Abrams nodded.
Van Dorn looked at Katherine. “In mortal combat, it’s not only the Achilles’ heel we look for, we also need the right weapon to deal the death blow.” Van Dorn walked around his desk. “Sometimes the right weapon is EMP. Sometimes it is rice blight.” He opened the top drawer of his desk. “But if it’s a werewolf you’re after”—he set something on the desk top and took his hand away—“it’s a silver bullet you need.”
Katherine and Abrams stared at the gleaming .45-caliber bullet, sitting upright like a miniature missile ready for launch. Van Dorn said, “No, it’s not O’Brien’s. I have my own. There is one more. Because there were three Talbots.”
Katherine’s eyes moved from the bullet to Van Dorn’s face. “Three…?”
“Yes. In fact, your father had the third bullet.”
Katherine did not reply.
Van Dorn said softly, “But I think this is the one with his name on it, Kate. Would you have any objections if I used it?”
Katherine hesitated only a moment, then shook her head.
Van Dorn nodded, then scooped the bullet into his hand and dropped it in his trouser pocket. He said, “No matter what happens tonight — a national disaster or a miracle of survival — Henry Kimberly will die. We can discuss how later.”
Abrams stared at Van Dorn’s profile, noticing for the first time the hard angular features that were not so apparent from the front. The man may look like an old basset hound, he thought, but somewhere under the aging flesh there lurked a more ravening beast.
The silence in the room was broken by the ringing phone. Van Dorn picked it up and went through the identification procedure. He listened, nodding as he made a few notes. He said, “You must understand that one of the men with the President this weekend, James Allerton, is most probably a Soviet agent.” Van Dorn listened a second, then snapped, “Yes, damn it, the James Allerton. How fucking many are there who would be at Camp David with the President? Yes, all right. But I still need to speak to one of the three.” He listened, then replied, “All right — I have hard evidence pointing to an EMP attack—tonight. Get it cranked up, Colonel. Yes. Fine.” He hung up and wiped his forehead with a handkerchief. “Well, now you know about Allerton if you hadn’t already suspected.” He glanced at Katherine.
She shook her head. “My God… this is too much… ”
Abrams said, “Who is the third?”
Van Dorn shrugged and shook his head. “I don’t even know if he’s still alive. But if the Russians wind up in the White House, I suppose we’ll find out.”
Katherine looked at Van Dorn. “George… what will happen afterward? After the EMP attack? I mean… if there’s no nuclear exchange… what happens next? Surrender? Occupation? What?”
“That’s rather negative thinking, Katherine.”
“Nonetheless,” said Abrams, “it’s a good question.”
Van Dorn glanced at Abrams, then at Katherine, and saw how things stood with them. He smiled, and Katherine seemed chagrined. Abrams tried to look impassive. Van Dorn walked to the wall safe and returned with a manila file folder. He opened it and extracted a sheaf of papers, laying them on the desk facing Abrams. “Can you read that?”
Abrams looked at the typed Cyrillic letters. He read, “‘A Report on the State’s Appropriation and Administration of the Garment Industry in New York.’” He looked at Van Dorn quizzically.
Van Dorn said, “Not in and of itself interesting reading. What’s interesting is the fact that such a report even exists.”
Katherine glanced at the thick file. “Where did you get this?”
Van Dorn allowed himself a smile. “From a local juvenile delinquent.” He explained about Stanley Kuchik and added, “The kid said there were dozens of file cabinets full of papers. If he had been able to read Russian, he might have grabbed something more interesting, perhaps their plans for the court and legal system… not that it matters.”
Abrams turned a few pages of the report. There was some element of coincidence here, he thought; his parents had been active in the garment workers’ movement, and they would have approved of this expropriation.
Van Dorn slid a few photographs out of the file and pushed them across the desk. “The kid takes pictures, too. These are the electrical panels in the basement. No real surprises there. But the CIA found it fascinating that we could get in and out of Ivan’s basement.” Van Dorn chuckled. “I didn’t tell them we came on these by pure chance.” He pushed another photo toward Abrams. “Do you recognize the fat one?”
Abrams nodded. “Androv. The so-called cultural affairs attaché.”
“Yes, and the man walking beside him has been identified as Valentin Metkov of the KGB’s Department Five. Murder Incorporated.”
Katherine stared at the faces in the photo. Androv looked so benign, and Metkov so sinister. But there seemed to be no correlation between how they looked and how they behaved.
Van Dorn continued, “Metkov is not a trigger man, he’s a high-ranking officer who directs mass liquidations. He’s worked in Poland, Afghanistan, the Soviet Republic of Lithuania — wherever the KGB has a free hand to deal with the enemies of the Soviet state. I never thought I’d see him in America. He is a harbinger of death.”
“Who’s a harbinger of death?”
Everyone turned toward the door as Ann Kimberly strode across the room. “Who’s a harbinger of death, George? Not me, I hope?”
There was an astonished silence, then Van Dorn said, “One of my neighbors, Valentin Metkov of Department Five, is planning to murder us all, Ann.”
“Well, George, you’ve been begging for it for years.” She smiled, “Hello, Kate. I guess I arrived at the right time. Is this your new boyfriend, Tony? Hello. Did I miss much? Get me a drink, will you, George? I have a feeling I’m going to need it.”
55
Ann Kimberly sat on the edge of the coffee table with a bourbon in her hand. She said, “Do I sound like a suspicious fiancée? I feel a bit of a fool making the hop over to look for my boyfriend.”
Katherine, who was standing in front of her, replied, “No, it’s not foolish. Peter would disappear for weeks, but Nick’s job and his… his nature argue against his dropping out of sight.”
Van Dorn had little sensitivity for this female chatter. Nicholas West was among the most protected men in the nation. He said, “As a result of all that’s going on, the Company probably just pulled him in for his own protection. You’ll get word soon.”
Ann wanted to point out that she wasn’t some hysterical young girl; that she was the first person listed on Nicholas West’s contact sheet, and she was in the business. But she said instead, “Let’s get on to what’s on your minds.” She leaned forward. “Tell me all about it.”
Van Dorn exchanged a quick glance with Katherine, then Katherine turned to her sister and said, “The first thing I have to tell you is that our father is alive.”
Ann did not appear to react, but Abrams, standing to her side, saw her glass begin to slip from her hand before she clenched it tighter.
Katherine went on, “He’s next door, Ann. He’s a defector. A traitor.”
Ann said, “He is Talbot.”
Katherine replied, “He is Talbot.”
Ann nodded to herself thoughtfully, as though storing the information for some future reference. She said, “There are two others, you know.” She looked up at Van Dorn. “Did you get a telex from England a few hours ago?”