Shadow of a Broken Man (14 page)

Later, I became dimly aware of sunlight falling across my face. A big man was standing over me, calling my name. It was Garth. I wept. Garth cut away the ropes from my wrists and ankles, then picked me up in his arms and carried me out.

    15

It was night again, and somewhere a phone was ringing. I tensed, waiting for the terrible pain that didn't come. Finally I hurled myself through the darkness toward the sound of the ringing, hit the phone, and knocked it off the stand. I landed on the floor of the room as the lights came on. Blubbering, I blindly scrambled on my hands and knees to the telephone wall socket and ripped the cord out of the wall.

Strong arms lifted me off the floor and forced me back into bed, then held me down until I was calm enough to look at my surroundings. I was in a hospital, and Garth was standing over me. His hair was rumpled and greasy, and there were dark, purplish rings under his eyes.

Garth grinned crookedly and poked me gently on the arm. "I've heard of people getting pissed off at the phone company, but this is ridiculous."

Nothing came out when I opened my mouth to speak. I felt trapped inside myself, surrounded by mushy walls of soft, fleshlike rubber that would absorb any sound I tried to make. A lump welled in my throat. I could barely move my elbows now, and I had a terrible thirst. I suddenly broke into tears, sobbing like a child. Garth stood quietly next to me, his arm around my shoulder, waiting for the spell to pass. It ended with a short fit of hiccuping. I took the tissue Garth handed me and blew my nose.

"Sorry," I mumbled.

Garth shook his head. "My fault. I told them to put the phone in here. I just wasn't thinking."

"What day is it?"

Garth looked at his watch. "We're a couple of hours into Friday. You've been out awhile."

"I'll bet it's raining in Acapulco."

Garth swallowed. "They hurt you bad, didn't they, Mongo?"

I wanted to cry again; the lump in my throat, the tears in my eyes, and a terrible self-pity all kept creeping up on me. I choked them back; I wondered if there would ever again be a time when I could be sure of speaking a sentence without a sob. "I've never been hurt like that, Garth. Never. I didn't think there could be pain like that."

"Who did it to you, Mongo?" Garth said in a savage whisper.

"I don't know," I said without knowing why.

Garth's eyes narrowed to slits. "Don't bullshit me, Mongo. The doctor says you've been shot, hung up by your elbows, cut, and subjected to electric shock. Somebody did that to you, and you're telling me you don't know who it was?"

"He was wearing a hood."

"I don't believe you. Who's Kaznakov? You kept screaming his name."

Tears came again without warning. I covered my face with my hands and sobbed uncontrollably.

"Kaznakov
," Garth persisted. "That's the man's name, right? He killed the other two, then went to work on you. You must have had a special place in his heart."

The fit of sobbing passed as quickly as it had come. The speed with which my emotions were darting out from behind corners frightened me. "I don't know where I got the name," I said. "I must have been babbling nonsense."

"Your brains are scrambled, Mongo, and I can understand why. But I want to find out who did this to you."

Haltingly, I told Garth what had happened, leaving out Kaznakov's name. I didn't want my brother involved with the Russian. There wasn't anything that could be done legally; Garth just wanted to look Kaznakov up personally, and if he did that he'd be dead. Kaznakov was absolutely invulnerable as long as he was attached to the Soviet U.N. Mission. Also, I wanted to keep my own options open concerning Kaznakov.

Garth shook his head. "Christ, brother, you really put your ass in a sling this time."

He had a point. Something was happening to me that I didn't understand. I was getting flashes again: memories of hanging on the pole, of having my muscles and bones pulled out of shape, not being able to breathe, the telephone ringing, electricity coursing through my body. I began to shake. Garth reached for me, but I pushed him away. In a few minutes the tremors passed. Maybe I was dead after all, the person I had been destroyed.

"I'm afraid, Garth," I said simply.

"You may be able to walk around in a few days, Mongo, but it's going to take a lot longer than that for your mind to heal. You have to expect that and accept it. You're only going to hurt yourself if you try to push things."

"What I need is work. You fall off a horse, you have to get right back on again."

