George Chesbro: Shadow of a Broken Man

"Thanks, Tal. I'll look after myself."

Mike Foster gently pulled his wife to her feet and supported her as they moved into an adjoining bedroom; he closed the door quietly behind them.

There was a sharp, prolonged buzzing sound from Lippitt's direction. The agent took a small beeper out of his pocket and shut it off. He looked vaguely surprised. "I have to go," he said.

"If it's a telephone you need, you're welcome to use the one here," Tal said.

Lippitt ignored the offer, jerked his head in the direction of the Fosters' bedroom. "You've taken on a big responsibility, Tal."

Tal met the other man's cold gaze. "Then perhaps you should keep silent. If you do, there's no reason why anyone outside this room should know where the Fosters are."

"I have other responsibilities."

"Then you'll just have to weigh them against the safety of the Fosters, won't you? Mrs. Foster has told you all she knows; the Americans have no more need of her. Unless you risk a leak, no one else will have access to her. Think about that when you report to your superiors."

Lippitt walked to the elevator. He paused at the door as if he wanted to add something, but said nothing. In a few moments he was gone. I wondered what his message could be, where he was going.

Tal put his hand on my shoulder. "You should accept my offer, Mongo. I don't think Lippitt will kill you, but he might not be able to stop one of his colleagues from doing so if the order came down. They will want to make sure you don't share the information you have."

"Sorry. I don't feel like being a prisoner any more than Rafferty did. I'll take my chances on the street."

"I understand."

"It's over, I suppose." There was a flat, metallic taste in my mouth. "You found out what you wanted to know."

Tal looked surprised. "You want to quit now?"

"Rafferty's alive, and everybody and his brother is looking for him. Even if he has been working your turf, he's finished there now. He's blown and he knows it; he's going to be on the run. What's the point of our continuing to look for him?"

"Because we have something the others don't," Tal said firmly. "We have the list of people who participated in that seminar, and that gives us an edge."

"That doesn't answer my question. Why should we look for him now?"

He smiled. "Aren't you curious?"

"Rafferty's got enough people looking for him."

"Yes," Tal said seriously. "But you and I are the only ones who might want to help him."

Dawn was an hour old, growing into a mean, humid, overcast day. Somewhere out in that gathering light was a man many considered the most powerful and dangerous man who had ever lived, a man from whom no one could keep a secret, a man who could move objects with his mind. A man who could kill with a thought. It was the same man who had rescued me from the farmhouse; I was sure of that now.

I pointed to the papers on Tal's desk. "You want to check out every one of those people who attended the conference?"

"If necessary," Tal said, leaning forward and drumming his fingers on the desk top. "Imagine what a man with Rafferty's capabilities could do for us."

"By 'us,' I assume you mean the Secretary General and yourself?"

"Yes. He'd be able to provide us with vital information. He'd know that we'd use his skills properly."

"It looks as if he already has a job. Maybe he doesn't want to change, or can't."

Suddenly there was a knock on the door behind us. I jumped; I'd thought the door led to a closet. Tal spun around in his chair, a look of astonishment on his face.

"Are you expecting someone?"

Tal shook his head. "Even if I were, he wouldn't be coming through there. That's a second private elevator with a combination warning system-lock on the door leading to it. The only person besides me who knows the entry code is the Secretary General, and he's in the hospital."

There was another knock. I felt the hair prickle on the back of my neck. "Well, aren't you going to see who it is?"

Tal rose from his chair, walked quickly across the room, and yanked the door open. I immediately recognized the man who stood in the elevator portal: It was Yuri Malakov, the Soviet Ambassador to the United Nations. He was trying to look dignified and not succeeding; his rotund face was flushed with excitement, and even beneath his beard I could see the muscles in his jaw working.

"What the hell-?" Tal said.

Malakov drew himself up. "I am here at the request of Victor Rafferty," he announced formally, in good English. "I received a telephone call a half hour ago asking me to come here, by this route. Rafferty said it would prove to you that he is who he says he is."

Tal dazedly stepped back, and the Ambassador entered the suite.

"It means he's been close to me all this time," Tal said distantly. "Who?"

Tal's desk intercom buzzed. He pressed the flashing button with some annoyance and spoke sharply into the speaker. "Marge, I thought I told you I wasn't to be disturbed!"

A woman's voice with a Midwestern accent came over the line. "I know, sir; I'm sorry. It's a Mr. Elliot Thomas. He insists on talking to you. He says it's very important. He's … calling on the green line."

My chest constricted, making it hard for me to breathe. My heart was pounding as I leaned forward and gripped the edge of Tal's desk.

Tal's brow furrowed. "Elliot Thomas? Who's he, and how did he get the green-line number?"

"I don't know, sir," the woman answered. "He will only say that it's very urgent and concerns a man by the name of Victor Rafferty."

"All right, Marge," Tal said tightly. "Put him through." There was a click. Tal picked up the telephone. "Yes, Mr. Thomas?" he said, excitement making his voice sound thin. "What do you know about Victor Rafferty?"

I couldn't distinguish what the voice at the other end of the line was saying, but Tal listened for a few moments, then gasped in astonishment. He grabbed a pencil and held it poised over a pad.

"How, Mr. Thomas? Give me some kind of proof!"

There was more unintelligible mumbling on the other end. Tal scribbled something on the pad, then shoved it across the desk to me. I looked at the paper and felt my mouth go dry despite the fact that I was certain what Tal had written.

There was one word: Raffertyl

There was a pause. Then Tal said: "All right, Thomas. The Ambassador's here, but the Secretary General is ill and in the hospital. Will you deal with me? … Okay. Hang on where you are. Just don't turn yourself in to Lippitt; if you do, no one will ever see you again. . We'll be there as soon as possible."

Tal gently replaced the receiver in its cradle, then clenched and unclenched his fists. He was staring straight ahead.

"That was Rafferty?" My voice cracked. I attempted to swallow, but there was no moisture left in my mouth.

"He's been right here at the U.N. all along," Tal said in a tone of disbelief.

"I know."

Tal raised his eyebrows. " You know? How do you know?"

I looked back at Malakov, who was standing a few feet away. He looked overcome by it all; his eyes were wide, and he was holding one pudgy hand to his mouth as if he had a toothache. "Thomas' name is on the list of delegates to the seminar. I talked to him before I came to see you. He's an engineer working for UNESCO."

"It's perfect," Tal said distantly. "Or it was. An engineer; with his knowledge of buildings and how they function, he had no difficulty getting the job. First he fooled Lippitt into thinking he was dead; that got him and his wife off the hook. Then he went someplace for plastic surgery, probably Rio de Janeiro. Finally, there would be the problem of a new identity, but money would take care of that."