“You know better than that,” said Brennan, trying to control his temper. “You know that I was no more responsible for Varney’s defection than you were, and I no more wanted the trouble that resulted from it than you did. You know we both tried to stop Varney. You know we both got a note from him acknowledging our innocence and freeing us of any responsibility. All I’ve ever wanted from you was that note—”
“Ah, that is all.”
“Yes. If it didn’t help you with your government, it would have helped me with mine.”
Rostov glared at Brennan. “You dare compare our governments. Which of us is today free and respected, you or I?”
“You had Varney’s letter to clear you. I didn’t.”
“Varney’s note, eh?” Rostov stared at Brennan, and then he said, “I will speak one final thing to you in this room, and after that, let us be done with it and each other. You wanted a copy of Varney’s letter and an affidavit from me to clear you. Do you imagine that either four years ago or today such evidence would clear you? Do you think any testimony from a defector to Red China and from a Communist Party Soviet Minister could clear you? If you think so, you are a fool. You were the victim of your own stupid education and degenerate society that inculcated you with the belief that Communism is your enemy, and that by leaking the N-bomb to China you could neutralize Russia, even have China and Russia destroy one another, so that you could have the world for capitalism. Clever, very clever, if it had worked, but it did not, because too many in China, as well as in Russia, knew that we were not the enemies of each other, that the real enemy, our common enemy, was little golden America.”
Brennan had listened with growing disbelief. “Nikolai, what’s got into you? You never talked like that before. Our countries were friends, and are supposed to be friends right now. We had a common goal. We both wanted peace. But now, you—”
“Never mind that,” interrupted Rostov. “I have no time to discuss politics with you. We speak of Zurich. You came there the product of an unthinking, immoral, avaricious society. You prattled of world survival, but you meant America’s survival, not ours, not China’s. Only long after did I understand your unconscious wish in Zurich. When you personally helped China by giving Varney full freedom, you probably expected praise from your secret Wall Street leaders, the clique that wanted to arm China against Russia so that Communist comrades would fight one another instead of their common enemy. You were surprised when that clique disowned you, threw you to your mad politicians and your puppet press and your moronic public. You were surprised, but I was not.” He paused. “Yes, I had Varney’s note that cleared us both of complicity. There it was on paper. We were innocent. Whatever your weaknesses that encouraged the defection, and involved me with you, on the basis of factual evidence, you and I tried to stop Varney and failed, and he went off on his own.”
“You admit it then, that I was no traitor,” said Brennan slowly. “Why didn’t you help me prove it?”
“Because it would not have helped you and it would have hurt me,” said Rostov. “No matter what proof of your innocence I gave you, your usefulness in a capitalist society was ended. But mine, thanks to our society, was not. So when the KGB came to question me, I turned Varney’s note over to them. I was still suspect because of you, but at least I was given a chance to prove myself worthy of trust. Your ridiculous letters, asking for a copy of the letter, for my support, only embarrassed me, gave me more trouble. I refused to acknowledge them because I wanted no more to do with you.”
“But we were friends, Nikolai, and you knew I was innocent.”
“Innocent of treason to your country, but guilty of being a pawn used to destroy my country. No, Brennan, I could not help one like you in Zurich or from Moscow, and I will not help you here. Now you have heard, and now we are through with our business.”
For years, Brennan had pictured a moment of confrontation with Rostov, when Rostov should speak the truth that would vindicate him at last. Seconds ago, Rostov had confirmed his innocence, and yet there had been no thrill of pleasure in it for Brennan.
Rostov had started to go past him to the door. Brennan spoke quickly. “We are not through with our business, Nikolai. I did not come here to plead for myself. A week ago, that would have been my reason. Today, it is the less important one. I came here to speak of more vital business, a political matter that involves you as much as myself.”
“A political matter? There is nothing you could say that would interest me.”
As Rostov pushed past him, Brennan said softly, “Nikolai, if what I’ve been saying up to now has no interest for you, then why have you twice tried to murder me?”
