Shadow of a Broken Man (21 page)

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 There was numb, shocked silence in the aftermath of the explosion. The silence, broken only by the fierce crackle of the flames, lasted almost thirty seconds and seemed an eternity. Then Lippitt suddenly sprang forward and punched Malakov in the mouth. The stunned ambassador sat down hard on the sand and put a trembling hand to his bleeding mouth.

"You fucker!" Lippitt growled. "You killed him! I should blow
you
away!"

Malakov struggled to his feet and spat blood. His face was purple. "
We
didn't kill him!" he shouted, ignoring the gun aimed at his heart. His voice trembled with outrage. "It was
your
people who must have done this thing!
You're
a fucker!"

They glared at each other across a distance of less than a yard. Then the tension was suddenly broken when two men with rifles came running up the beach from the direction of the remaining boathouses. One man's arm hung limp, and the other appeared to have singed hair. Otherwise they seemed to be all right.

"Excuse me," Tal said weakly. "I think I'm going to be sick." He walked shakily down the beach toward the undamaged boathouse on the right. He was holding his left arm tightly against his side; his shirt on that side was stained with blood, and the dark patch was spreading. No one else seemed to notice.

Garth nudged me. "All right, brother, let's hear it from the top."

"Huh?" I wasn't really listening. The apparent chaos suddenly did not seem so confused, not in light of some of the things that had begun to bother me. Had Lippitt ordered the killing? It seemed highly unlikely, considering Lippitt's ambiguous feelings toward Rafferty, and Malakov just hadn't had time, even if he'd had the inclination. Then who
had
arranged the explosion?

Rafferty.

He'd staged an apparently fatal end for himself, just as he'd done five years before. But this time he'd arranged for the entire world to look on.

"I want to hear the whole story, Mongo," Garth was saying. "I want to know what happened here."

"Over steaks and drinks, Garth. Just give me a few minutes."

Tal had disappeared from sight into the boathouse on the right. I went after him.

The boathouse was dark and smelled of still, dead air. Tal was standing at the opposite end, silhouetted by the late- morning light streaming in a window. He was smoking a cigarette—the first time I'd ever seen him do so. The smoke curled up around his head like a halo, or a mist from hell.

"I'll be damned," I said, the dank air muffling my voice. "Here I've been following you around all this time and I haven't found a single hamburger wrapper. You certainly did go through some changes, didn't you?"

I instinctively held up my hand and shied away as I felt an almost imperceptible tingling in my head. It was a sensation I'd experienced before and hadn't been able to put my finger on. This time I'd been looking for it.

"I assume you can control what you do," I said. "I'd appreciate it if you'd respect my privacy."

The tingling stopped. Tal was still silhouetted against the window, and I couldn't see his face. I wondered what he was thinking.

"How did you manage the fingerprints on the pencil? That was good. It threw me off the track right at the beginning."

Tal said nothing. He continued to smoke.

"You know that I know."

" What
do you know, Mongo?"

"I know that you're Victor Rafferty. That was the French agent who died in the boathouse. Elliot Thomas was the 'Frenchie'—an American working deep undercover for France." I pointed to his side. "You're bleeding, but there aren't any bullet holes in your shirt. You've been favoring that side since yesterday; you ripped open an already existing wound when you tackled Garth. My guess is that Thomas—or whatever his name really was—finally caught up with you. After all, he'd been at it a long time, and he'd
really
been digging ever since the Nately Museum went up. He knew, just as your ex-wife knew, that Victor Rafferty had designed that building. Somehow, you got on Thomas' list of candidates; when he got around to checking your background, your cover didn't hold."

Tal remained silent.

"God only knows how Thomas did it," I continued, "but he must have gotten the drop on you. Unlucky for him: Thomas didn't make out any better than Lippitt did five years ago. You've been keeping Thomas on ice for the past few days; Rolfe Thaag's been baby-sitting him while you put this plan into operation. You knew what was in my mind, so you had every reason to think I'd buy it. I can't point to any one thing that convinced me; it's the sum of a lot of
little
things. Considering the fact that you've been winging it for the past few days, you've done damn well. But then, you read minds, don't you?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, Mongo," Tal said quietly.

"Now you're just playing out the string, hoping I'll back off. I won't. Putting Thomas in that boathouse down there was pretty murderous for Victor Rafferty, but you certainly had cause. He's been trying to kill or capture you for years. That would try my patience too."

Tal still hadn't moved, and I stayed where I was, firing long-range verbal artillery. I hated to admit it, but I was afraid to go closer. I liked Ronald Tal, but I didn't know this stranger at the other end of the boathouse.

"When did you arrive at these conclusions, Mongo?"

"Don't you know? Why don't you look in my head and find out?" I waited, but Tal said nothing and there was no tingling sensation. "It suddenly occurred to me on the beach that I was being had. Call it
deja vu
once removed. Why the hell should Victor Rafferty have come out of that boathouse like it was
High Noon
? It didn't make sense. Thomas was dazed; the man didn't even know where he was. He was like a man who'd just recovered consciousness—or who'd had a few mental circuits burned out. He died trying to carry out his duty, which was to kill
you. That's
why he fired up the beach."

"I understand that you think I'm Victor Rafferty," Tal said calmly, "but you're wrong."

"No, I'm not. 'In the world of diplomacy, information is the most valuable commodity.' Remember when you told me that?"

"I remember. What does it prove?"

"Nothing. I just want you to know that
I
know the truth. You see, that's precisely what you've been doing all this time: providing Rolfe Thaag with that valuable commodity. All his diplomatic success springs from you."

"What about the fingerprints on the pencil?"

"All right, that is troublesome. Let's speculate. You had advance warning of who I was and what I wanted when Abu called. You immediately probed my mind when I walked into your office and found out everything there was to know; up to that point, anyway. You started setting me up from that very moment. You put a contingency plan into motion. My guess is that the pencil was Rolfe Thaag's. You'd probably covered the tips of your fingers with cellophane tape. Even dried glue would do the trick. Then you set the pencil down right in front of me; you knew I'd take it, just as I'd taken the protractor from Elliot Thomas' office. You knew I was suspicious of you, and you decided to knock me out of the box right at the beginning."

I tried to see Tal's face, but he was still framed against the circle of muddy light. He didn't move. "You have fantastic control over your emotions," I continued. "I suppose that's just one more thing you had to learn in order to survive. I'm sure you knew that Richard Patern had used your design for the Nately Museum, but you probably didn't suspect that you were in danger of being discovered until I walked into your office. And you never blinked an eye. But you knew what could happen, and you started keeping a close watch on things. You were too late to save Abu, but you were probably trying to find a way when he was killed."

Tal dropped his cigarette to the floor and ground it out under his heel. Then he walked forward and stopped in front of me. His face was impassive, but his black eyes shone brightly in the dim light. He was still holding his side, but the bleeding had stopped. "Rafferty and I don't look anything alike," he said. "Wasn't he quite thin? I must be at least thirty pounds heavier, and I don't think you'll find that much fat on me."

"Anabolic steroids could do that; the drugs, combined with a heavy conditioning program, would build you up. You not only managed to change your physical appearance, you radically altered your whole behavior pattern; you must be some natural actor. Then there would be plastic surgery, hair transplants, and voice training. The works, and all within the space of a year or so. That's cutting it close, but it could be done. It
was
done. I'm betting you looked different—pretty shaky—when you first showed up at the U.N. That—finally—may have been what tipped Thomas off once he thought about it and started making inquiries. I'm going to do some heavy checking on that myself."

Tal lighted another cigarette. His face hadn't changed, but his hand shook slightly. He saw that I noticed, quickly ground the cigarette out, and put his hands in his pockets. The masquerade was over, and Ronald Tal-Victor Rafferty knew it. I wondered why I didn't feel better about the whole thing.

"You could stay on top of what was happening simply by being around the right people—like me—at the right time. You were hoping against hope that I and the others would conclude that you
had
died, but you needed me in order to keep in touch with people you wouldn't ordinarily come into contact with."

I paused and was once again aware of the tingling in my mind. It was slight, but it was there. Tal's eyes had narrowed.

"You got worried when you found out I wanted to bail out of the case," I continued. "You already knew at that time that the Russians had Foster and your ex-wife, and you had to stay plugged into the situation until you could figure out what to do. I was your plug.

"But first you had to change my mind; you had to make me
feel
better; you had to make me see things the way you wanted me to see them. You eased my guilt with that incredible mind of yours. There's a distinct sensation when you touch someone's mind; I first felt it when we were together in the chapel. Of course, I didn't know what was happening at the time, but then I felt it again in the hospital, and still again at the farmhouse. I went into that chapel ready to slit my wrists, and walked out feeling pretty good.

When I stopped to think about it, I knew it wasn't natural. In fact, it was getting to the point—then and later—where I perked up every time you were around. You juiced up my psyche once too often, and I started to put it together after I heard Lippitt describe what you'd done for him.

"You
were
the one who saved me at the farmhouse. I
knew
I heard a door open; it was you. I think I know what you did, but I can't understand how you found out I was there."

Tal shrugged. "Let me speculate along your lines. Rafferty
was
keeping a very close watch on things ... and who would be better qualified than a total telepath? He knew about the two British agents on your tail, and he knew the Russians had brought in Kaznakov. He became very much concerned and made it a point to make excuses to see—or at least be physically close to—informed British and Russian officials every day. Of course, there had to be a bit of good fortune involved; he may have talked with an Englishman who was nervous because a check-in call from the two agents he controlled was long overdue. Then, naturally, Rafferty would have probed to find out where the British agents were supposed to be." He smiled thinly. "Pure speculation, of course."

Tal seemed calmer now, and I was certain I knew why. He'd made a decision: Tal, in his own way, was telling me I was right. He really had no choice; whether he admitted it or not, what I'd already said was probably enough to get us both killed if I repeated it anywhere else.

"Go ahead," Tal said. "Let's hear the rest of it."

"Again: why don't you just read my mind?"

Tal took some time to think about his answer. "Perhaps it's physically painful, Mongo. Maybe it's a very personal thing that involves simply not wanting to invade someone else's privacy. Or, maybe I'm simply not Victor Rafferty."

"You are Victor Rafferty."

"Why
insist
on being so sure, Mongo? Right or wrong, you'll pay a terrible price; that kind of certainty could make you responsible for the lives of Victor Rafferty and others for as long as you live. Don't pick up that burden. Rafferty died in that explosion down on the beach. Leave it at that."

"Why not just kill me?"

"You mean if I was who you say I am? Because Victor Rafferty is not a killer." He paused, added: "Except, I assume, when he has no other choice."

I cleared my throat, tried to swallow. My mouth was still dry. "I was in bad shape after Kaznakov played his tune on me. I was finished. I might never have come back. But you took care of that, too... in the apartment, while I slept. I know enough about psychiatry to realize that a mental condition like the one I had couldn't possibly cure itself overnight. Thaag probably put something in the tea to make me sleep. Then you came back and went to work on my head, just the same as you did when you entered Lippitt's mind to cure him of that permanent chill. You fixed me up because you needed me for the break-in at the consulate.

"Incidentally, you probably stole that plan from Lippitt. You were going in anyway because you knew about the ultimatum. That's why you called the Russians, using a voice you hadn't used in five years. Lippitt
had
a good plan, and that's why you co-opted it. You had to make sure that
you
went along, because that was the only way you could help ensure success. After all, your ex-wife was in there, and you still love her."

Tal made an angry, impatient gesture. "Victor Rafferty is dead, remember?"

I went on as if he hadn't spoken. "The most incredible thing was that trick you pulled off at the consulate. If you did what I
think
you did, it's no wonder everyone's turning the world inside out looking for you." I paused for breath; the excitement and anxiety I felt were making me short-winded. "You knew something was wrong when I didn't show up on time to open the door. You waited until Lippitt got nervous and started to look around—or maybe you planted the suggestion in his mind. He walked away for a few seconds and you threw back that steel bolt with your mind. Telekinesis.
God
, how that must have cost you! You hemorrhaged, just as you did five years ago when you broke out of that hospital room. There was blood running out of your nose. You'd come up to help me. Finally, there was the way you guided us safely out of that building. You seemed to know where everything was, and what was happening; you even knew that a silent alarm had been triggered. You picked
that
up from the guard."