“That’s it? The reason, I mean.”
“I could tell you a lot of things about the politics of interagency infighting, David, but they wouldn’t help you. Just accept that you’re kind of useful to me and a few of my friends, right now. You … well, let’s say you represent an interesting opportunity to do good in the world.”
“I’m grateful. But I can’t make it up to you.”
“Yes, you can.”
“How?”
“By pretending we’ve never met.” When David laughed, Tom’s voice sharpened into hostility. “I’m serious. If this goes wrong, and someone asks you how you spent tonight—lie.” He glanced over his shoulder. “You too, Robyn.”
David heard the tension in his voice and knew he wasn’t faking it.
“Now,” Tom said. “I’ve been doing some thinking. Seems to me your worst problem is with the goons who called on Robyn.”
“The Eastern Bloc?”
“The whatever, yes. I’m guessing they’re from the same outfit that attacked you in Cornwall. They’ve tried to speak to your daughter, no joy—we know that from your conversation with Albert. They’ve tried to neutralize Robyn, even less joy. But what’s clear from all of this is that they want to break off any line of inquiry that might lead you to Anna.”
David swallowed. “Break …?”
“Oh, let’s not get overdramatic. Nobody’s died yet, and if they wanted to kill you, believe me, they could. Something else to remember: there are other, very powerful agencies that don’t want you stopped at all. Your people, MI6 and the rest. If I read the signs right, they’re praying you’ll find your wife, and anyway they think you know where she is. So they’ll help you run wherever, no problem there, not until you either find her or give up the hunt. Then they’ll move in on you.”
“Which leaves?”
“The good old company. The CIA, US of A Unlimited, incorporated in the state of nowhere, without liability or responsibility. And I’ll tell you, after the Eastern Bloc, as you call it, that’s what’s worrying me most.”
“So what am I to do?”
“Keep running. Run fast. If you can beg or steal enough money for Concorde, do it. And count cents.”
“What?”
“It’s a saying we use in the department. It means, oh … be suspicious of your own mother, heck, especially your own mother. Don’t take anything at face value. Don’t trust anyone, assume everything put in front of you is rotten through and through. Check the small change. Count cents.”
“I will.”
“You know what? The more I think about this, the more I wish we were in England right now. There’s people there who’d talk to me.”
“About what?”
“The CIA’s true motivation in all this. You see, David—” even though they were in the car and isolated from the street, he lowered his voice “—an increasingly important task of my department is to monitor the law-breaking activities of other U.S. intelligence agencies. Unfortunately, there’s more to monitor all the time.”
He turned sideways to Robyn. “I’m almost tempted to go with him, what d’you think?”
“I can’t ask that.” David meant his voice to sound final, but yearning showed through. The prospect of an FBI agent riding beside him gave infinite reassurance, nothing, no one, could touch him then. “You can’t just leave your job and spend a fortune on airfares.”
“The bureau would pay my fare.”
“David has to face this alone,” Robyn said fiercely. The two men reacted in different ways: Tom with a chuckle and a shake of the head, David by slumping back in his seat. He knew that Tom was eying him in the minor and tried not to let disappointment show.
“It’s tempting,” Tom said. “Very.”
“You’ve done enough already,” David put in reluctantly. “I don’t need any more help.”
“Right!” Robyn seemed almost desperate. “Why won’t you see how impractical you’re being? Tom, please!”
David felt confused. How come Robyn was so adamant that he should go back to England alone, when this man was ready to accompany him? He worked for the FBI, she’d admitted that herself, what greater protection could he hope for?
He unwillingly began to wonder if she had told him everything back there in the bar.
“It would mean my slipping away without a word to anyone,” Tom said after a long pause. “Or there’d be no point. And I have to be careful—the FBI’s strictly speaking an in-country organization, although …”
When he tailed off, Robyn said quickly, “I could phone Lawrence, tell him where you are, if you want.”
David at once understood the test she was setting Tom. In the nerve-racking seconds of silence that followed, he wondered with mounting uncertainty what Burroughs would say.
“Great idea, Robyn. You do that, once we’ve taken off.” Tom laughed. “Don’t want Larry canceling the trip, now that I’ve decided.”
David’s heart soared. “You’ve made up your mind to—”
“Hell, yes, I’m coming with you.”
Now, sitting in the cafeteria of the British Airways terminal at Kennedy, David felt mortally relieved that he would not be going back to England alone. Seeing Tom in the light for the first time, he discovered a face dark with stubble and lines, blue eyes remarkable for their absence of movement, a heavy-framed torso on which to hang so many cares of state. If anyone could help him, this man could.
“They’re calling BA 002,” Tom said. “That’s us.”
David stood up to shake hands with Robyn. Suddenly she held him close in a hug, enabling her to whisper in his ear unobserved.
“Couldn’t raise Lawrence. Got the answering machine at his apartment. Nobody at the office knows where he is.”
David’s heart gave a jolt. Somehow he managed to hold her at arm’s length, raise a smile. “I won’t forget you. Thank you.”
“Remember …” she pleaded. “Count cents.”
CHAPTER
32
On Sunday, Anna awoke at the crack of dawn. Her head felt muzzy, which was strange, because she had drunk no alcohol the night before. Was Kleist putting sedatives in her food now? Still half asleep, she went to the kitchen, where she found Barzel sitting at the table, a new book, a paperback this time, propped up in front of him.
He was reading voraciously, as if consuming words was a substitute for eating. He scarcely seemed aware of Anna’s presence. She ignored him, as usual.
A cup of coffee revived her. As soon as she’d drunk it she set off for the church. Sunrise had begun to enrich the landscape, but the air stayed cool and she thrust her hands into the pockets of her jeans. She’d brought Juliet’s corn dolly with her. Miss Cuppidge seemed to be the only link she had with the world outside, with normality. Although nothing about her relationship with Juliet was normal, she reflected sadly as she picked her way along the path. It made no sense to say she was losing Juliet, when her daughter had never really been there.
In the old days, Kleist would ask, “Why on earth do you want David’s child so much? After all you’ve gone through with Juliet …?” “That’s why,” Anna used to say. “Because of Juliet.” Now she found herself wishing she’d replied, “Because I’m brave.” That would have been nearer the truth.
But she didn’t feel so brave today. David’s life was under threat. Anna couldn’t eradicate the fear that extended through every crevice of her brain whenever she thought of his peril, which she did constantly. And the worst of it was, she lacked the power to help him.
Once at the church she looked behind her, expecting to see either Barzel or the other guard, whose name she now knew was Stange; but the path remained empty. Should she make a run for it? No. Even if she could not see them, they were there, waiting for her to do just that; and her only hope, however faint, lay in building up their trust.
Anna entered the church to find the remnants of yesterday’s candle burned away to a sozzled heap. She cleaned out the holder and was about
to light a fresh one, when she remembered having seen huge altar candles standing in a corner of the vestry the day before. She carried one into the church and, not without difficulty, mounted it on a brass candlestick to the right of the altar, before sitting down with her back against the wall and her legs folded, a hand on each knee. The red eye of God continued to watch her, malevolently, benevolently, Anna didn’t know. She found herself wondering who tended the lamp and kept it burning through the dark ages which had come again. Yorgos, perhaps.
Although she lacked all religious belief, was faithless in a most fundamental sense, the red eye in the Greek church seemed to vibrate something inside her, like a glass that is struck. She dropped to her knees and prayed. Her petition was very simple: save David, she repeated over and over again. Save him, God …
A quarter of an hour ticked away while Anna alternately prayed and listened with half an ear for the sound of Kleist’s footsteps on the path. She did not doubt he would come. He wanted to hypnotize her, as a way of consolidating his control. Since she had deliberately implanted that very idea in his mind the day before, the prospect didn’t daunt her. For the first time, hypnosis would become not a therapy but a weapon. A two-edged weapon.
Long ago, Kleist had told her of a famous doctor who once said something profound about hypnotherapy, “When a physician employs hypnosis with a patient it is wise always to be aware of who may be hypnotizing whom.”
At last the footsteps came. “Good morning,” he said, radiating confidence. He spoke as if he had some inkling of what lay before them.
Anna put Miss Cuppidge down on the floor beside her. “I hope you slept well?” Her voice was as formal as the sentiment it expressed. Her feelings toward him had undergone a subtle change since the previous day. The knowledge of danger overshadowing David’s life had wiped out that treacherous brush of sympathy mixed with lust. Kleist was an uncomplicated enemy, now.
“Very well, thank you,” he said. “You?”
She nodded.
“Yesterday you said something about wanting a trance. Do you still feel that way?”
No preliminaries. She had him hooked. “What do you think?”
“It can do no harm. As you pointed out, I need to erase the instructions I gave you to prevent your leaving.”
“Up to you,” Anna said, with a shrug, but at the same time she was arranging herself on the floor as comfortably as she could. She closed her eyes. Her heart was beating fast enough to make her afraid for her own well-being.
“It is peaceful here in the church,” he began, “very quiet, very safe …”
She thought he must realize that it wasn’t right. He used to be susceptible to all her vibrations. But when he said nothing to indicate awareness, she remained silent. She knew what she had to do: persuade him of her total submission, so that he would cease to guard her and tell Barzel that she no longer posed a threat.
“I want you to relax every muscle in your body….”
This morning he took his time over the introduction. Anna knew he was preparing her for something special and made a supreme effort not to tense. Part of her wanted to run away, how dare she enter the lions’ den, fight him on his own territory? But she knew the answer. Only by doing this could she escape; and besides, it would prevent him from injecting those terrible drugs. Use the lesser evil to ward off the greater….
At last he was counting her down to extinction of self with his customary slick skill. But she closed her mind against him and did not go under. It was a sort of under, without ever becoming the real thing. Although she knew the euphoria, the lightness of soul and of body which accompanied a true trance state, she was conscious of all that she did and said. So she lay quietly, not daring to open her eyes, no longer irked by the hardness of the stone floor but afloat on an ocean thousands of fathoms deep. Her business was to stay there, on the surface, his was to drag her down.