Rostov stopped in his tracks, and looked up with genuine surprise. “Murder you? You are accusing me?”
“If not you, then your KGB. It’s one and the same.”
“Who would want to murder you, Brennan? Who are you to waste a single bullet upon? You are nobody. You are nothing. Only an unemployed fanatic with delusions of self-importance and grandeur.”
“Wasn’t that a description of Lenin once?”
Rostov’s face hardened. “You compare yourself to Lenin? You contemptible fool. Lenin had an idea.”
“So have I. Only my idea is not to foment revolution but to prevent it My interest is not in the Finland Station. My interest is in Versailles.”
Brennan watched for a reaction. Rostov gave him none. But he had turned back from the door into the room.
“What is that supposed to mean?” said Rostov.
“It means I know about the plot.”
“What plot?”
“I have evidence of a conspiracy, fomented within your delegation, to overturn your Government, and with it the work of the Summit and the hopes for international peace. I have evidence of a conspiracy that wishes to bring Russia into an alliance with China against the world. I have evidence of a conspiracy that plans to achieve its ends by violence.”
“How interesting, Brennan. What else do you have?”
“I have a notion that what began in Vienna in 1961 may be brought to an end in Versailles tonight. If you are not mixed up in this, I feel that I’m helping you and your Government protect yourselves. If you are mixed up in this, I am giving you fair warning not to go ahead because the plot is known.”
Rostov’s smile was cold. “You are finished, Brennan?”
“Yes.”
“If you are, I shall make one comment.”
“Go on.”
“You are insane.”
Brennan continued to stare unflinchingly at Rostov. “I would suggest that anyone sponsoring such a plot might more appropriately be regarded as insane. If it were your country’s internal affair alone, I would not speak of it. But the consequences of such a plot can lead to widespread war and destruction. It concerns not only yourself but every human being on earth. Those are my views. You or your colleagues tried to liquidate me for holding them, but it is not I who should be liquidated but those of you who would risk thermonuclear warfare to achieve your ambitions.”
Rostov’s cold smile remained. “Ah, so we have come to this. You are now threatening my life.”
“I am in no position to threaten anyone’s life. But you are in such a position, Nikolai… For God’s sake, Nikolai, what’s happened to you? You were another man in Zurich, thoughtful, full of ideals and hopes, but now—it’s as if you’ve been changed, the same face, but the inside of the skull different—like someone who’s been brainwashed.”
“Brainwashed?” said Rostov, enraged. “Your easy tabloid word for every man who finds the truth. The truth I have found is that your American capitalist hyenas are trying to brainwash the entire world to do its bidding, become its slaves, out of fear that if it doesn’t, Russian and Chinese Communists will unite to obliterate the decadent, militaristic, exploiting tyrants in your society. Well, you have every right to fear—” He halted. “I’ve endured enough of your madness. I’ve let you go far enough with your troublemaking and
propagandizing and provocations. I advise you to go no further.”
“I thank you for your advice, Nikolai. But I can’t stop now.”
Rostov shrugged. “Your funeral. An Americanism I picked up from one of your compatriots.” He pulled a key from his pocket, studied it, and dropped it at Brennan’s feet. “No more contamination from your whoring capitalist women. I give her back to you, with the reminder that you can buy as much for ten dollars on any street corner. In fact, you can buy better, because a whore is honest in her whoredom, but your women are lying, cheating jackals, like their men, like you.”
He turned to the door, gripped the knob, and held it for a moment. And then, without looking back, he spoke.
“About Zurich, Brennan… Perhaps I had Varney write me that letter, before I helped him defect to China. Maybe it was not you, but I, who earned and deserved his letter. Had you ever thought of that? You might examine the possibility, merely as an exercise, since you pretend to know much, and actually know little about anything. It might give you pause to look before you leap—again… Good night, Brennan.”
The door opened, closed, and Nikolai Rostov was gone.
Stunned, Brennan did not move.
He listened to the elevator descending. Slowly, he tried to recover his balance, to think. At last, he walked to the apartment window, unlatched the shutters, and peered down into the street. He watched as Rostov climbed into a taxi, and he waited for the taxi to leave.
