by Clark, Eric
During the whole of the examination nothing, apart from the stranger’s one-word instructions, was said. Cory stood by the door, arms folded in front.
‘Enough?’ he asked when the sample of hair had been taken.
The stranger’s tone was almost petulant. ‘I’d still like to take pictures.’
Cory opened the door for him. ‘You’ll manage without. You know my feelings.’
Williams was waiting outside the door to lead the other away.
‘You’ll drive him to the airport?’ asked Cory. Williams nodded.
Parker heard the front door close behind the two men. Cory smiled at him, a long smile, checked his watch and announced ‘Cocktail hour’, though it was only a little after midday. As on the first night, he poured two Chivas Regals, this time on the rocks.
‘I imagine that you’re getting a bit bored with the films by now,’ he said. ‘But life should get a little more interesting from now on. Apart from anything else, soon we’ll move out of here — give you a new view.’
‘I think it’s time you told me what my freedom is going to cost me,’ said Parker.
Cory raised his glass in a toasting gesture. ‘You’re right.’ He gestured to the film projector that stood on a side table. ‘The man in the film, did you recognize him?’ Parker had not.
‘Nor the place?’
That he had recognized, in some shots at least. ‘Russia,’ he replied.
Cory nodded. ‘Good. Now what we want you to do is to make yourself look like the man in the film. And walk like him and stand like him. You’ve got a month. You’ll get all the help we can give you, but you’ll have to work.’
Cory held a packet of cigarettes out towards Parker. ‘You’d better start with these. He smokes heavily.’
Parker took one of the cigarettes. It was greyish and had a crude filter. He accepted a light and smoked cautiously, not inhaling but holding the smoke for a few seconds before blowing it out.
Cory smiled. ‘You can always give it up again.’
Parker altered his hold on the cigarette so that it was gripped between the tips of his fingers, much further from the filter than most smokers hold a cigarette. ‘Good,’ said Cory. Parker had absorbed the film well.
‘Who is he?’ asked Parker at last.
‘It’s of no consequence,’ Cory said. ‘That can wait until later.’
Parker tried a tentative inhaling of the cigarette and felt giddy. He stubbed it out.
‘What happens when I do manage to look like him?’
Cory clinked the ice in his drink. ‘Don’t worry.’
He anticipated a fear Parker would feel now or later. ‘You’re not going to wind up on a slab with people thinking you’re him.’ He smiled. ‘We’ve done that one already.’
Cory reached in his pocket for his wallet and very carefully extracted a newspaper clipping. ‘Los Angeles Times,’ he explained as he handed it over.
Parker read it slowly, his face impassive. It was an account of his own death. He wondered what his sister would think of it. The prison would have notified her anyway. Would she tell Susan her father was dead? He doubted it. They had agreed while he was awaiting trial, that Susan should simply be told her father had ‘gone away’. He thought it unlikely his sister would change the story now.
He handed it back. ‘It’s an odd feeling, being a dead man.’
‘You’ll find later that it has advantages. No one looks for a man who doesn’t exist any more.’
‘So what does happen when I look like him?’ Parker repeated.
‘Then,’ said Cory, ‘we send you to Russia to meet him. And you carry out a simple task. And then you come back and we settle you somewhere nice where no one knows you and you live happily ever after.’
‘What if I don’t come back?’
‘We would be very unhappy,’ said Cory.
Chapter Eleven
BEFORE THE END of the month, Cory moved Parker into a large house in suburban Maryland. It belonged to a Pentagon official, temporarily overseas. Although less secure than Camp Peary, the house the grounds had advantages over that site. Parker now needed frequent visits from the makeup man and from the retired acting coach Cory had found for him. There were as well the constant comings and goings of Williams and Cory. Camp Peary was not geared to such movement: in highly restricted sections men moved in, stayed for a long time and then left. Cory was afraid he was stirring too many ripples.
