The Monk took her hand, holding it gently, happy inside There had been no dead brother. His brother, older than he was by two years, was alive and well, highly placed in the People's Government. But guilt was what he surmised was trapping this American woman whom he so admired. He was no psychiatrist but, among his various expertises, he knew he was a more than fair psychologist. One had to be in order to break POWs as he had done during the Vietnamese war. It had not been enough merely to run missions, according to his government. Parallel situations, he knew, could potentially be very useful at opening people up. The Monk had found over the years that the indirect route most often led towards success. That was one of the reasons he was so good at what he did.

  Lauren picked up the linen handkerchief the Monk put on the table in front of her, blew her nose. She looked up at him from beneath jewelled lashes. 'Thank you,' she said. Then took his hand and squeezed it. 'I'm so sorry about your brother.'

  'It was a long time ago,' the Monk said, making it easy for her. 'These wounds tend to heal slowly. But I assure you they

  do heal.'

  'You were right all along,' Lauren said. 'I don't hate him.'

  'You know,' he said slowly, 'war has a peculiar way of twisting people. Reality changes and you find yourself committing acts you never thought yourself capable of. You survive.'

  'It wasn't his fault. I see that now. He did nothing wrong. My brother ' She stopped herself. This was almost a stranger sitting across the table from her. But sometimes, as now, she knew, it was far easier to talk to someone you did not know well.

  On the other side of the table, the Monk was thinking the

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  same thing. He almost told her all of it then. For weeks, he had been planning to find someone trustworthy, to get it all out in one long purgative rush, settle his rebellious conscience. But as Lauren could go no further at this moment, so he too backed

  offSweat trickled uncomfortably down his sides and he took a

  deep breath, collecting himself. He was no longer certain that what he had planned to do was the right course of action. Always before this he had been sure of what to do. If he believed in any gods he knew he should pray to them now. But he did not know how; he believed in nothing but the immutability of China. That was what made his decision so difficult. He could not bear to think of himself as a traitor.

  'Well... it took some doing getting in to see you.'

  Atherton Gottschalk sat up in his hospital bed, three goosedown pillows he had specifically requested plumped up behind his back. He was allergic to foam. His eyes opened wide.

  'Christ. Macomber. What a surprise."

  Macomber peered at him, standing at the foot of the bed. There was no one else in the room. The air conditioning hummed peacefully. 'Jesus, Atherton, you look like hell.'

  Gottschalk's face darkened. 'Just what the fuck d'you expect me to look like, you bastard? I could've been dead!'

  Macomber smiled, drawing it out as long as he could. It really serves this sonuvabitch right, he thought. Let him twist in the wind and see how he likes it; he gave me quite a start with his foolishness over the Christian woman. 'I see the waistcoat I sent you was the right size.'

  'Of course it was the right size.' Gottschalk's head came forward. 'What the hell happened to your plan?'

  'Why are you lowering your voice?' Macomber wanted to know. 'The room bugged?'

  'Answer me, damnit!'

  Macomber came around to the side of the bed, stood over the other, hands folded. 'This was the plan, Atherton.'

  'What?' Whatever colour had been in Gottschalk's face had drained away.

  59i

  »*

  'By the way, I saw your lovely wife, Roberta, just outside talking to a couple of television reporters. She looks like the Firsj

  Lady already.'

  'Never mind that. I want to know what the hell is going On '

  'And so you shall,' Macomber said in a soothing tone of voice

  'Why do you think I'm here?' He sat down, leaning in closer

  'I hired this Islamic fanatic through a third party of course. He

  thought his country was behind it but to hell with what he

  thought.'

  'Christ Jesus!' Gottschalk almost strangled on the words. 'For the love of God, why? I could've been killed!'

  Macomber nodded. 'Yes, that's quite true, you could have been. But the risk factor was low. I made sure the man was a professional. He had orders to fire at your heart. And that was where you were protected.'