Wheeling, he went quickly through the sitting room into the dining area.
“Okay, Emmett, it’s safe,” he called out. “Rostov has left.”
He came back into the sitting room again as Earnshaw caught up with him.
“Did you hear all of it?” Brennan asked dispiritedly.
“Every word!” exclaimed Earnshaw. “Once, I was afraid he’d come into the kitchen—”
“No chance. He was too surprised by me at first, and too embattled after that. Well, I guess I—”
Earnshaw threw an arm around Brennan’s shoulders and beamed at him. “Congratulations, Matt! I couldn’t wait to congratulate you!”
Brennan looked confused. “About what?”
“Come now, young man, you can’t have forgotten? Well, I assure you, I haven’t and I won’t. Yup, I heard it all. You’re simon-pure. Rostov cleared you of treason. He wiped the word traitor out of your life. He proved your innocence.”
“Yes, I know—”
“Well, my good man, it’s open and shut. I was a witness. I’ll dictate an affidavit and sign it, and after the Summit is over I’ll see that the press and every government branch and department gets it. Overnight, your name will be cleared. Your security status will be cleared. You can get back to the United States, where you belong, and back into government. I couldn’t be more pleased.” He slapped Brennan on the back. “Come on, cheer up. This is a big day.”
Brennan shook his head. “I don’t feel that way. I wish I could, Emmett, but it’s gone sour. I don’t know what I expected, but I was after something much more important. A couple of times there, I thought, well, I thought he’d blow up and spill some of the truth. He almost did. You heard him, at the door, teasing me with the possibility that he might have been the one who helped Varney give our secrets to China.”
“Bravado, showing off, merely to confuse you. Anyway, neither of us could convince anyone—”
“I was almost sure he’d crack along the way. But he didn’t.”
“No, he didn’t,” said Earnshaw, fixing a cigar. “I’m sorry about that, Matt, but facts are facts, we’ve agreed. You’ve got nothing for the police, not a shred of proof that there is any plot going on at all. I think you have to face it. Without proof, your hands are tied. Besides, Matt, if you want to be honest with yourself, there may be nothing to prove, no plot, no intrigue—”
“I won’t concede that,” said Brennan. “I’ll only concede I’m helpless, and this was my last chance and I lost. It just troubles me what I’ve done to Hazel, and that I have nothing to show for it. Yet, I’m surer than ever that Rostov is mixed up in whatever’s going on, and he knows that I know, and he arrogantly doesn’t give a damn, doesn’t have to lift a finger against me, because he also knows I’m helpless and no threat to him anymore.”
Earnshaw drew on his cigar, blew a ring of smoke, and studied Brennan. At last, he spoke. “Matt, I’m older than you, and you listen to me. The world is always hard on theorists. In medicine, a cherished theory can be more harmful than useful, until it is proved out. In law, circumstantial evidence can provide as much injustice as justice, when it substitutes for incontrovertible proof. Now, your theory may be right, and if it is, we will all suffer for not having acted on it. Yet, more likely, it is wrong, and if so, we would provoke grave trouble to peace and stability by interfering. You’ve tried to obtain proof to support your theory, and you’ve failed. If Rostov had given you one piece of real evidence, even indicated that he would seriously try to block you from pursuing your investigations, I’d say we had enough to act on. But he gave you nothing, either because he wanted to protect himself or because—well—because there was nothing to give you in the way of proof. Matt, you’ve accomplished enough in this room. If you’ve found nothing else, you’ve found yourself, you’ve found your vindication. Put the rest out of your mind. Go home with your young lady and start afresh.”
‘Thanks for your help, Emmett.”