In addition, he wanted Parker to start functioning again in the outside world. At an outside house he could at least say ‘good morning’ to neighbours, accompany Williams or Cory to shops, be taken to movies and restaurants. Parker still carried the look of a man who had been institutionalized for a long time.
Besides, Cory now felt happier about Parker. He sensed that the man had considered escape but had been sensible enough to realize that without money, without documents, without an identity he would not survive. Parker looked a little less like a jail bird now: his hair had grown, so had a moustache.
As far as the rest of the world was concerned Parker was dead. The body had been accepted as his, and it had been a simple matter for Denton to programme the national and California State computers to destroy all references to Parker. The only dossier that remained was his file in Sacramento. Even this would go: at Denton’s request the local FBI would be asked to collect it. ‘No one will question that,’ Denton had explained, ‘as long as they get a signature.’ Back in Washington, it would vanish.
Cory told Parker he had a month, but he reckoned they still needed that much time once they moved into the new house. Like the headmaster of a school, he began to draw up work schedules.
*
Parker’s days rapidly took on a pattern. They began with a short session under the sunlamp, to take away the prison grey, and then a fattening breakfast to bring him up to Zorin’s weight. At first he resented this — it had taken years to get his body into such good shape, but then it became a kind of contest how quickly could he do what was needed?
In the second week his training to impersonate Zorin entered a new phase.
The retired acting coach, found by Al, the makeup man, arrived with Williams just after ten. He still clutched his suitcase; the Los Angeles flight had been late and Williams had decided not to stop off at the man’s hotel but to deliver him there later.
Parker watched him walk from the car from an upstairs window: his training room. The man was small, thin, very pale and dressed in black, and reminded Parker more of a mortician than an acting coach.
Although he heard the front door open and close Parker did not go down. Cory, he knew, would want to talk to the man first.
Because of the newcomer, there was no session with the makeup man today, and Parker stretched on the couch, enjoying the inactivity.
When they had moved into the house, this room had been a bedroom. The bed, and a dressing table had been moved to another room and replaced with chairs.
The built-in closet and the chests of drawers no longer held clothes but material needed in Parker’s training: slide machines and projectors, files, and photographs.
One wall was covered with pictures and drawings of Zorin, his apartment and of Moscow.
Although Parker was not working, the room was filled with background sounds from the tape recorder: people speaking in Russian, part of Parker’s ‘refresher’ course.
Cory turned it off when he entered the room with the acting teacher. He introduced the two men formally. ‘Mr Hawkes, Mr Parker.’
The coach’s hand was long and feminine looking, but surprisingly firm when the two shook hands.
‘Mr Hawkes knows all about our problems, and he’s going to help,’ Cory began.
Hawkes acknowledged the introduction with a nod and immediately asked a question. ‘Do you know anything about acting?’
Parker shook his head.
‘Good.’ He turned to Cory. ‘Do you want to sit in on this?’ It was obvious from his tone that he p
referred to be alone with Parker.
Cory stood. ‘I’ll check that everything’s set up.’
Hawkes waited until he had left. ‘What you are going to do,’ he said, ‘is both harder and easier than acting on the stage.’
He began pacing the floor, gesturing with his hands as he talked. ‘An actor,’ he continued, ‘can adapt a part to suit his own character and personality. He can decide to some degree what the person he plays should be like. You follow me?’ Parker was not sure, but he nodded assent.
‘You, on the other hand, have got to play a specific man — just the way he is.’
‘I know.’
Hawkes continued as though nothing had been said. ‘It’s been done. You remember Montgomery’s double?’
Parker did. A soldier called James had been used by British intelligence during World War II to impersonate the British army leader in order to delude the Germans. ‘Yes,’ said Hawkes, as though thinking aloud, ‘you’ve got some advantages — I gather you’re to be seen mostly while moving in the street. Right?’
‘So I gather.’
‘And we don’t worry about the voice?’
