I said, "And that knowledge is what you used to beat Al's 'truth serum.'"
Sinclair nodded. "What you were given, in doses calibrated to your estimated weights, was a plant extract that causes extreme nausea. The effect of the extract is heightened by internal tension. In effect, if administered by someone who knows what he's doing and is good at estimating body weight, it works just like a polygraph. Most people become increasingly nervous when they lie, and this shows up as a blip on the polygraph; if you get nervous when you have the extract in you, you vomit. Simple, really."
Harper shook her head. "But that doesn't explain how you did what you did. You threw up at first, yes—but, obviously, you wanted that. . . thing ... to know you were lying. But then you lied continuously, and it had no effect on you. Why?"
Sinclair thought for a few moments, then said, "Successful disguise requires the ability to act; acting, if it's good, is really nothing more than a successful lie. You are something other than what you appear to be. A great deal of Black Flame training centers on this sort of psychological disguise. It's not unlike method acting: you try to internalize your role to the point where you can at once believe you are the character you're portraying, even as you know you're only acting. With the proper training, you can use this technique to exert considerable control over your entire emotional landscape. Playing Carlo, I was Carlo, and thus allowed myself to react the way Carlo would react when he lied: he vomited. When Carlo told what was to him the truth, namely that he was a free-lance assassin under contract to the CIA, he didn't suffer the adverse reaction. If you want a simpler explanation, you can simply say that I'm a good liar. It's a talent sociopaths, psychopaths, and Black Flame trainees share in common."
"It's incredible," Harper said quietly.
Sinclair shrugged his broad shoulders. "Not really, Harper. It's just the result of a lot of training and practice, but I appreciate what I take you to mean as a compliment.
"An enormous amount of Black Flame training involves not only poisons but means of deception and subterfuge, techniques for getting close to an unsuspecting enemy or target. As a matter of fact, Master Bai was quite pleased with me; after centuries, I was the only ganjin to ever become Black Flame, and he was sure he owned me.
"Of course, at no time during my training was I ever told what Black Flame was really all about. But I'd always had a pretty good bullshit antenna, even for a kid, and I had a good idea where Master Bai was coming from even before he told me I would eventually be expected to kill somebody he would select at random from a crowd—perhaps even a child. I went to my father and told him of my suspicions; I told him I wanted nothing more to do with Master Bai. His response was to tell me that studying with Master Bai was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity; it was an honor that had never before been accorded a ganjin and might never be again. He told me I should lie to Master Bai, pretend to agree to anything he wanted until I had received all of my training, and then simply quit. He said I would be breaking no laws, and there was nothing Master Bai could do to me. My father indicated it was very important to him that I do this, because he was sure it would win both of us respect from the Japanese we could not otherwise get. To say that my father seriously underestimated Master Bai would, of course, be the height of understatement. I didn't underestimate Master Bai; I sensed there was going to be a great price to pay, but I assumed I would be the one to pay it. I continued my training up to the point of assassination as a gift to my father. I didn't want to displease him. I was a fool."
"You were seventeen years old, Chant, and you worshipped your father," Jan said in a tone that was at once firm and kind. "It was your father who was the fool."
Sinclair glanced sharply at the woman he loved, but did not disagree. "Yes," he said. "That too. In any case, I did what he asked. I completed the training, with Master Bai assuming it was understood that I would undergo the final test, and I was given the Black Flame mark. But I refused to do the killing. I hail intended to run away, but found I couldn't. I went to Master Bai and told him I would not be a member of Black Flame. I fully expected to be killed on the spot, but I had failed to absorb one of Master Bai's most subtle and important teachings—death is rarely the greatest punishment that can be inflicted upon a human being. His response was to shrug, giggle like his grandson in the other room, and send me on my way. Before I arrived home, both my mother and father had been killed in a manner that made it clear Black Flame was responsible—which meant that I was responsible. They intended to let me live with my grief and guilt for a time, and then torture me to death at their leisure. But this I anticipated.
"My father had always fostered independence in me, and I had money. Because of his position, I was fairly sophisticated in the requirements of foreign travel and documentation. Because of my Black Flame training, I could forge documents. That's what I did. I managed to escape from Japan, made my way to the United States, and made sure Black Flame couldn't find me."
"My God," Harper said. "And you were only seventeen?"
Sinclair smiled. "Well, I was actually eighteen by this time. You do what you have to do, Harper. And you have to remember that I'd had some very specialized training in control and self-discipline from many fine sensei. When I felt I was safe, I resumed my own identity. I was able to access my inheritance and certain State Department benefits. I went to college and then on to do graduate work. Then I joined the army."
"Why did you do that?" Insolers asked in a curiously flat tone.
"Because I was an American," Sinclair replied simply. "Living in Japan for so long had only heightened my identification as an American. The United States was my country. My father's death benefits had helped to pay for my education. I felt I had an obligation."
Sinclair paused and stared at Insolers, as if waiting for the CIA operative to say something or ask another question. When the man with the rodent features and medicinal smell remained silent, eyes cast down as he sipped his sake, Sinclair continued, "As a result of my education, I was made an officer, and in the course of events I was sent to Vietnam." He paused, smiled distantly, as if at some private joke. "While I was over there, I began to acquire somewhat of a reputation as an expert interrogator of enemy prisoners. Actually, I owed my skills to a rather unusual technique taught to me by Master Bai—not the plant extract. I'm thinking of trying it out on junior. I think he'll be surprised.
"During my third tour of duty a rather crude attempt was made to recruit me for an insane operation called Cooked Goose, which called for the assassination by U.S. Army personnel of selected civilians in the United States. It was thoroughly crazy, and, in my opinion, traitorous. It was only years later, in Seattle, that I learned I'd been set up by my old friend Master Bai, who was working as a consultant to the CIA, of all things. At the time the only thing I knew was that it was my duty as an army officer to put a stop to Cooked Goose, by any means necessary. I couldn't do that by remaining in that theater. As Master Bai had foreseen, by refusing the assignment, I had become a marked man because of my knowledge of Cooked Goose. If I stayed I would be killed, and so I deserted. Five Army Rangers, Cooked Goose operatives, were sent after me, and I had no choice but to kill them."
Without looking up from the table, Insolers said quietly, "You have documentation on Cooked Goose, don't you?"
"I did have."
"Did have?"
"I managed to extract certain papers from some files before I left, my thinking being that I might need them as proof in order to stop Cooked Goose. As it turned out, the mere fact that I was on the loose with knowledge of the operation in my head caused the planners to abort it. I destroyed the papers when the war ended."
"Why? The CIA has never stopped pursuing you. You could have released the documents and blown a big hole in the side of the whole agency. Why didn't you?"
Sinclair seemed genuinely surprised at the question. "My problem was never with the CIA, Duane, only certain men in it. I didn't want to do anything to damage my country more t
han it had already been damaged by that war. Vietnam was an aberration, and Operation Cooked Goose was an aberration within an aberration. Release of information about Cooked Goose could have caused irreparable damage, further degrading and humiliating the United States in the eyes of the world and in the eyes of many of its own people. Since I had just gone to considerable trouble, and undergone some personal sacrifice, by deserting and being branded a traitor in order to serve my country by stopping the damn project because it was so abominable, why would I then turn around and cancel out all my efforts by publicizing something that never happened?"
"Because the sons-of-bitches were trying to kill you."
"Without much success, as you see. In my eyes, they were the traitors and were manipulated by Master Bai. I was not about to serve the interests of Master Bai. After the war, the country was going through an agonizing process of redefining itself. I had done my duty, as I saw it, in order to serve my country, and I couldn't see how the public learning of a plot hatched by some of its purported leaders to kill U.S. citizens in order to manipulate public opinion could possibly help the healing process."
For the first time since we had sat down at the table, Duane Insolers looked directly at the man whose life had become so inextricably, and ambiguously, bound up with his own. "Jesus Christ, Sinclair. You really are a goddamn patriot."
"And you're a fool, Duane," Sinclair replied easily, without rancor. "I don't think you quite understand. In the end, I did not release the materials I had, or tell what I knew, because the resulting disruption, bitterness, recriminations, and internal dissent would have pleased, and served the interests of, the group whose leader had concocted the plan in the first place—Black Flame. They have always been my real enemies, and I saw no reason to amuse them at the expense of the United States."
"I don't think the CIA would be very impressed with your explanation, Sinclair, and I know they wouldn't believe you've destroyed the Cooked Goose documents. They believe you're hanging on to them to use to bargain for your freedom if and when you're ever caught."
"Chant doesn't care what the CIA believes, Duane," Jan said sharply. "And he doesn't have to explain himself to them or to you. You talk like somebody who's hunting him."
There was a strained silence. Finally, Veil said, "I'd very much like to hear the rest of it, Sinclair."
The man sitting at the head of the table thought about it. Then he looked at Jan, smiled, threw back his head, and laughed. It was a deep, rich, pleasing sound. "The rest of it? Well, the bottom line was that I was suddenly unemployed, and my future job prospects looked rather grim. I was a military deserter, hunted by CIA assassins, as well as far more dangerous assassins from Black Flame. I decided it was time for a career change. I'd had superb training as both a ninja warrior and a military officer, but what was I going to do with it? I suppose I could have found work as a mercenary, but I was pretty certain I wouldn't much care for the kinds of assignments I'd be offered, and that line of work could leave me dangerously exposed to both Black Flame and the CIA. So I decided to go into business for myself as a kind of self-employed mercenary, selecting my own targets. I set up a one-man shop."
Harper said, "More like a one-man army."
Sinclair smiled at Harper, shrugged. "Any man's effectiveness is enhanced by good training and careful planning. The reputation for violence grew out of the nature of the business I'd gone into; I was dealing, for the most part, with extremely violent opponents, and extremely violent means had to be used in order to get their attention. It was good business practice. Also, this reputation for ruthlessness and violence, which I wanted, was helped along by the various outfits that were hunting me, because it also served their purposes. I wanted my targets to fear me, because it made them easier to manipulate, and the men hunting me found it convenient to have me portrayed in the media as a mad-dog killer. But, despite all that, I've still managed to make a few friends, like Duane here, along the way. And, perhaps, the other people at this table."
"I'm flattered that you should think of me as a friend, Sinclair," Insolers said in a somewhat absent tone.
Sinclair nodded in Insolers' direction, turned back to Veil. "During the course of an operation in Seattle, I learned that Black Flame was still very actively hunting me. That served to put me even more on my guard in the following years."
I asked, "When you mounted your operation against Neuberger, did you know that Cornucopia was a Black Flame front?"
"No," Sinclair replied, his tone suddenly revealing a trace of regret, and perhaps bitterness. "If I had, I never would have involved a friend of mine from Interpol by the name of Bo Wahlstrom. At the time, I knew only that Cornucopia laundered money for some big international crime organization, which could have been one of many; it was information I'd picked up as a result of something else I was doing. Ten million dollars, incidentally, was the approximate amount of that week's criminal proceeds, with the rest legitimate funds earmarked for various legitimate projects, so it was ten million I took. After I'd gotten what I wanted, I turned the information and documents I'd obtained over to Bo, as I'd done in similar situations over the years, for appropriate action by Interpol."
"I don't think it was your turning the information over to him that got your friend killed," I said. "It was his crooked partner. I'm almost certain it was the partner who somehow left Bo Wahlstrom exposed when he got hold of the file and tried to use it to blackmail Neuberger. Neuberger thought he was going to straighten everything out by sending me over here as a stalking horse to flush out the amateurs, kill them, and get the file back. But it was too late. The way the partner handled things must have tipped off Black Flame to precisely what was going on, and they were already in the game."
Sinclair said, "Yes. And so was I, because the way Bo was killed told me that Black Flame was involved in a big way. Now I had to take steps to attack as well as defend, because they were too close to home, and there was more than one of them. I decided to kill as many members of Black Flame as I could while I had the chance."
Veil asked, "You felt that with so many of them here, they were overexposed and vulnerable?"
Sinclair nodded. "I hoped so. But I have a lot of enemies besides Black Flame, and there were a lot of people coming to Switzerland because they thought I had tripped up and was vulnerable. I needed to gauge the situation, to try to estimate just how many Black Flame personnel I might be up against and who the other players might be. I needed time to watch and plan, while at the same time staying as close to the action as possible."
"Aha," I said with a wry smile. "This sounds like my entrance line in your play."
Again, Sinclair nodded. "I might have approached Duane, since he was already on the scene, but I wasn't sure what assignment he was supposed to be carrying out, and I didn't want to compromise him. Also, I doubted he would have any information I could use.
"Then another friend at Interpol informed me that no less a personage than Dr. Robert Frederickson, Mongo the Magnificent, was coming to Zurich, supposedly to get a progress report to send back to Neuberger. Well, that certainly didn't scan. I didn't know about the blackmail business at this time, but Mongo's imminent arrival told me Neuberger was up to something that could severely complicate matters, and I wanted to find out exactly what it was. That's when I decided to appoint myself as Mongo's chauffeur. It was a way of getting close to the action to see how events would play out. Black Flame was running amok, butchering everybody in sight, and I wasn't sure why at first. Then I realized it was an attempt to discredit me among the people who really knew me. That wasn't going to work, but it wouldn't stop Black Flame from trying, and that meant a lot more innocent people were going to die. I didn't want Mongo to be one of them, because by this time I felt responsible for him. I realized blackmail, or some other crazy business with outsiders, was involved when Black Flame attacked Mongo and the man who approached him at the hotel. I figured they would come at Mongo again, and I made it a point to always stay close. B
ut then they passed up a number of opportunities to attack Mongo while he was driving all around the countryside trying to check up on me, and I realized they were leaving him alone for the time being—probably in the hope that he might lead them to me. Then Garth and Veil arrived on the scene and decided to fire me, which made it a bit tougher to act as Mongo's bodyguard. But I still tried to stay as close as possible."
I asked, "What would you have done if I'd checked with Hyatt Pomeroy here in the local Cornucopia office to see if he'd really sent you, or if I'd even mentioned your name to him?"
Sinclair shrugged. "Either Pomeroy would have assumed Neuberger had personally made arrangements for a chauffeur from New York, or you would have had to make do without my services sooner than you did. Fortunately, I was able to keep pretty close track of you even after Garth and Veil fired me. By this time I was trying to come up with a plan where I could get all of the Black Flame people who'd come to Switzerland in one place where I could deal with them. I certainly didn't plan on this castle being that place, but it couldn't be helped. Mongo moves fast, Black Flame was monitoring his movements, and events took on a momentum of their own. I deeply mourn the death of our servants, all of whom were our personal friends, but I was powerless to prevent that. Perhaps what happened, with Black Flame finally tracking me here, was inevitable. And it's worked out—for us, at least."
"What now?" Insolers asked.
Sinclair abruptly rose from the table. "Now I think is a good time to change back into our working clothes and see what our young friend Al has to say about his Black Flame colleagues who weren't able to join us."
Chapter Fourteen
Back in the library, we finally discovered how John "Chant" Sinclair had acquired his nickname. He'd mentioned that, while in Southeast Asia, he'd acquired a reputation for successfully questioning prisoners using unusual interrogation techniques. "Unusual" didn't begin to describe it.
Dark Chant In A Crimson Key Page 22