  Gottschalk shuddered. 'He might have missed!' 'But,' Macomber said calmly, 'the fact of the matter is he didn't.' He stood up. 'And as to why.' He pointed to the litter of newspapers and national magazines spread over Gottschalk's lap. ' That is precisely why.' 'The press?'

  'You're a goddamned twenty-four carat hero, Atherton. Your words alone - your platform, along with the advertising dollars the Party's going to spend on you - might've persuaded enough voters. Might've. But now I've turned your words into tangible fact. You see the difference? I've turned theory into visceral reality. And it's hit the public in the solar plexus. First they're outraged by what's happened to you, then they begin to realize the immediacy of the situation. Now they know that something has to be done; they want to do it ... they need to do it. And you're that something, Atherton.'

  'Christ,' Gottschalk said, absorbing Macomber's words, 'at least you could've told me what you had planned. I could've

  prepared -'

  'And that preparation would've spoiled everything. Dont

  you see? It all had to be absolutely real.'

  'But, damnit, man this's my life you're playing with!' Macomber shrugged. 'High stakes, Atherton. The highest-

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  You agreed to play by those rules when you joined the angka '

  Reddened anger still tinged Gottschalk's cheeks 'I don't want jjys kind of thing happening again, d'you understand' What the hell kmd've insurance do I have that you won't pull the same kind of crazy stunt on Inauguration Day '

  'You have my assurance, Atherton In January, while you are taking your oath of office, while the entire country looks to that ceremony, the terrorist cadre will already be within the New York environs The nuclear waste at a shielded site they will believe is secure But I will know the location and so will you §0 when they send their demands, when they threaten this country, you will be able to act You will be able to deploy the mobile anti-terrorist unit against them They will be destroyed and you will be able to do anything We'll be able to move against our enemies subtly at first, you and I have no desire to be part of a nuclear conflagration ' He laughed 'We're not madmen, after all But to stem the flux of European submission to the Russians, the slide of the Third World To right the geopolitical tilt to ensure America's security '

  'I want more than your assurances," Gottschalk said He still had not recovered from the whine in his ear, the pmwheel of agony in his chest like a white-hot poker His heart, his heart1 Nausea built up in him at the thought of what the shock of the assassin's bullet might have done to his fluttering heart Cardiac arrest White as a fish like John Holmgren Breath stilled and unseeing eyes

  Gottschalk knew deep down that Macomber had had something to do with the Governor's sudden death Usually, when that thought crept up on him, he sealed it away in his own leadlined bunker Whatever Macomber had been up to, he did not want to know That kind of knowledge was lethal, like a virus infecting the system, spreading until it ate away life itself He wanted no part of the dirt Just give me the Presidency, he thought

  'I want a guarantee,' he said now, clenching his fist What good 'he Presidency if his heart burst in the process, flooding him'

  Atherton,' Macomber said softly, 'let me remind you that YOU re m no position to demand anything '

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  'No?' Gottschalk's eyes flashed. 'And what d'you think you'j] have without me?' !

  'You're not going to give up your one chance for the PresK dency. I know you too well. You're too power-conscious.' 'Goddamnit!' Gottschalk cried. 'I want a renegotiation!' Macomber swooped down on him without warning, leaning very close, pulling the man's gown up between his fisted fingers Til give you a renegotiation, you sonuvabitch! The same cme I offered your former mistress, Miss Christian.'

  'Kathleen?' Gottschalk's voice was faint, his eyes wide. 'What do you know about Kathleen? Have they found her?'

  'No,' Macomber said. 'And they never will. She's at the bottom of the Hudson River.'

  'Dead?' Gottschalk whispered. 'She's dead? What -?' His face was filled with sudden terror.

  'That's right. Morte. Gone to her final reward which, in her case, can't be much. You were stupid enough to allow her to overhear a conversation with Eliott.' 'What're you saying?'

  'She knew the date, you moron. She knew about 31 August. She came to New York to infiltrate the angka. My thought is she was going to use whatever she learned to control you. To lever Roberta out and her in. Lucky for all of us I found out

  about it.'

