Abrams glanced down at the body of Claudia, then he saw the sprawled body of Henry Kimberly partially hidden behind the desk. “Is that your work?”
“Yes.”
Abrams stared at O’Brien. He said, “Killing doesn’t seem to disturb you.”
“All the killings in the cloak-and-dagger world since the last war don’t equal the deaths in one small battle. If nations confined themselves to letting spies kill one another, we’d all be better off. This is the sacrifice we make on the altar of the god of war to keep him from killing more of us. If we’d won tonight, there would never again be the chance of war on this earth. But now, thanks to you, Van Dorn, and your friends, we’re back to the nuclear brink.”
“I think I’d rather live on the brink than in the hole.”
“Easy to say now. Tell me that five years from now when there’s another crisis.”
“You won’t be around five minutes from now.”
O’Brien looked at him intently. “Are you going to kill me?”
“Why not?”
“Because the American intelligence establishment wants me. Every spy sings when he’s in a cage. I could sing for ten years and not repeat a song.”
Abrams nodded. He knew this was true. The more highly placed the criminal or the traitor, the more likely it was they’d make a deal with him.
O’Brien seemed to relax, and dropped into a conversational tone. “My one real mistake in recent years was not killing Van Dorn. But I thought he’d drink himself to death.” He laughed.
“He may. But it won’t do you any good.”
“No.” O’Brien turned and looked out the window, then said to Abrams, “We may still see that flash in the sky.”
“We may. Tell me, why did you think it was necessary to fake your death? You would have been more useful to them on the scene.”
O’Brien laughed. “I didn’t intend to fake my death. That idiot, Thorpe, nearly killed me. What I faked was a heart attack before I opened my chute. Most parachutists whose chutes don’t open suffer heart failure before they hit the ground.”
“What do you plan to come up with this time?”
“Nothing… I’m ready to go with you. The CIA will make you a god, Tony. You’ll never want for anything as long as you live.” O’Brien stepped from behind the desk. “Here — there’s a passage in this paneled wall that leads to the security office, so we don’t have to go out into the hall again.”
Abrams motioned with his rifle and O’Brien went to the paneled wall to the right of the fireplace. He pulled on a wall sconce and a hidden door swung open. He turned to Abrams. “You know, I often tried to imagine how it would end. But I never imagined this.” He thought a moment, then said, “Do you know what I feel? I feel embarrassed. I’m not looking forward to facing Kate or Van Dorn or the others.”
Abrams came closer to O’Brien. “Move.”
O’Brien went through the concealed door first, followed by Abrams. They walked through the security office, passed the body of Davis, and went on through the second concealed door, stopping at the base of the stairs. O’Brien said, “If it makes any difference to you, I actually was fond of you.”
Abrams thought, That was the one thing I didn’t want to hear. He looked around the small foyer and listened. It was quiet. He said, “I’ve decided to save you the embarrassment; I won’t drag it out and make you suffer, though you deserve to suffer.”
O’Brien opened his mouth to speak.
Abrams lifted his rifle and fired. Patrick O’Brien fell back on the staircase, a surprised look on his face.
Abrams stared at him a long time, then went to find Joan Grenville, thinking, I knew. I knew all along it was him. We all knew, but none of us can bring ourselves to believe that Daddy is a liar, or that God is a fake, or that the minister is an atheist. That was his strength. He did not have to deceive us, we deceived ourselves.
74
Cameron and Sutter had found two bottles of vodka, and Tom Grenville had found a mobile hydraulic hoist that was used to lift repair personnel to the flat roof. They sat now on the roof, with Stewart and General Johnson, passing the bottles around, looking into the clear night sky, waiting. Pembroke was still below because they did not want to move him, and Ann was still on the radio, with Abrams assisting her. Katherine was also below tending to Pembroke.
There was a sound from the hydraulic hoist and Joan Grenville rose from the hatch like an apparition in a Greek play. She stepped off the lift’s platform. “Hello, Tom.”
He looked up from the bottle. “Hello, Joan.” He took another swig, then said, “What are you doing here?”
“I slipped my trolley. May I have that?”
He passed her the bottle and she took a long drink and passed it back. She said, “That’s awful stuff.”
“Real Russian vodka. Spoils of war.”
“You’re drunk.”
“You’re beautiful,” said Stewart. “I’m drunk.”
Joan glanced at him appraisingly, then turned to Tom. “I told you we should have stayed home tonight.”
He said, “Business is business. How many times do I have to explain to you where the money comes from?”
She sat down on the roof. “What are we waiting for?”
Sutter answered, “For the helicopter extraction. Also, we’re waiting for the world to end. Look west, young lady.”
Joan said, “Which way is west?”
“There,” said Sutter, and pointed.
Joan looked toward the western horizon. “I can see Manhattan from here.” She looked at Stewart. “May I have another?”
He replied, “Is your leg broken? Mine is. It was very painful until a little while ago.” He passed her the bottle grudgingly.
Grenville said, “I lost my watch. Does anyone have the time?”
Johnson answered, “It is zero, zero, zero, five hours.”
Grenville looked annoyed. “What time is that in real time?”
Sutter lay back on the roof. “Five after twelve, Tom.”
“Well, why didn’t he say so?”
“What time is the world going to end?” asked Joan.
Stewart replied, “In one minute, give or take an infinity.”
Joan Grenville looked at her husband. “I love you.”
Grenville blushed. “Please.”
They passed the bottle around and waited.
Ann pushed the microphone away and shut off the transmit switch. She said, “That’s all I can do. It’s in the laps of the gods now.”
Tony Abrams went to a gable window and stared through the broken panes, “You did a good job. If I were the Russian Premier, I’d call it off.”
She looked at him. “Would you? I mean, you know them, don’t you? I only know their voices and their coded messages. I’ve never really met one of them until tonight. I know what they say, but not how they think. I don’t know their souls.”
“No one does. Least of all them.” He turned from the window. “They wouldn’t even answer us.”
She shook her head. “No… they wouldn’t do that. They would be admitting to something, and they admit to nothing.”
“What time is on that digital clock?”