George Chesbro - Shadow of a Broken Man

"What's going to be done about it?" I whispered hoarsely.

Garth took a long time to answer. "I don't think anything will be done about it; at least not by the N.Y.P.D."

"Why the hell not?"

"Because your friend fell out of the U.N. building. Even if we wanted to, we can't go in there without an invitation. It's like a sovereign state."

"Why shouldn't there be an invitation?"

"Because somebody will object; somebody always objects. Besides, it wouldn't do any good." He paused, hit his desk in frustration. "Let's suppose we did find out something- which is highly unlikely. Almost everyone in there, with the exception of the Americans, enjoys diplomatic immunity. We couldn't do anything with the killer if we did find him."

"What about the publicity? Don't the U.N. people want the public to think they're doing something about it?"

"Oh, the publicity will be bad for a few days, but then it'll die down. It would be even worse if they asked for a police investigation; the police would be followed and questioned by reporters for days, weeks, months, however long it took."

"Then the murderer goes free?"

"I'm afraid that's it. Unless he gets called on the carpet for sloppy workmanship; there are a hell of a lot of tidier ways to kill a man than to push him out the twenty-seventh floor of the U.N. building."

"That's what I was thinking."

"Exactly what would that be?"

"That he wasn't pushed. There's no way the people involved in this thing would want to attract so much attention."

Garth studied me. "You think he jumped?"

"Yes. As a warning signal to me. He knew they were going to kill him, and he wanted to warn me that I'd be next. He'd given them my name under torture."

"We'll give you some protection."

Garth started to reach for the telephone and I grabbed his wrist. "I don't want it," I said. "Besides, I don't think it would do any good. If they want me, they'll find a way to get me."

"Are you still going to Acapulco?"

"No."

Garth's eyes narrowed. "What do you plan to do, Mongo?"

"I don't know." The next words forced their way out of me. "I'd like to do a little killing."

"That's not hard to understand, but you're going to have to learn to live with it."

"I may not be able to. They must know about me, and they're going to want to know what I know. They're going to be watching, waiting."

"You keep your eyes open, brother."

"What about the Morton case?"

Garth tapped his fingers on the side of his chair. He seemed angry, frustrated. "I requested permission to reopen it. I was turned down flat. The U.N. isn't the only organization that doesn't want local cops nosing around in its business."

"Then there has to be a tie-in with Rafferty!"

Garth nodded. I turned and walked out of the office.

Somebody already knew what I knew: My apartment had been broken into and ransacked. The tapes I'd made were gone. They'd ignored my gun. I cleaned and loaded it, then strapped on my shoulder holster. If they had my tapes, they didn't need me. On the other hand, they might want to make sure that I hadn't left anything out. I hoped someone would come for me. It was the only way I could avenge Abu's death.

Waiting: For most of the afternoon I sat in a chair, sweating, watching the door. I called the Foster home four times and didn't get an answer. Mike's office hadn't heard from him either. In the evening, Ronald Tal called to invite me to a memorial service for Abu the next morning at eleven. I said I'd be there.

After rigging up a crude alarm system, I went to bed with my hand on the gun under my pillow. I slept badly, dreaming of a man with a secret so deadly that men were willing to torture and kill almost at the mere mention of his name.

In the morning I took an ice-cold shower and tried to pull myself together. I dressed, ate, and went out into the brilliant morning sunshine. The hard bulge of the revolver in my armpit felt reassuring.

On the steps of the U.N. plaza a woman with blue hair was standing by the spot where Abu had fallen, gesturing excitedly to the two young children she had in tow. I identified myself to a guard at the entrance, and he escorted me to a small, dimly lighted chapel. At the front was a closed casket surrounded by banks of lilies. The symbol of Islam hung on the wall behind the casket, and there was an honor guard of Pakistanis standing by the bier. Taped organ music played softly in the background.

I stood by the bier for a few minutes staring into the reflections in the oiled mahogany surface of the casket, then turned and walked toward the back of the chapel. The pews were sparsely filled with morning-coated representatives of the various member nations. I found a black-suited Tal in the right-hand corner of the last pew.

He rose and offered me his hand. "Hello, Dr. Frederickson," he said quietly.

"Thanks for the call," I said. "Abu was a good friend of mine."

"He was my friend too," Tal said softly. "Which is why I thought you wouldn't mind my asking some questions."

"I don't feel much like answering questions, and I'm not sure this is the proper time or place."

"It won't make much difference to Abu, will it? I'd like to find out who did this to him, but I need information. Assuming you're being watched, I thought this chapel would be the safest place to talk. We both have a reason for being here."

"All right," I said. "Are you doing this on your own?"

"No. The Secretary General would like to know what happened, and why. This has happened in our 'house,' so to speak. Effective steps can be taken to find out who the murderer is and have him recalled."

"I had something else in mind."

"We'll have to settle for what we can get. But the publicity I'll arrange will be very embarrassing to the country involved. I can almost guarantee that they'll punish whoever is responsible."

"All right, I'm listening."

The pew was hard and I shifted in my seat, half-turning toward Tal. As I moved, I caught sight of something out of the corner of my eye that made me turn all the way around. Elliot Thomas' head jerked back almost imperceptibly. There was no way of knowing how long he'd been standing there, watching, but it was obvious that I'd startled him. He nodded slightly, then walked slowly down the aisle toward the bier.

"Is something the matter?" Tal asked.

"No," I said after a pause. "Just uncomfortable. I'm all right now."

"You asked me about Victor Rafferty. Was Abu making the same kind of inquiries?"

"Yes," I said tersely.

"Can you tell me who hired you?"

"Why?"

"Perhaps it would be a clue," Tal said softly.

"I don't think so." I wasn't ready to trust Tal-or anyone else who didn't already know-with the Fosters' name, at least not until I found out where they were.

Thomas remained at the bier for a few moments, head bowed, then turned and walked back up the aisle. He didn't look at me as he passed.

Tal remained silent for a few minutes, thinking. Then he said, "Victor Rafferty was obviously more than just the greatest architect of our age."

Deciding it might be time to open up a bit, I told Tal about Lippitt, and some of what Lippitt had told me.

Tal took some time to digest what I'd told him, then said: "It seems that everyone was satisfied as long as they believed Victor Rafferty was dead. It's the possibility of his being alive that they find so upsetting."

"That's exactly right." I had the feeling I was being watched. I quickly glanced around me, but Elliot Thomas was nowhere in sight. I was surprised to find that almost all the mourners had changed; they seemed to be coming and going in ten minute shifts. At the moment there was a large number of Asians.

"Tell me," Tal said. "On the basis of your investigation so far, do you believe that Rafferty is alive?"