Again Parker agreed.
‘Okay.’ Hawkes looked at his watch. ‘You know all about this man? You’ve studied him, seen moving pictures?’
‘Yes. A lot.’
‘Good. Let’s try an experiment. I could give you a lecture on what you need to worry about, and maybe later I will. But first I want you to really see things He walked towards the door. He turned as though surprised that Parker was not following him. ‘Okay,’ he said, ‘grab your coat. Let’s go.’
Williams drove the two of them about two miles to another quiet residential street. Neither he nor Hawkes said anything until they parked.
‘Now,’ said Hawkes, ‘what I want you to do is simple. Just get out of the car and walk around until we pick you up again. Just go anywhere, do anything you want.’ He paused and Parker waited, hand on the door handle, knowing there was more.
‘Only one thing. You walk and act and behave as your man would. Okay?’
Parker walked aimlessly for almost a half hour before Williams picked him up again. During the time he did as Hawkes had requested, trying to remember and imitate the Russian’s actions, but he found the exercise puzzling.
Throughout there was no sign of Williams’s car, though three times he spotted an identical van and was suspicious until he realized it was making local grocery deliveries.
His curiosity was not answered until two hours after arriving back at the house. Hawkes, Cory and Williams entered the training room with a small suitcase.
The room was darkened and Parker found himself watching a film of his walk. ‘The delivery van!’ he muttered aloud.
‘Through the back window,’ Williams agreed.
There were three snatches of film, the longest lasting eight minutes.
Hawkes said nothing until the end. ‘Now let’s watch it again,’ he said. This time he made comments.
‘Now note this carefully.’ On the screen Parker was standing at the kerb waiting to cross the road. ‘Standing, not moving. That’s the hardest thing of all …’
‘Okay, now watch that move there.’ Parker was turning his head to look back. ‘You’re acting it up.’
The film finished.
Hawkes switched on the light. ‘Give me ten minutes,’ he said to Williams and Cory.
As soon as the two were alone, Hawkes gestured towards the empty screen. ‘I wanted you to see that not because I want you to think you’re piss awful, but because I want you to know what we’ve got to do.’
Parker remained silent. He was feeling abashed, nervous and angry at being made to look ridiculous in front of Cory and Williams.
Hawkes wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, ‘I’ll save the lectures for tomorrow,’ he said. ‘But I needed to show you that at present you’re trying to act out the things you’ve seen your man do on the screen. Well, that’s okay and you’ll be doing lots of that. But you know what you have to do first?’ Parker shook his head.
Hawkes picked up one of the many pictures of Zorin that lay around the room. ‘You’ve got to know why he does things. Why he stoops like that. Why he runs in a funny way, bent to the left. Why he chainsmokes. You tell me you know him. Okay, all you have to do now is be him.’
*
While lessons filled Parker’s days and, often, some of the night, Cory was facing a further problem: establishing an identity for the man Parker would purport to be on his way into Russia.
On this Cory knew he could not work alone. He reserved a room at the Hospitality House Motor Inn and arranged a meeting there with a man from the Company’s Technical Services Division. Neither man knew the other’s name. Cory explained what he wanted: a background to fit a man between thirty-seven and forty-three, holder of an American passport, but preferably living abroad for some years. ‘Then,’ said Cory, ‘I’ll need all the bits of paper to go with it.’
‘I’ll need to check,’ said the man. Cory was not sure whether he meant he would have to check the availability of such material or Cory’s authorization to receive it. He contented himself with saying ‘Fine’ and making a note to call Sunnenden. The two men arranged to meet again.
Despite all the arrangements to be made he tried to see Parker for a least two hours every day. Over the days he became increasingly impressed by him.
In the last week in April Cory slipped into the training room to watch the last minutes of an acting session. Hawkes glanced briefly towards him and then continued; he had ceased objecting to Cory’s presence provided he did not interfere.
They were working on Zorin’s walk. ‘So tell me,’ said Hawkes, ‘why we get that walk.’ He gestured towards the empty screen on which they had been watching film of the Russian before Cory’s arrival.
‘Stooping over a desk and work benches,’ replied Parker.
‘Good. That’s the rounded shoulders and the head forward. Why then that stride?’
‘Stubborn. Determined.’
‘Good. What else?’
‘Shuts off, mind wanders while he’s walking.’
‘And so?’
‘So unless he’s interested in something he only half sees. You can see that in the crowd shots.’
The doorbell rang. Cory checked his watch. It would be Al.
Hawkes nodded to Parker. ‘Okay,’ he said, ‘go answer the door.’
‘Like Zorin.’
Hawkes nodded.
At the door Parker paused and looked back. His face was tightened; he pulled his body taut; he was in command.
Hawkes waited until Parker was on the staircase and out of sight. ‘He’ll make it,’ he said to Cory.
*
The following day Al arrived just as Hawkes was leaving. They nodded to each other. Although the two men had known each other many years, Cory and Parker had never heard them exchange more than a brief greeting.
Al set down his battered briefcase on the sofa and announced to Parker, ‘Goodies for you today.’
Cory, who was again sitting in, noted Parker’s strained face. ‘You want a break?’ he asked, concerned.
Parker focused on him. ‘What? Oh no, I’m okay. It’s just hard switching off.’ He turned his attention to Al who was opening his case.
It was three days since Parker had seen him; the makeup man had been away working on some of the items he needed.
Al handed Parker a pair of spectacles with heavy frames. Parker put them on and walked over to a mirror. He was surprised at how much they changed his face.
‘Plain glass because of the contact lenses,’ explained Al. And then, remembering, asked ‘what about the contacts. Still all right?’
Parker had been wearing them a little longer each day. ‘Up to six hours yesterday.’ Al looked pleased. ‘You’ve earned a bonus prize,’ he said.
Even when the next object was handed to him Parker failed to see its purpose. ‘It’s a shoe heel,
’ he said at last. He turned it over. ‘But with four studs on the top.’
‘Good,’ exclaimed Al, taking it back. He was beaming. In his spare time he did conjuring tricks for neighbours’ children’s parties. Sessions like this gave him similar satisfaction.
He removed one of his own shoes and pointed at the heel on it. ‘It’s pretty hard to limp,’ he said. ‘Believe me. You feign a limp and sure as hell you’re gonna have to hurry to miss a car as you cross the street. And then, wham. You forget everything except moving your ass. And your limp’s all gone.’
He placed the false heel against the real one. ‘Now make four little holes in this heel,’ he explained tapping the real one. ‘Then slip in the studs on the other … He held the two together. ‘There you are — one heel a half inch higher than the other foot. And, I tell you, you’ll limp.’
‘How easy is it to fix in operation?’ asked Cory.
‘Seconds. You could do it right in the street without taking your shoe off.’
‘And to get rid of the limp?’
‘Just slip it off and slide it into your pocket.’
‘Nice,’ smiled Cory. ‘Nice.’
Al beamed. Cory’s praise was like the clapping when the kids applauded his tricks.
‘And now,’ Al said, walking back to his bag and inserting a hand, ‘the piece de résistance.’
He held out the beard at arm’s length until Parker took it.
Parker took off the spectacles before walking over to the wall mirror. Only then did he press the false beard into place. He smoothed the edges of his real moustache over the joins.
He stared for a long time before turning to face Cory and Al. Al began to speak, but Parker’s eyes stilled him. Suddenly the room was very quiet.
*
Without knowing anything about the scheme to free Zorin, the Russian Colonel who left his Moscow office just before lunch was about to trigger the plot.
He headed away from the GRU, military intelligence, building and towards Gorky Park.
After a week of unseasonal showers the weather was dry and warm and there were crowds strolling and children playing inside the park.