," Mac said, "report to me in person, at once."
I frowned at the phone. "But, sir-"
His voice was curt. "Any leads you have will be followed up, you may be sure."
I said slowly, "The invitation was issued to me, as Jim Petroni, alias Jimmy the Lash. The lady has just told the police a great big fib, remember? She's not likely to open her door and her mouth to any old government gumshoe, sir."
"We'll have to risk that. I want you to come in immediately, Eric."
"What's the matter, sir?" I asked. "Are you afraid I'll go completely berserk and give the outfit a bad reputation?"
Saying it, I expected any answer except the little embarrassed silence that followed, that said more plainly than words that that was exactly what he was afraid of. I'd murdered Jean with my subconscious resentment; I'd stuck a hole in Alan. I'd flipped. I was a menace on the loose.
"Let us say," he said carefully, "that Dr. Klein's advice is that you be recalled for examination and possible treatment-probably only rest. It is quite possible that you'll be on your way to Texas tomorrow or the next day. How would you like that?"
"Thanks," I said, "for the lollipop, sir."
"I want you to turn Alan over to Dr. Perry and follow them in. That's an order."
"Yes, sir," I said.
EIGHT
I SPOTTED THEIR Jag well ahead of time and flashed an answer to their signal, but they were coming right along, and it took them a while to fire the retro-rockets and get the flaps down and find a place to cross the median to the west-bound lane. In the meantime, I'd pulled the little sedan out to the shoulder to wait for them.
"We were going to be married after she finished this job," Alan said suddenly. It was his first conversational effort in a long time. "Jean's professional pride wouldn't let her quit in the middle of it, but afterwards we were going to get out of this dirty business and be normal human beings for a change. We'd never had a real home, either of us. We were going to make one together."
"Sure," I said. "She'd have been the mother you'd always wanted, and you'd have been the baby she'd yearned for all her life."
His head came around sharply. "You callous beast! Just because she was a little older-"
"Cut it out, Alan," I said.
"I loved her," he said.
"Cut it out," I said. "Go away. Die. Or just shut up." He started to speak again, but I cut in, "The one thing you could have done for her, you didn't do. You let a stranger do it. Then you got mad because it turned out wrong and went for him with a club. And now, by God, you start talking about love!" I grimaced. "Do me a favor. Hemorrhage."
He was staring at me. "You think-you think I should have done that? To her?"
"Somebody was going to have to do the stinking job if she was to carry out her assignment. Why not you? What makes you so damn special?" I looked at him. "If I loved a woman enough to talk about it, if something like that simply had to be done, if she really wanted it done, I'd damn well do it myself and see it was done right by somebody she knew and trusted. At least I wouldn't sit across the way wringing my hands while it was happening, and then take it out on the guy who got stuck with the lousy operation I was too damn delicate to perform. Now stay here and brood, while I discuss your survival problems with the medical profession."
The Jaguar had pulled up behind us. I liked the sound of it, even idling. They don't put the full-race mill into the sedan, but it's no truck engine, either. Dr. Perry got out of the bucket seat beside the driver and came to meet me as I went back there. The driver, a big man, got out and went around to get something out of the trunk, presently disappearing into the darkness. I thought this a little peculiar, but maybe I was not supposed to notice. The car had a buggy-whip antenna for radio-telephone communication. I thought it was probably Mac's personal vehicle.