Ken Follett - Lie down with lions

"Same as always," Ellis said. They thought that he worked for the State Department and that his job was to read French newspapers and magazines and prepare a daily digest for the France Desk.

"How about a beer?"

Ellis did not really want one, but he accepted just to be friendly. Bernard went into the kitchen to get it. He was credit manager for a department store in New York City. Petal seemed to like and respect him, and he was gently affectionate with her. He and Gill had no other children: that fertility specialist had done him no good.

He came back with two glasses of beer and handed one to Ellis. "Go and do your homework now," he said to Petal. "Daddy will say goodbye before he leaves."

She kissed him again and ran off. When she was out of earshot he said: "She isn't normally so affectionate. She seems to overdo it when you're around. I don't understand it."

Ellis understood it only too well, but he did not want to think about it yet. "Don't worry about it," he said. "How's business?''

"Not bad. High interest rates haven't hit us as badly as we feared they might. It seems that people are still willing to borrow money to buy things—in New York, at least." He sat down and sipped his beer.

Ellis always felt that Bernard was physically frightened of him. It showed in the way the man walked around, like a pet dog that is not really allowed indoors, careful to stay an inch or two out of kicking distance.

They talked about the economy for a few minutes, and Ellis drank his beer as fast as he could, then got up to leave. He went to the foot of the staircase and called: "Bye, Petal."

She came to the top of the stairs. "What about having my ears pierced?"

"Can I think about it?" he said.

"Sure. Bye."

Gill came down the stairs. "I'll drive you to the airport," she said.

Ellis was surprised. "Okay. Thanks."

When they were on the road Gill said: "She told me she didn't want to spend a weekend with you."

"Right."

"You're upset, aren't you?"

"Does it show?"

"To me it does. I used to be married to you." She paused. "I'm sorry, John."

"It's my fault. I didn't think it through. Before I came along, she had a Mommy and a Daddy and a home—all any child wants. I'm not just superfluous, though. By being around I threaten her happiness. I'm an intruder, a destabilizing factor. That's why she hugs Bernard in front of me. She doesn't mean to hurt me. She does it because

she's afraid of losing him. And it's me who makes her afraid."

"She'll get over it," Gill said. "America is full of kids with two Daddies."

"That's no excuse. I fucked up, and I should face it."

She surprised him again by patting his knee. "Don't be too hard on yourself," she said. "You just weren't made for this. I knew that within a month of marrying you. You don't want a house, a job, the suburbs, children. You're a little weird. That's why I fell in love with you, and that's why I let you go so readily. I loved you because you were different, crazy, original, exciting. You would do anything. But you're no family man."

He sat in silence, thinking about what she had said, while she drove. It was meant kindly, and for that he was warmly grateful; but was it true? He thought not. I don't want a house in the suburbs, he thought, but I'd like a home: maybe a villa in Morocco or a loft in Greenwich Village or a penthouse in Rome. I don't want a wife to be my housekeeper, cooking and cleaning and shopping and taking the minutes at the PTA; but I'd like a companion, someone to share books and movies and poetry with, someone to talk to at night. I'd even like to have kids, and raise them to know about something more than Michael Jackson.

He did not say any of this to Gill.

She stopped the car and he realized they were outside the Eastern terminal. He looked at his watch: eight-fifty. If he hurried he would get on the nine o'clock shuttle. "Thanks for the ride," he said.

"What you need is a woman like you, one of your kind," Gill said.

Ellis thought of Jane. "I met one, once."

"What happened?"

"She married a handsome doctor."

"Is the doctor crazy like you?"

"I don't think so."

"Then it won't last. When did she get married?"

"About a year ago."

"Ah." Gill was probably figuring that that was when Ellis had come back into Petal's life in a big way; but she had the grace not to say so. "Take my advice," she said. "Check her out."

Ellis got out of the car. "Talk to you soon."

"Bye."

He slammed the door and she drove off.

Ellis hurried into the building. He made the flight with a minute or two to spare. As the plane took off he found a news magazine in the seat pocket in front of him and looked for a report from Afghanistan.

He had been following the war closely since he had heard, from Bill in Paris, that Jane had carried out her intention of going there with Jean-Pierre. The war was no longer front-page news. Often a week or two would go by with no reports about it at all. But now the winter lull was over and there was something in the press at least once a week.

This magazine had an analysis of the Russian situation in Afghanistan. Ellis began it mistrustfully, for he knew that many such articles in news magazines emanated from the CIA: a reporter would get an exclusive briefing on the CIA's intelligence appraisal of some situation, but in fact he would be the unconscious channel for a piece of disinformation aimed at another country's intelligence service, and the report he wrote would have no more relation to the truth than an article in Pravda.

However, this article seemed straight. There was a buildup of Russian troops and arms going on, it said, in preparation for a major summer offensive. This was seen by Moscow as a make-or-break summer: they had to crush the Resistance this year or they would be forced to reach an accommodation of some kind with the rebels. This made sense to Ellis: he would check to see what the CIA's people in Moscow were saying, but he had a feeling it would tally.

Among the crucial target areas, the article listed the Panisher Valley.

Ellis remembered Jean-Pierre talking about the Five Lions Valley. The article also mentioned Masud, the rebel leader: Ellis recalled Jean-Pierre speaking of him, too.

He looked out of the window, watching the sun set. There was no doubt, he thought with a pang of dread, that Jane was going to be in grave danger this summer.

But it was none of his business. She was married to someone else now. Anyway, there was nothing Ellis could do about it.

He looked down at his magazine, turned the page, and started reading about El Salvador. The plane roared on toward Washington. In the west the sun went down, and darkness fell.

Allen Winderman took Ellis Thaler to lunch at a seafood restaurant overlooking the Potomac River. Winderman arrived a half-hour late. He was a typical Washington operator: dark-gray suit, white shirt, striped tie; as smooth as a shark. As the White House was paying, Ellis ordered lobster and a glass of white wine. Winderman asked for Perrier and a salad. Everything about Winderman was too tight: his tie, his shoes, his schedule and his self-control.

Ellis was on his guard. He could not refuse such an invitation from a presidential aide, but he did not like discreet, unofficial lunches, and he did not like Allen Winderman.

Winderman got right down to business. "I want your advice," he began.

Ellis stopped him. "First of all, I need to know whether you told the Agency about our meeting." If the White House wanted to plan covert action without telling the CIA, Ellis would have nothing to do with it.

"Of course," Winderman said. "What do you know about Afghanistan?"

Ellis felt suddenly cold. Sooner or later, this is going to involve Jane, he thought. They know about her, of course: I made no secret of it. I told Bill in Paris I was going to ask her to marry me. I called Bill subsequently to find out whether she really did go to Afghanistan. All that went down on my file. Now this bastard knows about her, and he's going to use his knowledge. "I know a little about it," he said cautiously, and then he recalled a verse of Kipling, and recited it: