"You should get away. I can arrange it."
"I want to fly down to North Carolina for a day or two when I get out of here. What's my expense account?"
"It will cover whatever you need, but why do you want to go there?"
"I'd just as soon wait to discuss it," I said. I was starting to experience hot flashes again, visions of Kaznakov dogging my steps for the rest of my life. The train of my emotions was threatening to derail again, and I didn't feel like getting into a conversation on the merits of a visit to North Carolina. "I'll tell you this: the Russians think Rafferty may be alive, and I've got a hunch they just may be right. I still don't know why everybody wants him; whatever the reason, it's big. There's a small world war going on out there."
"Yes," Tal said quietly. "That's why the Secretary General is anxious for you to find out everything you can. Maybe we can stop that war."
"The Russians have Rafferty's widow, and her husband."
"The Fosters," Tal murmured. "I know."
"You know?"
Tal nodded. "You were looking at the U.N.; they're fishing in the same waters."
"It doesn't make any sense. Rafferty, if he is alive, gave up his identity-and his wife-five years ago. Why do the Russians assume he'll turn himself in to them just because they've got her now?"
"They're probably hoping to put pressure on him, maybe force some kind of mistake on his part. They may be counting on something as simple as residual affection."
"What happens to the Fosters if Rafferty is dead?" I asked, not sure I wanted an answer. "Or if he doesn't surface?"
"That's hard to say," Tal replied. "With the exception of people like Kaznakov, the Russians aren't interested in just killing people. The kidnapping has to be some kind of ploy. They may not harm the Fosters at all."
"Then again, they might."
"It's possible, if only to maintain their credibility for the next such operation. That's why the pressure's on Rafferty, if he's alive."
"Is there any way to get them out?"
Tal shook his head. "Not diplomatically; the Russians will simply deny that they have them."
I thought I'd picked up on something in Tal's voice. "Is there another way?"
"There's always another way. It would take a covert operation and require the services of some highly skilled men."
"Well? You've got a whole building full of agents."
"True," Tal said wryly. "The problem is that none of them work for the Secretary General. The best solution, of course, would be for you to prove that Rafferty is dead; then the Russians would have no reason to keep the Fosters."
"Rafferty may not be dead; even if he is, I may not be able to prove it."
Tal buttoned up his jacket. "I'll give it some thought. When do you plan to go to North Carolina?"
"As soon as I get out of here."
"Fine. You'll remember to keep a low profile?"
"Tal, I was born with a low profile."
He smiled, turned, and left the room. I finished my breakfast and leaned back on the pillow. For a moment, my mind was clear and I could pretend that I was all right.
The next face I saw almost gave me a relapse. It was Lippitt.
16
The bald man's face was impassive, but his eyes seemed larger than before, swollen by a controlled but seething anger. He wore a light blue gabardine suit that shimmered almost hypnotically in the morning light that filtered in through the window.
Lippitt approached the bed, shoved his hands into the pockets of his suit jacket, and stared down at me. "How are you?" he asked after a long pause. The anger was in his voice as well as his eyes, but he seemed oddly distracted, as though his mind-and possibly his anger-were directed elsewhere.
"How'd you know where I was?" He didn't seem inclined to answer my question, so I answered it myself. "You've been following Tal."
"Perhaps I should have been following you," he said with a trace of irony. "It looks like you've had an accident."
"It wasn't an accident: It was an on-purpose. You lied to me about killing Rafferty, didn't you?"
Lippitt's eyes went distant and cold. "Is that what you've concluded from your investigation so far?"
"Oh, I've got lots of company. The field's crowded, and it's a fast track."
"I warned you this would happen."
"Somehow I just knew you were going to say that, Lippitt. The same thing happened five years ago, didn't it? You were one of the hunters. Maybe you found Rafferty, but you didn't kill him." I watched his face carefully. "What the hell is so special about Victor Rafferty?"
Inexplicably, my voice broke at the end and I began to sob uncontrollably. There had been no warning; it was as if my emotions were being controlled by someone else, a mad dwarf who looked like me but loved to cry. Mortified by the behavior of this stranger, I turned my face to the wall and wiped away the tears. Finally I turned back to Lippitt and stared at him defiantly.
Lippitt casually lighted a cigarette and dropped the match onto my breakfast tray. "Whoever got hold of you hurt you very badly, didn't he?" he said evenly. There was neither sympathy nor lack of it in his voice; it was merely a statement of fact.
"A few screws are loose, but I know how to tighten them up. Why won't you tell me now about Rafferty?"
Lippitt blew smoke into the air over my head. "I didn't come here to trade information. I came to present a bill."
"What bill?"
"It's for the suffering you've caused. The Russians have the Fosters inside their consulate. You and I are going to get them out. We're going to see just how good a tumbler and acrobat you are; that's the price I want you to pay for the harm you've brought these people."
"What the hell are you talking about, Lippitt?"
"I thought I was making myself perfectly clear. I consider you responsible for placing the Fosters in jeopardy, so you're going to help me rescue them."
"You're putting together a D.I.A. operation?"
"That's not what I said, Frederickson. It's just you and me. I have a plan."
"I can't wait to hear it. Isn't it pretty risky for you? I'm betting your superiors won't be too happy about it if you get caught inside the Russian consulate."
"That's my concern. Will you agree to come with me? I do need you."
"What do you have in mind? I have an interest in the Fosters too."
"Frankly, I haven't figured out all the details. But I'll need a small man with exceptional athletic ability… and courage. From your press clippings, you seem to fit that description."
The fact of the matter was that I found the prospect of going anywhere Kaznakov might be terrifying. But I said, "I'll need some time to get back into shape; I'm a little stiff right now." I was gratified to find that my voice was reasonably steady.
Lippitt's eyes narrowed. "What happened to you?"
"I fell off a mountain called Kaznakov."
Lippitt stiffened. His right hand came halfway out of his pocket, then went back in again. "A madman." He spat the words out. "It's remarkable that you're here. You're the first person I know of who's suffered that particular fate and lived to tell about it."
"He thinks I'm dead."
"Good. It's best that he continue to think so. How did you get away?"
I managed a smile. "Sheer dwarf cunning."
"What did he do to you, Frederickson?"
"If you don't mind, I'd rather not talk about it. As I said, I'll need some time to get myself together."
"Of course. And I'll need time to formalize a plan. You still have my number?"
"I do. When I'm ready I'll order some flowers."
Lippitt ground out his cigarette in my oatmeal bowl. "You must pull yourself together, Frederickson," he said quietly. "I can only guess how badly Kaznakov hurt you, but I suspect the real hurt is now in your mind. You can't forget, but you must learn to control your fear."