“I wish I’d been sensible enough to help you long before. But I’m glad I’m able to make some of it up to you now. I’ll get that affidavit prepared, sworn to, and signed by me while my name still means something… Well, I’d better get me back to the hotel and change into my monkey suit. I’m expected at the table of honor in the Hall of Mirrors. Your reputation will soon be restored, but I mustn’t forget mine will soon be ruined by those Goerlitz memoirs. So, before it finally is, I’ve got to enjoy any small pleasures and attentions I’m offered. Still, I’ll confess, Matt, I feel that I’ve gained something here in Paris. I’ve found something of myself I had forgotten existed. It won’t be easy for me to live with what’s ahead, but you know, I might give it a try. You try, too. Forget the world for a day and think of yourself. And if you can, come up for a drink tomorrow at five. I’ll have the affidavit waiting for you. See you then, Matt.”
Earnshaw departed, leaving behind a trail of smoke.
Alone, Brennan wearily surveyed the room. Everything was in order, except poor Hazel’s life. He sighed, picked up the key and placed it on the coffee table, and went slowly around turning off the lamps.
This done, he paused before the sofa, and finally sank down into it and laid his head back, alone in the darkness.
He thought of Rostov. He thought of himself. And finally, his mind went to King Pyrrhus, and Brennan knew that he himself had also lost more than he had gained in his past hour of triumph, and he understood for the first time the bitter meaning of Pyrrhic victory.
At last, he thought of one of his favorite stories. In the early 1800’s, in Manchester, England, an unhappy and depressed middle-aged man, a traveling man, visited a physician who had been recommended to him. “What is the nature of your ailment?” the physician inquired. The sad-faced patient replied, “I’m suffering from a hopeless malady. I’m in terror of the world around me. Nothing gives me pleasure anymore, nothing amuses me, nothing gives me reason to live. If you can’t help me, I’m afraid I shall kill myself.” The physician gave his caller reassurance. “Your illness is not fatal. It can be cured. You need only get out of yourself, find things that will amuse you, cheer you, make you laugh.” The patient said, “How do I find such diversion? Tell me exactly what I must do.” The physician replied, “Simply go to the circus tonight to see Grimaldi, the clown. Grimaldi is the funniest man alive. He will cure you.”. And the sad-faced patient said, “Doctor, I am Grimaldi.”
Brennan thought: I am Grimaldi.
He needed someone to save him. Yet, the only person who could save him, who unders
tood, who believed, who could help, was he, himself. And he was impotent.
It was over. The best he could hope for was that Rostov had been right, after all, and that the events of tonight would prove him not quite insane but completely a fool.
PHYSICALLY WORN OUT, mentally apathetic, Matt Brennan had left Hazel’s apartment in the Rue de Téhéran and on leaden legs had walked from the Boulevard Haussmann to the Rue de Berri.
Indifferent to the hour of the evening, for no longer did it have meaning for him, he approached the glass canopy over the entrance to the Hotel California. He was aware that he had spent a considerable time licking his wounds in Hazel’s apartment. After Rostov’s departure, then Earnshaw’s, Brennan had remained slumped on the sofa in a state of lethargy for a prolonged period. Only the sudden arrival of Hazel, who, accompanied by Doyle, had returned briefly to change her dress, had roused him.
Both of them had known at once, from his demeanor, the result of his confrontation with Rostov. Nevertheless, they had questioned him, and miserably, he had reported upon his exchange with Rostov and his failure. He had not bothered to inform them of his personal vindication. Hazel had heard him out stoically, obviously guessing Rostov’s reactions to her perfidy (even though Brennan had omitted most of that), and when Brennan was done, she had merely shrugged and murmured,., “C’est la guerre.” Of the pair, Doyle had appeared the more stricken.
In her practical manner Hazel had suggested that they put the past behind them and resume their normal work. If they didn’t hurry, she had added, they would be late for Neely’s press briefing at Versailles.
Emptying her purse, she had found the schedule of the evening’s festivities. The motorcades of the five Summit leaders and their wives and their ministers were due to arrive at Versailles Palace at seven-thirty. After signing the Palace’s Golden Book, the guests would ascend the Queen’s Staircase and proceed to the Salon des Nobles de la Reine, where they would be received by the President of France, and, in turn, would join him to welcome each of the 200 honored guests invited to mark the occasion.
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