“Question!”
West licked his lips, then said, “Why is Talbot so important… Why is Moscow ordering murders on American and British soil to protect him?… Why not get him out of the country…?”
Thorpe replied, “Obviously, Nick, they need him in the country.”
“Why?”
Thorpe shrugged. “I’m not certain. But I do know that America’s days are numbered. Most probably the end will come on the July Fourth weekend. That much I had to be told so I’d be prepared… and safe.”
“First strike?”
“No.” Thorpe dropped his cigarette on the floor. “I thought perhaps you knew something.”
“No.”
Thorpe’s hand was already on the dial and he gave West a massive electrical shock.
West bellowed at the top of his lungs and his body strained against the straps. He bit his tongue and blood ran over his lips. “Oh… oh… no…” Tears formed in his eyes and Thorpe wiped them away with a handkerchief. “There, there… why do you make me do that?”
West was sobbing. “Peter… please… try to understand… I’m conditioned to respond… give me a second chance… before you do that… ”
Thorpe shook his head. “I’m reconditioning you, Nick. The child psychology books and animal behavior books all say that one must be consistent with rewards and punishments. The Torturer’s Handbook—yes, there is such a thing; I helped rewrite it — says the very same thing. Do you understand that?”
“Yes, yes.”
“And I promise you, I’ll stick to the book. I’ll never lose my temper with you, never act out of personal motivations, whether they be evil or benign. I’ve had other friends on this table.”
“My God…”
“Now what do you know of the Soviet plan?”
West drew a deep breath and replied, “I think… it has to do with… Peter, listen… listen to me… They’re going to kill you… they won’t let you live knowing… this…”
Thorpe stared at the analyzers, then said softly, “You believe that, don’t you?” He looked at his watch. “I don’t have any more time for you right now.” He slid off the stool. “First things first, which is one of Katherine’s favorite aphorisms. The first thing I have to do is finalize the plans to kidnap her.”
West managed to raise his head. “Who…?”
“Katherine. While I’m at it, I’ll kill Abrams.”
“Tony Abrams…? Why?”
“I don’t like him. But from a practical standpoint, he could become a problem. Anyway, you’ll have company soon. Kate will be lying next to you by this evening. What a chorus you’ll make. Stereophonic singing.”
“You’re sick. Everyone knows it. Ann knows it, I know it—”
Thorpe reached for the dial, but hesitated, then took a deep breath and moved his hand away. “You will not bait me, you little shit.”
“Temper…”
Thorpe leaned over West so that their faces were inches apart. “Let me give you a little news about your beloved Ann—”
“Ann…”
“Is dead.”
“No. No.”
“Yes… And I’m going to kill you, too. And I don’t care that you know, because your knowledge of Ann’s death, and your own forthcoming death, will in no way alter the outcome of your debriefing.”
“You… you didn’t… couldn’t… She is not dead.”
“She is.” Thorpe put his finger on West’s forehead and pushed. “That’s where I’m going to put the bullet in your head. Do you believe that?”
“Y-y-yes.”
Thorpe looked at the polygraph and voice analyzer. “That is one of the few questions that will produce an inconclusive response.” He tapped West’s forehead. “Believe it. Right here. Bang! And that’s a favor because I have nothing against you personally. For people who’ve crossed me, death takes two weeks.”
West stared at Thorpe, then said, “How could you… to Katherine…?”
Thorpe straightened up and began moving away. “On a professional level, she has information that I’d like to have. Personally, I’d like to see the arrogant bitch strapped on a table howling her guts out. What a film that would make.”
“Peter… if you have any soul… any heart at all—”
“I don’t. And speaking of balls, keep an eye out for Eva.”
“Peter… Katherine doesn’t know anything I don’t know.”
“We’ll find out. By tonight you’ll both be trying to outscream each other to get my attention.”
“Ann is not dead!”
“Stop worrying about the Kimberly girls, West. There’s nothing you can do for them. Or for anyone, including yourself.”
Thorpe walked to the doors then turned back. “Within a few hours I’ll have the first edited videotapes of you and Katherine delivered to Glen Cove. My Russian friends will be both enlightened and amused by them. They wanted you themselves, but as with most things they do, they torture badly.”
West’s voice carried across the room, surprisingly strong. “They’re going to kill you, you fool.”
“Not as long as I have you. Not as long as they need me. And I’ll be certain they need me until—”
“The end. Then they’ll liquidate you. You have no place in their plans.”
“There’s always a place for a man like me, Nicko.” Thorpe stayed silent for some time, then said, “Within a few weeks, based partly on what you and Katherine tell me, we will know for certain if and how we can proceed. We will know if America is to live or die. But as for you two, you can consider yourselves already dead. Speak to you later, pal.”
33
Katherine Kimberly ran onto the Brooklyn Bridge’s boardwalk and began the uphill climb. The morning had dawned clear and cool, and the view was magnificent. The boards beneath her feet were resilient and, as always, she reveled in their springiness. She began the downhill portion and picked up her speed.
A few vehicles passed in either direction and she found herself looking more at them than at the view. A brown van came up behind her and she heard it slow. She increased her stride and looked back over her shoulder. The van drew abreast of her and kept pace. She began an all-out sprint and caught up to a small group of joggers.
The van drew abreast again and a man looked out the open passenger-side window. He called out. “Hey! Want a ride?”
She glanced at him and in a split second, based on instinct and experience, knew he was harmless. She ignored him and kept running. The van pulled ahead and disappeared.
Katherine stayed with the group and followed the exit ramp around Cadman Plaza, then ran south on Henry Street. A few early risers watched idly. A truck driver whistled. A small boy fell in beside her and asked in the local dialect, “Youse runnin’?”
Katherine smiled at the obvious question.
“Hey, can I run witch youse?”
“Sure… no. No, it’s not safe.” She put on a burst of speed and outdistanced the boy.
The few other runners she had stayed with turned into Cranberry Street and headed for the Brooklyn Heights Promenade. Katherine continued alone down Henry Street at too fast a pace, looking over her shoulder every few seconds. She was sweaty, and found her breathing to be much harder than it should have been.
She saw Abrams’ building ahead, an expensive highrise set among the brownstones. She increased her stride. As the landscaped entrance to the building came up, she cut diagonally across the forecourt and pushed through the glass doors. She leaned against the foyer wall and caught her breath, then glanced at her chronograph: 4.62 miles in 39 minutes. Not bad.
Katherine pushed at the inner glass doors, but they were locked. She turned to find Abrams’ buzzer, but a man inside the lobby opened the door for her. She hesitated, then slid past him and crossed the lobby quickly. She pushed the elevator button and waited. The man stood in the center of the lobby staring at her. The elevator came and she rode up to the sixth floor.