by Garbo Norman
“No, he’s not. But he’s my friend. Or, rather, he was.”
“Curiously enough, he still thinks he is.”
“And what do you think?”
The old man took his time on that one. “I think Tony does feel he’s still your friend. He’s quite miserable about this. But I also think he’s an utterly single-purposed fanatic who is quite ready to kill you because he believes this to be in the best national interest.”
The operator asked for more money and Burke clanged in the required number of coins. Then he said, “I knew Tony was alive, professor. When I didn’t hear from you after our last meeting, I spent a few days following you. I saw Tony when he met you in that shopping mall. I got over my shock back then.”
He paused. “The rest of what I felt I’ll probably never get over.”
“Good Lord! Isn’t it possible to surprise you people with anything?”
“You just did.”
“You didn’t expect me to tell you?”
Burke smiled faintly. “Come on, professor.”
“Surely you should have had a better opinion of me.”
“Well, he is your son. What am I?”
“Someone I’ve known, regarded highly, and cared about for a great many years. A friend who trusted me. A man I’m sure would never have hurt and tried to use his own father as my son did me.”
“He wanted you to call and set me up for him?”
“Yes.”
Burke was silent “I’ll tell you this, Richard. I may seem to talk about this easily, but that’s not how I feel. Things have taken place inside me these past days. You don’t know…” He broke off. “Couldn’t we meet somewhere if we’re very careful?”
Burke did not reply.
“No, I suppose not,” said the old man. “You have every right to doubt me. You can’t know what I intend. And I’m certain I’m being watched, in any case. Although not now, not at this moment. I was very clever at getting out unseen to make’ this call. I went back to my office for some night work and left the building through an old tunnel dug by abolitionists to help escaped slaves. Then I borrowed a friend’s car to drive to the phone booth.” He laughed softly. “Which gives you a fair idea of what necessity can do to a basically simple, forthright man.
“Just try to relax. There’s no one waiting for the phone, is there?”
“No. Not at this time of night. There’s not 3 soul anywhere.”
“Then take your time. I’ve stacks of dimes and quarters. We’re under no pressure. Just take it easy and tell me what you can.”
“Yes, yes, of course. I’m ashamed of myself. I don’t know what on earth is the matter with me. I’ve never felt quite this way before. But then I’ve never been in this position before, have I? I suppose the worst part of all — at least for me — was that Tony would actually allow me to believe him dead, would actually put me through the funeral services and what came after. I’m his father; he knows me. He knew what his alleged death — by suicide, no less — would do to me. Yet he did it. It takes a very special type of man to be able to do something like that to his father. Imagine,” the old man intoned distantly. “Imagine him actually letting me think he had blown his brains out.”
Burke waited, watching an occasional car go by, gazing past the QE 2 at the lights on the far shore. There were questions to be asked, things he had to know, but he did not have the heart to break in on the old man’s mourning.
“Remember,” he went on, “when you first came to my house to tell me he was not a suicide, that he had been murdered? Remember how I called him my son, the patriot? How I spoke of his dedication, of his loyalty to our country? Do you remember all the things I said that night, Richard?”
“Yes.”
“My son was dead to me that night, but I was very proud of him. Tonight he’s alive and no different than he’s ever been, yet I’m not proud of him at all. Do you know why? Because I have come to the unhappy conclusion that somewhere along the way, he managed to stop being human. I have no idea when it happened, but it happened. I’ve raised a dedicated patriot with no heart. God help us all, he’s solid red, white, and blue clear through.”
The old man sighed softly along the wire. “And don’t think I’m unaware of the relationship you two shared all these years. I know what you meant to him. He could not have cared more for a brother. And insane as it sounds, he still feels that way. We’ve spoken of it very intensely these past few days. We’ve discussed you in great depth, Richard. We had to. Since Tony was trying so hard to get me to lead you into an ambush, it was necessary. But somehow he failed to convince me your death was absolutely vital to the well-being of the nation.”
“How did he try convincing you?” asked Burke, grateful for the chance to get down to it at last. “What arguments did he use?”
The old man laughed. “Believe it or not, he actually started off by very solemnly reminding me that we were father and son, and that the mutual love and trust we’d enjoyed over a lifetime should surely be enough to make me do as he asked without question. I told him that as far as I was concerned, he had displayed appallingly little love and trust by letting me believe him a suicide. I also told him that for me, love and trust stopped quite a bit short of murder. This was not murder, he said. Morally, it had to be regarded as the unfortunate but necessary death of a soldier in a continuing war. He claimed that regardless of what the politicians in Washington said, the United States was engaged in a death struggle with the forces of world Communism, and that every step we took towards detente, was a step closer to our own destruction. He insisted that he and others had a job to do as soldiers in this war, and it was a job that sometimes had to be done by any means possible.”
“Yes, yes,” said Burke carefully. “I know all about that. I’ve lived with that sort of morality for twenty years. But exactly when and why did 1, Richard Burke, suddenly get to be such a threat to our battle against world Communism? Why now? What have I supposedly done?”