“I’d like us to go back in time,” Kleist murmured. “You are growing younger now, further and further back, year by year. To the moment when you first met David.”
“Yes. I remember.” She was struggling to articulate her thoughts; but they came easier today, because the trance seemed light and she still had control.
“You were tiring of me. You realized that you could be happy with him.”
Anna laughed. It was easy to laugh in a trance, even in a half-trance, surrounded by all that light and lightness of being. “Yes. I was ready to accept happiness again. At last.”
“You married him. And were happy. Until quite recently.” He paused. “Why do you think you regressed?”
The fringes of the light canopy shivered, just for an instant. Anna struggled to act in character, not knowing how she usually behaved when in a deep trance. Should she deny that she had regressed? No, he was testing her, and anyway, she knew very well what he meant. Say something!
“I … I felt so … afraid.”
“Afraid of what?”
“Losing … David.”
“Why would that be so terrible?”
“He … made me worthy. In my own eyes.”
“Why?”
Why, why why? she wanted to scream, don’t you know any other words? “David … he … made everything all right.”
“How?”
“How?”
“What did he do to make everything all right?”
“He … liked me.”
“Why?”
Anna swallowed her resentment and said, “I suppose … he liked me because I’d put up a front, as usual. And he couldn’t see through it.”
“Front?”
“Successful, calm, no hangups.”
“Ah, yes.” Kleist allowed a long pause to develop. Anna would have given anything to be able to open her eyes, find out what he was doing. Had she fooled him? Had she?
She could smell danger, without being able to identify the source, knew how witnesses felt in court when she was still two questions away from springing her trap.
After what seemed an interminable time, Kleist spoke again. “But of course this man David, this nice man, liked and respected you for the image you tried to project, not the reality beneath, which would have shocked him?”
A long silence.
“It would have shocked him,” Kleist repeated, with studied emphasis. “Wouldn’t it?”
Anna’s chest was heaving. Her head rocked from side to side. The waves of that fathomless ocean were sucking at her now, drawing her into its depths.
“Even today, after all those years of marriage, it would still shock him, if he found out.”
She felt despair brush her consciousness. Tears were very near.
“I’m going to tell you the time now, Anna. I need to look at my watch. It’s my best watch, the gold one. The Omega …”
A lead shutter came down between her eyelids and her brain, bang! Suddenly she was no longer afloat on the surface of an ocean, she was in a fog without metes or bounds. She did not know who she was or where she might be, not even the dimension of time and space she occupied. Everything was nothing. And yet part of her brain still registered that this was familiar, although she had never consciously experienced any of it before.
Somewhere in the distance a child was calling her.
There were other voices in the grayness, several of them, all speaking at once, and something had gone wrong with her ears, as when she had a cold and woke at night with aural catarrh soldering her into a landlocked world.
Wake up, cried the child.
Kleist’s voice asserted itself over the rest, but even so it echoed inside her head as if from a whispering gallery.
“There were mitigating circumstances,” she heard him say. “Adoption and a repressed childhood had conspired to damage your personality, long ago. You were exhausted, without money, husband, or hope. On the day of the crime, life held nothing for you.”
“Nothing.”
Had she said that? It sounded like her. And it was true. That day, she had no
thing….
Wake up. Wake up. Wake up.
No, that wasn’t so, she had a daughter. A bundle of joy. A screaming, sleepless, vomit-and-shit-dispensing, smelly, ugly, bad-tempered …
Kleist again: “You had no one … except Juliet. Your own child. And here we have the nub of the problem, don’t we, mm?”
Anna wanted to speak. Alive inside her was this vast, all-comprehensive explanation that would make everything right if only she could manage to articulate it. But the words remained trapped inside her, like a stillborn infant.
“Because if there are points to be raised in your defense, there are aggravating factors as well.”
Anna opened her mouth and discovered she could speak, but the words that came out were different from those she intended to utter. “I don’t understand.”
“Well, let me help you, then.” Kleist no longer whispered; his voice sounded in her left ear as if he were lying down next to her.
“Your life at that time was, when viewed objectively, good. People envied you for your education, your looks, your comfortable, secure, middle-class home. You had been blessed with a healthy child. Your first husband, Eddy, was a mistake, you were well shut of him. You had no excuse to be unhappy, there was no reason for it. Yet you despaired.”
Anna’s head felt as though it would explode. She wanted to scream, “That’s what I always told you! And you said I was wrong, wrong, wrong! You said I was suffering from postnatal depression!” But no words came out. When two tears trickled down her cheeks she was powerless to wipe them away.
“So now we will go back, together, to that day, just before you and I first met.”
“No. I don’t want …”
“It is evening. You are at your parents’ house.”
She was dimly aware of a sensation in her hands. As they clenched and unclenched, the nails were grinding into her palms. “Don’t …”
“Yes? What did you say, Anna?”
“Don’t … do … this … please!”
“But we must. You are there, at the house in Ferring. Your parents have gone to bed. You are in your room, with Juliet. Just the two of you. Alone.”
Krysalis: Krysalis Page 30