  'You!' Gottschalk choked. 'Christ, you killed her!' Macomber put his lips against Gottschalk's ear. 'That was her renegotiation and I can arrange the same terms for you, Atherton. Just say the word.'

  Atherton Gottschalk was trembling in fury and fear. He did not open his mouth, stared straight ahead at the blank white wall.

  Thwaite had put off getting the unit together until he returned to the precinct but he might as well not have bothered. Ivory White was at his desk when he checked in. The man was holding a light-green folder, identifying it as an active Homicide case. 'What d'you have there?' 'Welcome back,' White said. 'We all -'

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  'Yeah, yeah,' Thwaite interrupted, uncomfortable with all the fuss his presence had already aroused downstairs. 'Save the hearts and flowers for someone else '

  'Yessir,' White said somewhat stiffly. 'It's just that everything's been an unholy mess around here without you What With the Republican candidate being shot, Borak and Enders coming up with the assassin so quick '

  Thwaite saw the two of them getting off the elevator, coming Over to where he and White stood. 'I know all about it,' he said The Times had done an uncharacteristically blistering editorial denouncing the act and deploring the country's lack of effectiveness against international terrorist strategy and the next day the Washington Post followed suit, citing in particular the presence of the Soviet-made AK-47 rifle Both Time and Newsweek devoted entire pull-out sections to the incident along with an up-to-date summary of the worldwide 'pandemic', as they called it, of terrorist attacks Last night, 60 Minutes had scrapped their entire show to spend an uncharacteristic sixty minutes exploring the rising tide of international terrorism culminating in the attack on the life of Atherton Gottschalk

  In fact, within eight hours of the shooting, Atherton Gottschalk's name had been on everyone's tongue across the nation and seemed to stay there The latest CBS-NY Times poll showed Gottschalk's political stock to have skyrocketed Over 76 per cent of the American public now seemed to agree with his views and the incoming Gallup Poll indicated that figure was rising

  'Well, well, well,' Borak said, grinning, 'you came back just in time to miss all the excitement'

  'How you feeling, Doug?> Enders asked

  'Okay,' Thwaite said, though it was far from the truth

  'Christ,' Borak went on, ignoring them both, 'that fuckm' Gottschalk's become a saviour And why not' The bastard's «en right all along Everything he said might happen is already happening, for Chnssakes I tell you, he'll be a damn sight better at running this country than that schmuck who's trying to do

  11 now '

  If I remember right,' Enders said, 'you voted for Lawrence ' So what'' Borak said aggressively 'The bastard looked good

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  ^

  then; a lotta things did.' He pointed a finger. 'Thing is thls sonuvabitch seemed to know the hit was going down as ij y, happening.' He shook his head.

  Thwaite was instantly alert. He knew Borak had switched topics in mid-stream, that he was talking about their tip-off to the assassination attempt.

  'You didn't by any chance have a tape running at the tirne'

  Thwaite asked.

  Borak shook his head, still thinking about the call. 'Damnedest thing I ever heard.'

  'Naw, I guess not,' Thwaite said. 'That would call for some kind of rudimentary intelligence.'

  Borak came out of his reverie. His pig eyes flashed. ' What'd

  you say, fucker?'

  'Just that you should've had it recorded.'

  Borak's face twisted up. Td've had to've been psychic for that, smart guy. How did I know what was about to come in?'

  'It was redirected here from 911, wasn't it?' Thwaite said calmly. 'All 911 calls are recorded. Or had you forgotten that,

  too?'

  Borak leaped and Enders put himself between the cop and Thwaite. 'Asshole!' Borak shouted. 'Shows how much you don't know.' He sneered. 'That anonymous call came in direct through the precinct switchboard. Now what d'you think of

  that?'

  Thwaite was thoughtful for a moment. He looked at them both. 'Did either of you wonder about that?' he said. 'I would. A real anonymous call would've come in to the 911 operator, Who the hell would know to call here and get you? Some anonymous civilian? The hell he would.'

