West tried to speak, but his tongue seemed out of control and he made unintelligible sounds.
Thorpe patted West’s thigh. “There, there. Cat got your tongue? Just relax a minute.”
Eva said, “He is stalling. The electric shock makes him lose his tongue, but he pretends it is for longer than it is.”
“Perhaps. But within a few days I’ll have my way with him. When he’s broken, he’ll talk and talk and even volunteer information we haven’t thought to ask for.” Thorpe motioned to a video camera suspended on a boom. “And it will all be recorded in color and quality sound.”
Eva snorted. “Americans are too in love with their gadgets.”
Thorpe laughed as he pushed the rewind button on a video recorder, then hit the play button.
Eva grabbed West’s head in a powerful grip and pulled back his eyelids.
A video monitor above West’s face came to life and West’s voice came out of a speaker: “No! No! N—!” followed by the sound of West’s piercing scream.
West stared up at the image of himself screaming and twisting in agony.
Thorpe shut off the player. “You see what I did to you, Nick? How would you like to watch hours of reruns like that? It’s almost as bad as the real thing, isn’t it, pal? Look at you. You’re sweating like a pig.”
Eva made a noise of disgust.
Thorpe grinned. “Another refinement in the Thorpe Method is the use of pleasure to reinforce truth. For instance…” He poked West in the ribs. “Pay attention. Now, answer carefully. Is anyone other than you familiar with the contents of the Talbot file?”
West blinked and shook his head, then remembered that he had to answer in complete sentences. “No… except Ann… She is familiar with the Talbot file… No one else.”
Thorpe kept his eyes on the two lie-analyzers. Then nodded. “Very good, Nick. Thank you.” He nodded to Eva.
Eva loosened West’s chest strap a notch and West took long, deep breaths. She poured mineral oil from a bottle and massaged it into West’s sweaty shoulders.
Thorpe hit a button on the console and the soft strains of Beethoven’s “Moonlight Sonata” filled the room. Thorpe said, “You have such saccharine taste in music, Nick.”
Thorpe turned to Eva, who was now massaging West’s legs. “I tell you, Eva, I’ve seen it work a dozen times. Everyone tries to avoid pain, but that does nothing to satisfy the human psyche or to get the prisoner on your side. The body and mind also need pleasure.” Thorpe shut off the music. “That was torture to me.” He laughed.
West cleared his throat. “Monster…”
Thorpe smiled. “Another Thorpe Method, Mr. West, is to let the prisoner vilify you. In the bad old days that would have gotten you a broken jaw. But as long as the analyzers show that you really believe that, you won’t receive any pain.”
“I do.”
Thorpe nodded. “Also, I sometimes use sex if I feel the prisoner requires it as a reward for truth.” He bent over West and said in a stage whisper, “Don’t worry. If I use sex, it won’t be her.” He laughed. “That’s no treat. I know — I have to service her once a week.”
Eva looked flustered, but she smiled tightly as she wiped her oily hands on a towel.
Thorpe came closer to West. “Okay, Professor, let’s continue. Why did you discount O’Brien as Talbot?”
West replied, almost dreamily, “He was being set up… no real evidence… he was being maneuvered into compromising situations… by Talbot… ”
“How can you be so sure?”
“They tried to kill O’Brien… after the war… real attempt… hunting accident in Utah… bullet in the stomach… almost died… ”
“I never knew that.”
“Secret… in the files… ”
“So why can’t you deduce who it was who tried to frame O’Brien during the war? Why don’t you know who Talbot is?”
“Guess… guess… three people… not one… Trinity… probably unknown to each other.”
Thorpe rubbed his chin, then bent closer to West. “Could one of them be my father?”
West stared at Thorpe for a long time, then closed his eyes and drifted off.
Eva passed a vial of smelling salts under West’s nose. West turned his face and Eva slapped him.
Thorpe repeated the question.
West nodded. “Yes… yes… it’s possible… ”
“How close was O’Brien to the truth?”
“He thought he was close.”
Thorpe glanced at the analyzers. “That was a tricky way to answer, Nick. Don’t get tricky on me.”
Eva said, “You see, these gadgets can be fooled.”
Thorpe smiled. “For a while. That’s how I beat the Company’s yearly interrogation. But coupled with torture, time, and technique, the Thorpe Method works.”
Eva picked up a surgical scalpel from the instrument table. “If I remove one testicle, he will do whatever is necessary to protect the other one.”
West turned his head toward her. “No!”
Thorpe said impatiently, “I’m the interrogator, not you, Eva. Leave.”
Eva threw her scalpel down and stomped off.
Thorpe glanced at West and could see the terror in his eyes. Thorpe smiled. The final refinement in the Thorpe Method was this Damocles sword, or scalpel, hanging over the prisoner.
West said softly, “Peter, please… I can’t think straight with her near me… ”
“Now, now.” Thorpe put his hand on West’s arm. “We won’t give her any reason to use the scalpel.”
West nodded.
Thorpe pulled up a stool and sat beside the gurney. “All right, Professor, another method of mine is to let you ask some questions. Shoot.”
West stared at Thorpe for some time, then asked, “Who do you work for?”
“The KGB, of course.” He smiled. “I’m actually a major. The Russians love ranks. They think I’m honored to be a major. They’re more rank conscious than the Nazis were.”
“If you’re a KGB officer, why don’t you know who Talbot is?”
“They won’t tell me that. They want me to see if I can discover it. If I can, then the CIA, or you, or O’Brien, can also.”
“Who do you suspect?”
Thorpe smiled. “My father, for one. But I think Pat O’Brien is — was — on to someone else, who, as farfetched as it sounds, may also be Talbot.”
“O’Brien—”
“Is dead, Nick. Next question.”
West stayed silent for some time, then asked, “Carbury…?”
“I confess.” Thorpe lit a cigarette. “After I had the double lead off Kate’s private detectives, he was vulnerable. I picked the lock in his room, and when he returned to dress for dinner, I bashed his head in with a walking stick. I stuffed him in a plastic trash bag, along with the stick and his tuxedo, and dropped him out the window into the alley. He was collected later by friends of mine. Fortunately, he had his briefcase with him. I’ll show you what was in it later. Unfortunately, however, I overlooked the blood on my cuff. Mr. Abrams did not overlook it. Mr. Abrams will pay with his own blood. Next question.”
“You… madman…”