“Well, Tony did tell me pretty much the same things you told me about that abortive assassination in Lebanon. And then …”
“Lies,” Burke cut in. “I’d figured out it wasn’t Lebanon long before Tony turned up alive. There was too much pressure, too much going on for just that. And now with Tony not having been killed to eliminate all ties to that blunder, it makes no sense at all for them to need me dead because of it.”
Automatically, Burke dumped more coins into the black box.
“Please,” he said, “Think about it. In all your discussions with Tony, did he ever say anything about me, personally, about anything I might have said or done, anything that may have happened recently that concerned me?”
“Curiously,” said the professor, “when we did talk about you, it was complimentary. Tony spoke of his feeling for you, of your tremendous integrity and sense of ethics.” The old man paused. “But as a matter of fact,” he went on more slowly, “Tony almost seemed to make the compliments sound like accusations. It was as if such traits might be admirable enough in someone engaged in any of life’s more normal pursuits, but could be a decided handicap in the Service. In fact he said it was this, more than anything, that finally caused you to fail in Lebanon.”
Burke nodded encouragingly at the night air. “Okay. Good.’ But was there anything else? Did he mention any specific examples?”
“Of what?”
“Of how my integrity and sense of ethics proved to be a handicap in my work.”
“Well, yes. He said he actually gave up any real hope for your future in the Service many years ago because of it. He indicated that something happened at that time, apparently on one of your assignments, to which you overreacted so strongly, about which you were so violently judgmental, that he should have gotten rid of you at once. He said that only his personal feeling for you stopped him. And he has come to regard that as one of the worst mistakes he ever made.”
Burke stood gripping the receiver. “And that was all?”
“I believe so. Except for a bit of swearing at you and your damned narrow views, and at himself for his foolish sentiment.” The old man laughed dryly. “Imagine. My son the machine, berating himself for the sin of sentiment”
Burke said nothing. The headlights of an approaching car came at him and he turned until they had passed “Do you have any idea what he was referring to?” the professor asked. “Yes.”
“Is it of any help?”
“I doubt it. It was so long ago and so much has happened since. I don’t see how it could be pertinent to what’s going on now.”
“Richard,” The old man’s voice was hesitant. “Are you sure you couldn’t simply go away somewhere and disappear? Wouldn’t that be the best way to handle this?”
“I’m afraid there is no best way. Besides, I’ve gotten others involved. If I disappeared now, they’d never be left alone, never have a moment’s peace.”
The line was silent.
Burke said tiredly, “I guess that’s it, professor. Thanks for your help. And I appreciate your not trying to set me up.”
“Apparently there was no way I could have done it in any case.”
“It’s the lack of intent I appreciate.”
“Be careful, Richard.”
Burke smiled at nothing. “You know me, professor.”
“I obviously don’t know anybody,” said the old man.
Burke heard him hang up. He was aware of a faint trembling in the booth, the vibration from some invisible engine. It made him feel he was about to be launched on a voyage. Collecting his remaining change, he left the booth.
The wind off the river tore at him as he walked towards his car and he bent his head. The unseen ship’s engine chugged more loudly and the smell of diesel fuel haunted the air. Shivering, he got into his car, started the motor and heater, and sat staring out at the running lights of the Queen Elizabeth, as though he had the insane notion that if he looked at them long and hard enough they might work some magic and lift him free. Suddenly the best of his thoughts depressed him for there seemed to be a quiet madness attached. Demons hid along the piers and swam in the dark waters below, waiting for him. Let them wait, he thought. He had the worst of the crop inside, dozing quietly in his chest. They had been there for almost eighteen years, and it was apparently time to call them awake.
Yet he wondered what good it would do. What could he find among them now, that he had not found in all these years? Wake diem and they would just start chewing at him all over again. How could they have anything to do with what was happening to him? Still, it had involved some effort for the old man to scrape up even this faint hope of a clue. The least he could do would be to give it some thought.
So with the motor running and the heater starting to melt the worst of the chill from his bones, he lit a cigarette and allowed himself to dig through old burial grounds.
Chapter 16
In Burke’s mind it always began the same way, with all of them moving steadily and well, in a long, loose column, through the thinning trees. He could see the dark banks of the stream below, and beyond it, the green slope of the hillside. On the other side of the slope, out of sight and about a mile distant, was the border. In a bit more than an hour they would be over it. Not counting Tom Ludlow and himself, there were twenty-three of them: eleven men, nine women, and three children. The youngsters were in their early teens, two boys and a girl, with wide, dark eyes, smooth faces, and incredibly white teeth. It all seemed like an exciting excursion to them. There were not supposed to have been any children in this group, but a mistake had been made somewhere along the line and by the time it was discovered, nothing could be done.
Ludlow had been angry, but as far as Burke was concerned, the kids’ presence would not affect the group adversely. He actually enjoyed having them along and did not expect -any trouble.
This was the seventh group they were taking through, .and nothing had gone wrong with any of them. Ludlow had a submachine gun slung over his shoulder and Burke himself carried a pistol and carbine, but so far there had been no need for weapons. Ludlow knew every foot of the border area and the posting and pattern of the patrols well enough to avoid all critical points.