  He left them standing there, staring after him. White came along with him. 'What the hell is going on?' 'I wish I knew.' Thwaite looked at him, saw again the light green folder. 'You never did answer my question.'

  White stopped them. They were near one of the fortress-like windows that overlooked City Hall and the arch of the municipal building. People were down there, walking, eating » fresco, making the best of being in the city in the summer.

  596

  Reluctantly, White handed him the folder 'Not the best of tunes for you to see this, I know. But, all the same, I think you better have a look.'

  Xhwaite looked from White's pinched face to the cover of the folder He opened it and immediately said, 'Oh, Jesus fucking Christ!'

  White winced when he said it but stood stoically while fliwaite read the report through, then start all over again.

  'When did this come in?' Thwaite breathed.

  'Early yesterday.' White shifted uncomfortably from one foot to another. 'Wouldn't've found him yet but for the water, ge hves alone, had very few visitors, apparently It was the bath.'

  'Yeah '

  'Overflowed and seeped down into the apartment underneath. The neighbour called the super who eventually used his passkey to get in and found the body.'

  'Bastards,' Thwaite said. He felt helpless and, for the first time since he joined the Force, incompetent. 'I see you're on it,' he said handing the folder back. 'Well, stay on it. I want every '

  'Was is more like it, m'man.'

  Thwaite swung around.' What?'

  White nodded. 'Pulled off an hour ago. Some Fed system blitzed us. Just came in and took the whole thing outa our hands Copies of the authorization're in the folder if you want to take a look It's all legal I think the guy used to be one of theirs.'

  Thwaite turned away and thought, Tracy's father Now what in the name of hell is happening?

  Outside, a mother and child walked hand in hand. A little girl and a big girl. Together. Dons. Phyllis, Thwaite thought. I'll never see you again. And Tracy will never see his father. Jesus. He shivered inwardly.

  I think we're in over our heads

  The telex came in at midnight, New York time; that made it one in the afternoon, the day before, Shanghai time.

  Macomber had just returned from a long, leisurely dinner at 'he Club, hosting one of his monthly affairs in the Club's private

  597

  dining room. As usual, it was a mixture of business and pleasur Two or three deals, at the least, were always consummated at one of his gatherings, the informal yet competitive atmosphet contributing to the incentive of having one's associates as well as rivals all together in the same room.

  This particular night had been inordinately successful f0r Macomber himself. Metronics was beginning to ride the crest of what everyone now believed was Atherton Gottschalk's imminent election. These were men who prided themselves in the extent of their forward thinking and all felt certain that Metronics' new groundbreaking projects were about to sky. rocket in production and profits, given the climate of the times and the bent of the incoming administration.

  Macomber was offered six deals, two of which - added microchip manufacturing and rare metals mining - he sewed up immediately. One other, - the building of a movable oil rig he had commenced negotiation on.

  He had good reason to be joyful on his way home; even the spectre of Khieu's strangeness could not overshadow his elation. He had done what he could about it and he set his mind at rest, allowing the soft rolling of the limo's shocks as he rode downtown to lull him further into the wine-enhanced euphoria he

  had been feeling.

  Yet all that and more evaporated when the telex came. It was delivered to his office at Metronics - as had been previously agreed upon - which was open twenty-four hours a day. Lately he had taken to sleeping there, during this long wait for Tisah, the house on Gramercy Park South reminding him too much now of those lonely days just after he had returned from the war, with money and Khieu but no one else nothing but his ambition and his sharp and omnipresent memories of Tisah. It was obvious to him now why he could not care for Joy or for any other female for that matter. It was Tisah and Tisah only who had captured him.

  He took the thin pale yellow envelope with a trembling hand. For a moment, alone in the thrumming dark heart of Metronics. he debated with himself. Either way - whatever news this tele" contained he suspected he would be far better off sending" into his document shredder unread.

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  But he knew just as well that that was impossible There was too much feeling driving him on to open it

  He used a bone letter opener, catching it somewhere on the inside and swearing mightily, using his finger, hooked, to tear the recalcitrant paper

 

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