"You didn't fall off any goddamn horse! You got taken apart. You don't need work, you need rest. Take it. You feel you owe somebody for this; forget it. No vendettas."

"It's more than that. They've got the Fosters in the Russian consulate."

"How's that?"

My memory seemed to be on the bum too; I couldn't remember whether or not I'd told Garth about the Fosters. I solved the problem by going through the whole case, from its inception.

If Garth had heard the story before, he didn't let on. "What do the Russians want with the Fosters?" he asked.

I told him, and asked if the police could do anything about getting them out.

Garth slowly shook his head. "There's no way, Mongo. I'll see that the State Department is notified, but from what you tell me, they probably already know. The problem is that the consulate is sovereign territory. We have no jurisdiction there, so there's no way we can get in. I'll call some people, though. Maybe we can shake things up."

"Don't," I said.

"Why not?"

"I'm not sure. It just seems that the more people who are in on this, the more people die."

Garth cocked his head to one side and stared at me. "What's the story on Rafferty? Have you found out why he's so valuable?"

"Not yet. But I have a feeling that history is repeating itself."

"Meaning what?"

"I'm convinced almost the same thing happened five years ago. The word on Rafferty—whatever that word is—got out, and people started dying. Lippitt warned me that could happen."

"You say the Englishmen didn't know why Rafferty was important. Do you think Lippitt knows?"

"He knows a lot more than he's telling me. But it still doesn't hold together. If Lippitt knew
everything
, then it's only logical to assume that
he'd
be a target. I think everybody was happy with the thought that Rafferty was dead; it's the possibility of his being alive that they can't tolerate. It's crazy. I've been a kind of Judas goat. Everybody thought that Rafferty was dead, and then I went around raising suspicions. Ever since I started making inquiries about Rafferty, I've been followed to see what I know and what I'm up to. I must have convinced a few people that Rafferty's alive; now they've gone independent. I have to get some answers fast."

"Meaning you have to find out what Rafferty knows?"

"It may not be anything he knows." Like Garth, I found myself slipping easily into the present tense when speaking of Rafferty. "It may be something that he
does"

"Like what?"

"Maybe he does tricks with his head; maybe he reads other people's minds."

Garth looked at me a long time, probably to see if I was joking. When he was sure I wasn't, he said, "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Arthur Morton became very interested in parapsychology around the same time he was working on Rafferty. I think there may be a connection."

"Hell, I can round up at least a hundred 'psychics' within ten blocks of here," Garth said sarcastically. "This is the Age of Aquarius, remember? Last week I could have paid twenty-five bucks to watch some guy bend forks without touching them; the trouble is that I've got a magician friend who can do the same thing—faster. If the Russians or anybody else wanted a 'mind reader,' all they'd have to do is wait outside some television studio. It's a lot of crap, Mongo."

"Well, maybe Rafferty is the real McCoy. The Defense Department takes telepathy seriously."

"I never thought I'd see the day when you'd cite the Pentagon as a paragon of enlightenment."

There was no point in arguing. "Will you do me a favor?"

"Doubtful," Garth said. "Not unless it involves making arrangements for you to take that vacation in Mexico."

I shook my head. It hurt. What I hadn't told Garth was the most important thing: I had to find out if I could finish it, if I could still function as a human being who also happened to be a dwarf. "I want you to call the U.N. and leave a message for Ronald Tal. Tell him where I am and that I'd like to talk to him." I gave Garth the number Tal had given me. I hesitated, then added, "Please, Garth; do it for me."

Garth stared at me, his eyes moist. "Look at you, Mongo," he whispered in a voice that cracked. "
Why
do you need any more of this shit?"

"I have to keep going, brother. Just take my word for it."

Finally he nodded. Reluctantly. He squeezed my arm tightly, then turned and walked from the room.

The sedatives the doctors gave me didn't help. I thrashed all night, soaking my sheets with sweat, suspended in a dirty twilight between waking and sleeping. Kaznakov chased me through my nightmares, always catching me, breaking my body and my mind. I asked for a shot, and whatever they gave me seemed to work. The quality of my dreams abruptly shifted; in the moments just before waking, I had the sensation that I was a child again and my mother was close, holding back the evil. My dreams turned warm and languid, and I rested.

