I wonder what became of the analyst's files? he thought mechanically, turning his mind back to his job. No doubt Gino had them destroyed, so as not to fall into 'Star hands.
That's right, he thought. It is about four a.m. when it hits hardest. But there's no one else like you, he thought. So that's that.
'Dr Sweetscent?'
He glanced up. A Secret Service man had approached him. 'Yes.'
'Doctor, there's a woman outside who says she's your wife; she wants to be admitted to the building.'
'It can't be,' Eric said, with fear.
'You want to come with me and see if you can identify her, please?'
Automatically he fell in beside the Secret Service man. Tell her to go away,' he said. No, he thought, that won't do; you don't handle your problems like that, like a child waving a wand. 'I have no doubt it's Kathy,' he said. 'Followed me here after all. In the name of God – what dreadful luck. Did you ever feel this way?' he asked the Secret Service man. 'Did you ever find yourself unable to live with someone you had to live with?'
'Nope,' the Secret Service man said unfeelingly, leading the way.
TEN
His wife stood in a corner of the outside compound which was the White House receiving room, reading a homeopape, the New York Times; she wore a dark coat and a good deal of make-up. Her skin, however, looked pale and her eyes seemed enormous, filled with anguish.
As he entered the compound she glanced up and said, 'I'm reading about you; it seems you operated on Molinari and saved his life. Congratulations.' She smiled at him but it was a bleak, trembling smile. 'Take me somewhere and buy me a cup of coffee; I have a lot to tell you.'
'You've got nothing to tell me,' he said, unable to keep his stunned dismay out of his voice.
'I had a major insight after you left,' Kathy said.
'So did I. It was that we'd done the right thing by splitting up.'
'That's strange, because my insight was just the opposite,' she said.
'I see that. Obviously. You're here. Listen: by law I don't have to live with you. All I'm required to do—'
'You ought to listen to what I have to say,' Kathy said steadily. 'It wouldn't be morally right for you just to walk off; that's too easy.'
He sighed. Useful philosophy by which to achieve one's goals. But nevertheless he was snared. 'Okay,' he agreed. 'I can't do that, just as I couldn't honestly deny you're my wife. So let's have the coffee.' He felt fatalistic. Perhaps it was an attenuated form of his self-destructive instinct. In any case he had given in; taking her arm, he guided her along the passage, past the White House guards, toward the nearest cafeteria. 'You look bad,' he said. 'Your color. And you're too tense.'
'I've had a bad time,' she admitted, 'since you left. I guess I'm really dependent on you.'
'Symbiosis,' he said. 'Unhealthy.'
'It's not that!'
'Sure it is. This proves it. No, I'm not going to go back with you on the old basis.' He felt – at least for the moment — determined; he was prepared to fight it out, here and now. Eyeing her, he said, 'Kathy, you look quite sick.'
'That's because you've been hanging around the Mole; you're getting used to a sick environment. I'm perfectly well, just a little tired.'
But she looked – smaller. As if something in her had dwindled away, as if she had dried up. It was almost – age. Yet not quite. Could their separation have done this much damage? He doubted it. His wife, since he had seen her last, had become frail, and he did not like this; despite his animosity he felt concern.
'You better get a multiphasic,' he said. 'A complete check-up.'
'Christ,' Kathy said, 'I'm okay. I mean, I'll be okay, if you and I can iron out our misunderstanding and—'
'The termination of a relationship,' he said, 'is not a misunderstanding. It's a reorganization of life.' He got his coffee cup and hers, filled both from the dispenser, paid the robant cashier.
When they had seated themselves at a table, Kathy lit a cigarette and said, 'All right, suppose I admit it; without you I'm completely falling apart. Do you care?'
'I care, but that doesn't mean—'
'You'd just let me fade away and perish.'
'I have one sick man who occupies all my time and attention. I can't heal you too.' Especially, he thought, when I don't genuinely want to.
'But all you have to do is—' She sighed, sipped her coffee glumly; her hand trembled, he noticed, in an almost pseudo Parkinsonism. 'Nothing. Just accept me back. Then I'll be well.'
'No,' he said. 'I frankly don't believe it. You're sicker than that; there's some other cause.' I'm not in the medical profession by mistake, he thought. I can spot a thoroughgoing illness pattern when I see it. But he could not diagnose it beyond that. 'I think you know what ails you,' he said bluntly. 'You could tell me if you cared to. This makes me more wary than ever; you're not telling me all that you should, you're not being honest or responsible, and that's a hell of a basis on which to—'
'Okay!' She stared at him. 'I'm sick; I admit it! But let's just say it's my business; you don't have to worry.'
'I'd say,' he said, 'that there's been neurological damage.'
Her head jerked; what color she had now drained from her face.
'I think,' he said suddenly, 'that I'm going to do something I genuinely think may be premature and overly drastic, but I'll try it and see what comes of it. I'm going to have you arrested.'
'Good God why?' Panic stricken, she gazed at him, now speechless; her hands lifted in defense, then fell back.
He rose, walked over to a cafeteria employee. 'Miss,' he said, 'would you have a Secret Service man come to my table?' He pointed to his table.
'Yes sir,' the woman said, blinking but unperturbed. She turned to a busboy who, without further discussion, scampered off into the kitchen.
Eric returned to his table, reseated himself opposite Kathy. He resumed sipping his coffee, trying to keep himself calm and at the same time bracing himself for the scene that lay ahead. 'My rationale,' he said, 'is that it's for your own good. Of course I don't know yet. But I think it'll turn out that way. And I think you know it.'
Blanched, wizened with fright, Kathy implored. 'I'lll leave. Eric; I'll go back to San Diego – okay?'
'No,' he said. 'You got yourself into this by coming here; you made it my business. So you'll have to suffer the consequences. As they say.' He felt completely rational and in control; it was a bad situation but he sensed the possibilities of something imminent which was far worse.
Kathy said huskily, 'Okay, Eric. I'll tell you what it is. I've got myself addicted to JJ-180. That's the drug I told you about, the drug we all, including Marm Hastings, took. Now you know. I have nothing more to say; that covers it. And I've taken it once since. And just one exposure is addicting. As you no doubt realize; after all, you are a doctor.'
'Who else knows?'
'Jonas Ackerman.'
'You got it through Tijuana Fur & Dye? From our subsidiary?'
'Y-yes.' She did not meet his gaze. Presently she added, That's why Jonas knows; he got it for me – but don't tell anybody that. Please.'
Eric said, 'I won't.' His mind had begun to function properly again, thank God. Was this the drug which Don Festenburg had obliquely referred to? The term JJ-180 roused dormant memories; he tried to straighten them out. 'You made a hell of a mistake,' he said, 'from what I remember hearing about Frohedadrine, as it's also called. Yes, Hazeltine makes it.'
At the table a Secret Service man appeared. 'Yes, doctor?'
'I just wanted to inform you that this woman is my wife, as she says. And I'd like to have her cleared to remain here with me.'