Sextant, still kneeling on the floor between the two beds, was jolted out of his reverie by the rasp of Beer-gut's voice behind him. He shook his head, leaving that other time reluctantly. He did not turn around.
"For Chrissake, let's get this show on the road. It's stupid sitting around like this."
"Get out."
"God damn it, you can't…"
"Get out," Sextant repeated. His voice was low and controlled, but it was deadly. Feet shuffled, and the door closed behind him. Sextant still had not turned. His eyes were on the two young people on the beds, shifting from Lila's terrified face to the hatred burning in Chicken's eyes.
So long ago, he thought, sitting on the deck with Ogden 's arms around me, crying my heart out. And for what? Because I had killed a man and a woman? Certainly not. Because I had just found Ogden again, and was about to lose him again? Perhaps. Because I was finally able to cry for my mother, and what they had done to her? That, yes. Definitely yes, but after that no tears. No tears when Ogden left me with those people in Maryland, and no tears when he came back for me three years later. No tears when he sent me to kill the senator in Chile. Or the Jew in Cairo. Or the bomb in the garage in Santa Monica. Or the Canadian jet with all those people on board. No tears for any of those jobs, or for all the jobs in Nam and after Nam. Never a tear, and now, after all those knives in the night that I drew for David Ogden, the wheel comes round again. Rape, the short and ugly word like a stab in the dark. Why me, David? I'll do it, of course. I've always done whatever you've asked, but I have to tell you, David, that I do not want to do this one. There it is, flat out. I do not want to do this.
I do not want to do this.
Chicken heard the words that rang in Sextant's brain like the tolling of a hollow bell. He heard them clearly, just as he had heard all the rest of it. He had heard it in Slovenian, the mother-tongue that Sextant thought in, for, like any other sensitive, he could absorb a language from another man's mind. He stared up into Sextant's eyes, and was not surprised to see sorrow there. He stared into Sextant's mind, and was not surprised to see a sadness without limits. He tapped in further, and saw the warping of the boy who had become the man. And he saw that the man was a fraud. He thought of himself as a man of ice, without compassion, but he was wrong, the compassion was there. It was twisted out of recognition, and it was buried so deep that it could only be sensed by a sensitive. But it was there, and Chicken knew that he had to get it to the surface.
Take the gag out of my mouth, he thought. Take it out.
Nothing happened. Sextant continued to stare at him.
Take out the gag. He repeated the thought over and over. He knew he was wasting his time, but it was all that he could think of to do. He squirmed on the bed, and Sextant looked at him curiously.
"Full of hate, aren't you?" he said. "You'd love to cut my heart out, wouldn't you?"
Chicken shook his head. Take out the gag.
"You don't? Well you should. I would, if I were you."
Chicken shook his head again. Take out the gag.
"Don't even know what hit you, do you? One minute you're walking along with your girl, and the next minute… well, here you are. Don't know how, don't know why, and you don't even know what's coming next."
Chicken nodded. Take out the gag.
"Yes? Yes what? You do know what's coming? You smart enough to figure that out?"
Chicken nodded. Take out the gag.
"It's not going to be pretty, son. Believe me, I know. And there's nothing you can do about it."
Chicken nodded violently. Take out the gag.
"You think there is? You're wrong, boy, nothing at all. All you can do is keep on hating. Hating helps a lot."
WILL YOU TAKE OUT THE GOD DAMN GAG.
Sextant frowned. "You want to tell me something, don't you?"
Chicken nodded.
"Sure, why not, but keep your voice down. You start to yell and I'll hurt you bad." Sextant's fingers worked quickly, and the gag came off. "Well, what is it?"
Chicken grimaced as the gag came off. He worked the muscles in his face, and he wet his lips.
"Come on, you wanted to say something."
Speaking in Slovenian, Chicken said, "I have a great deal to say, Vlado Priol."
Sextant's eyes narrowed at the sound of the language. A knife appeared in his hand, and the point pricked the skin of Chicken's neck. In Slovenian, he said, "What do you know about Vlado Priol?"
Chicken swallowed hard, and tried for a steady voice. "How can I talk with a knife at my throat?"
Sextant lowered the knife. "Talk."
All the way, thought Chicken. Roll the dice. "I will continue to talk in Slovenian because I don't want the girl to understand. Your name is Vlado Priol. You have other names, one of which is Sextant. Your control is…was, David Ogden. Your assignment is the rape of that girl over there. Are you aware that your mission has been aborted?"
More to himself than to Chicken, Sextant muttered, "It can't be aborted. Gibraltar rules."
"Nevertheless, it is."
"How do you know these things?"
"I work for the same people that Ogden worked for. The same people that you have worked for from time to time."
Sextant came close to smiling. "You? How old are you?"
"Sixteen. The same age as you when you killed Josip Koller."
A silence, and then Sextant said quietly, "You're a dead man."
"I don't think so." Chicken was amazed at his own calm.
"You are. After that you have to be."
"Think, Sextant, you're supposed to be one of the bright ones. How many people ever knew about you and Josip Koller?"
"Only one, Ogden, and he's dead."
"Then how did I know? Would Ogden have talked, would he have told anyone your secret?"
"Never."
"Then how did I know?"
Sextant thought. "You're one of them. You're a sensitive."
"Top marks."
" Ogden told me about you people, but I never really thought…"
"Now you know."
"And soon you will be a dead sensitive."
"Are you sure? That means you'll have to kill the girl, too."
"Obviously."
"But your orders from Ogden clearly forbid that. As I recall, he said, I do not want her life, in fact I forbid you to take it. Isn't that so?"
Sextant frowned. He shook his head slightly, as if disturbed by a buzzing insect.
"Those were your orders. Tell me, in all your years with Ogden, did you ever disobey an order that he gave you?"
"Never."
"Did you ever put your personal safety above his wishes?"
"Never."
"But you're going to do that now, aren't you?"
Again, that insect buzzing. "Sometimes… sometimes it is necessary for the agent in the field to…"
"Disobey," Chicken said firmly. "The word is disobey."
Sextant's head went down. "Yes."
"Now listen to me, Vlado Priol." Chicken spoke rapidly, the words tumbling out. "If you can disobey one order, you can disobey another. There is no need for this thing to happen. I've been inside your mind, and I know that you don't want to do it. I know that the idea sickens you, and that you are doing it only out of loyalty to a dead man. But how much longer can you go on being loyal? All your life you've been doing things for David Ogden. Isn't it time that you did something for yourself? Isn't it time…"
Later, after it was all over, Chicken would look back and wonder how effective his plea might have been if he had been given a chance to finish it. But he never did. The door swung open, and Sextant's three animals spilled into the room. They were beer-drunk, they were weaving on their feet, and they were angry.
"Time's up," growled Beer-gut. "We want that little girl, and we want her now."
Richie, behind him, said, "Yeah, I wanna piece of that cute thing."
"We tossed up coins," said Phil. "I get to go first. Odd man in." He giggled.