When I woke up I found Tal standing beside my bed.

"Good morning, Mongo," he said quietly. "I came as soon as your brother called me. I won't ask how you're feeling. I can only say that I'm sorry."

"Thanks, Tal."

"I received permission to visit you early, but your brother made it clear to me that I shouldn't stay long. May I ask what happened?"

"It's not important. I ran into a very nasty person by the name of Kaznakov. You know him?"

The muscles in Tal's jaw tightened. "I know
of
him. Sergei Kaznakov is a Soviet agent attached to their mission here. The rumor is that he's a specialist—what some in the community call a 'freak.' Frankly, I'm surprised you survived the encounter."

"He has a taste for torture. I suppose that was a lucky- break for me."

Tal smiled. "If you can look at it that way, you must be feeling better already."

Although I hadn't realized it until Tal said so, I
was
feeling better; I was no longer shaking or sweating.

An attractive nurse entered with a breakfast tray. Tal unbuttoned the jacket of his double-breasted gray suit and helped maneuver the swing-armed table next to my bed. The nurse set the tray down in front of me, waited while I took the appetizer of two pink pills in a cup, then left with a backward, inviting glance at Tal.

"I'm sure Kaznakov doesn't know you're alive," Tal said when the nurse had gone. "If he did, he'd be after you; you're a blemish on his record."

"Best news I've had all day," I said around a mouthful of sodden oatmeal that tasted better than caviar. I was ravenously hungry.

"You should get away. I can arrange it."

"I want to fly down to North Carolina for a day or two when I get out of here. What's my expense account?"

"It will cover whatever you need, but why do you want to go
there?"

"I'd just as soon wait to discuss it," I said. I was starting to experience hot flashes again, visions of Kaznakov dogging my steps for the rest of my life. The train of my emotions was threatening to derail again, and I didn't feel like getting into a conversation on the merits of a visit to North Carolina. "I'll tell you this: the Russians think Rafferty may be alive, and I've got a hunch they just may be right. I still don't know why everybody wants him; whatever the reason, it's big. There's a small world war going on out there."

"Yes," Tal said quietly. "That's why the Secretary General is anxious for you to find out everything you can. Maybe we can stop that war."

"The Russians have Rafferty's widow, and her husband."

"The Fosters," Tal murmured. "I know."

 "You know?"

 Tal nodded. "You were looking at the U.N.; they're fishing in the same waters."

"It doesn't make any sense. Rafferty, if he is alive, gave up his identity—and his wife—five years ago. Why do the Russians assume he'll turn himself in to them just because they've got her now?"

"They're probably hoping to put pressure on him, maybe force some kind of mistake on his part. They may be counting on something as simple as residual affection."

"What happens to the Fosters if Rafferty
is
dead?" I asked, not sure I wanted an answer. "Or if he doesn't surface?"

"That's hard to say," Tal replied. "With the exception of people like Kaznakov, the Russians aren't interested in just killing people. The kidnapping has to be some kind of ploy. They may not harm the Fosters at all."

"Then again, they might."

"It's possible, if only to maintain their credibility for the next such operation. That's why the pressure's on Rafferty, if he's alive."

"Is there any way to get them out?"

Tal shook his head. "Not diplomatically; the Russians will simply deny that they have them."

I thought I'd picked up on something in Tal's voice. "Is there another way?"

"There's always another way. It would take a covert operation and require the services of some highly skilled men."

"Well? You've got a whole building full of agents."

"True," Tal said wryly. "The problem is that none of them work for the Secretary General. The best solution, of course, would be for you to
prove
that Rafferty is dead; then the Russians would have no reason to keep the Fosters."

"Rafferty may not be dead; even if he is, I may not be able to prove it."

Tal buttoned up his jacket. "I'll give it some thought. When do you plan to go to North Carolina?"

"As soon as I get out of here."

"Fine. You'll remember to keep a low profile?"

"Tal, I was born with a low profile."

He smiled, turned, and left the room. I finished my breakfast and leaned back on the pillow. For a moment, my mind was clear and I could pretend that I was all right.