None of the others in the group were armed. Ludlow would not permit it. A man with a gun in someone else’s contingent had once panicked, fired on a passing patrol, and almost caused a disaster. Now in Ludlow’s groups no weapons were allowed. Burke disagreed with the ban, feeling that in an emergency they might need the extra firepower, but he did not argue the point. Ludlow was officially in command, knew the country and people far better than he, and did not take kindly to having his judgment questioned. During the weeks that Burke had worked under him, he had found his superior to be a decisive, confident man who knew what he wanted done and went about doing it with a minimum of fuss and discussion. Which was perfect for this type of operation. Still, Burke did occasionally find himself irritated with Ludlow’s obvious arrogance towards those he was there to help.
Tony Kreuger had briefed Burke on his new commander before sending him on the assignment. “You probably won’t like Tom Ludlow,” he said. “He’s not your kind of man. But he’ll be good for you. He’s exactly what you need right now. He’s cold, clinical, and conceptually sophisticated enough never to lose sight of the broad picture. He’s not one of us, not a Service man. He’s an oil specialist, working undercover for the State Department. I’m sure he’s also C.I.A. But he knows everything there is to know about this business. So watch and learn from him.”
Six weeks later, following Ludlow’ through the shadowed coolness under the trees, the butt of his carbine rapping against his lower back, Burke was still watching him. There was an arrogance in even the way he walked with these people, he thought, like a shepherd moving his flock to another pasture. When they spoke to him or asked questions, he rarely bothered to answer. The fact that they were frightened and uncertain, were leaving their homes for a doubtful future in a foreign place, meant nothing to him. Since it was currently part of America’s policy to help these people escape a cruel and repressive regime, he was helping them escape. He was interested in nothing more. Tall, slender, aloof, his back rigidly straight under the weight of his Tommy gun, he was surely something less than a Moses, Burke thought, leading his people to the Promised Land.
As they headed down towards the stream, Burke hoped he hadn’t learned too much from him. Never mind what Tony had said. There was very little that this man could teach him that he really wanted to know.
The stream was fairly shallow where they crossed it, but some of the women and older men still had to be helped. Burke stood up to his knees in the fast-moving water, lending a hand to those who stumbled over hidden rocks or showed signs of fright. Ludlow watched the crossing from partway up the steep slope ahead. He said nothing, but Burke could feel his impatience from just the tilt of his head.
Burke watched the small band trudging slowly up the hill. It moved like a wounded beast, dragging itself along. Only the three youngsters seemed to have any energy left, and they were using that to help carry some of the heavier articles for the older people. Burke had been involved in this sort of operation for less than two months, but at this moment it seemed as though he had been doing it all his life. He felt part of a permanent, never-ending stream of refugees. Escape seemed to have become the absolute condition of existence. Over the border and back, over the border and back, always with another frightened, exhausted group, always with the sad souvenirs of forsaken lives, always with the border patrols out there, threatening. But this was the last, at least as far as he and Ludlow were concerned. Ludlow had told him the night before. They would be coming back in for undercover work in the cities. “We’ve done our share of escort duty,” Ludlow said. “And without losing a single one.”
True, thought Burke. Other teams had lost as much as twenty per cent of their people to the security police, while they themselves continued to show a perfect score. And this was all Ludlow
. Burke was happy to give the State Department man full credit. Whatever else he thought of him, the guy knew what he was doing. He. was good. Everything he touched went off with the precision of a fine piece of machinery. Regardless of his motivation, he had gotten almost three hundred people safely out of the country.
There were trees at the top of the hill and this was where they rested. From here Burke could see the long ridge of rock, with the stand of pine just beyond, marking the border in this area. The trees were about a mile away, but the air was so clear that they looked closer. It was almost all downhill from here, and merely the sight of the easy slope ahead was cheering. People talked and joked, and their voices were bright. These were the moments, thought Burke, that made the rest of it worth doing. His mood was expansive enough to embrace even Ludlow, who stood benignly a short distance from the clustered group, smoking, and at that moment looking almost human to him.
“Richard!” Ludlow called and Burke walked over to join him.
“Why don’t you start now,” Ludlow said. “We’ll follow when you wave an all-clear from that stand of pine at the border.”
Burke turned and looked at his people. They had settled into an easy quiet. Some lay stretched out on the grass, others dozed, sitting against trees. All seemed stamped in attitudes of immortal grace. Classic Renoir, he thought. Then he slung his carbine and started down the slope towards the border.
He was at the bottom of the hill, just starting the gentle rise near the border, when the first shots went off.
Instinctively he dove flat out into the high grass. Sonofabitch! And on the last trip out, he thought. Then he unslung his carbine, flicked off the safety, and peered cautiously up at the trees, three hundred yards ahead. But as the firing went on, he realized it was coming from somewhere behind him. It came in short staccato bursts, in the spat-spatting of a machine gun. He swung around in the grass, but could see nothing but the dark cluster of trees on the hill he had just left. A patrol must have come on them from the rear, he decided, and started back up the hill. He ran hard and straight, not bothering to zig-zag or look for cover.