"Yes. Lippitt didn't come right out and say so, Mongo, but I got the feeling he might like it if I rode shotgun for you for a while. Is there anything I can do for you or Garth?"
I shook my head, absently touched the slightly puckered, still tender flesh just above my eyebrows. "I really can't think of anything, but thanks for the offer. Besides, the more I think about it, the more I doubt there's any connection between Garth coming around and the two guys taking off. Any spy sneaking in to read the chart could see with his own eyes that Garth wasn't ready to give speeches. Garth was nowhere until last night. I say you were right the first time; the K.G.B. agents, if that's what they are, got wind of the surveillance and decided to leave while the getting was good."
"You could be right," Veil said evenly. "But you'll keep your eyes open, won't you?"
"Sure."
"You want to look at your scar?"
"Not really. I hope it's sexy."
"I'm sure."
"Thanks for coming up to see me, Veil, and for delivering the message. I'll call Lippitt as soon as I get a chance and thank him, too."
"How about letting me take you out to dinner?"
I shook my head. "I'd really enjoy spending some time with you, and it would be good for me, but Garth should be back in his room soon. They've been running tests on him all day, and I'm a little anxious to find out the results."
"Of course."
"Thanks again for driving up. I needed to see a friendly face."
"You'll see me again-soon. How about if I walk you to wherever it is you're going?" "I'd like that."
8
I was early, and Garth was going to be late. The guard in the kiosk had a note for me, from Tommy; Garth's testing was going to take at least an hour longer than anticipated, and the male nurse wanted me to come up to his apartment in the staff quarters for a drink and a sandwich.
It was kind of Tommy to extend the invitation; I didn't feel like hanging around the clinic for an uncertain amount of time with nothing to do but worry. But I didn't feel like hanging around with Tommy Carling either. It wasn't company I needed, but release from the anxiety and tension inexorably building inside me. I needed exercise.
I figured it would take me just about an hour to hoof it around the reservoir next to the hospital, if I didn't pause to watch the birds, and that seemed about right. Walking at a fast clip, swinging my arms like a drum major and not caring how comical I might look, taking deep breaths, I zipped down the center of the main thoroughfare, turned left after I passed through the gates on the eastern side of the hospital grounds.
Fifteen minutes later I had reached the bridge spanning the reservoir. The fast walking and deep breathing had leached away a lot of my tension, and I felt better. Not wanting to work up more of a sweat than I already had, I stopped to rest in the middle of the span, leaned on the metal railing and stared down at the surface of the water, which was glinting and moving like a chestful of living jewelry as it reflected the last slanting rays of the setting sun.
The harsh revving of an engine in the stillness, on an otherwise empty road, startled me and made me turn to my left-not a moment too soon.
The sun was almost directly in my eyes, so I couldn't see who was driving the pickup truck that was barreling at high speed down the center of the road, straddling the white line; but I definitely didn't like the looks of what I could see, and I tensed, both hands firmly placed on the top of the bridge railing, and waited, wondering whether the driver was just in a big hurry, drunk, hoping to put a bit of a scare into me, or all three. The pickup truck continued to accelerate; when it was about fifteen yards away it abruptly swerved, coming right at me.
I went in the only direction left to me-up and over the railing. I twisted in the air, and on the way back down once again grabbed hold of the railing, saving myself a dunking. The side of the truck banged into and scraped against the railing at the spot where I had been standing only a moment before. Sparks flew and I turned my face away-but not before I had seen a large decal of the familiar RPC logo on the door of the green truck; the vehicle was part of the hospital's maintenance fleet.
As the truck sped across the bridge, I clambered back up over the railing and stared after it as it fishtailed out of sight around a bend in the road. One of two things was true about the truck, I thought; either it was stolen, or it was not. If it had been stolen, I was unlikely to find out who-purposely or not-had almost killed me. But if the truck had not been stolen, it shouldn't prove all that difficult to find out which driver had brought back a truck with a badly damaged side panel.
But first things first, I thought as I started back the way I had come. I decided I'd had enough exercise; I definitely wanted to save some energy for a spirited interrogation of the driver of the pickup truck, if I ever found him.
"Hello, Mongo," Garth said to me when I walked into his room at seven fifteen.
Well, well, well.
Garth sat at a card table which had been set up by the window, eating his dinner. The Walkman, its wires snaking up to the earphones on his head, sat next to his tray. He was still dressed in his pajamas, robe, and slippers.
"Why don't you sit down and eat?" Garth continued, motioning toward a second, covered, tray on the table. "Tommy brought these in only a few minutes ago, so yours should still be hot."
"I don't think I'm hungry."
Feeling somewhat stunned by this second, abrupt change in Garth's behavior, I eased myself down into a chair across from him at the table. Only when I was already sitting did I realize that it had not even occurred to me to do what should have seemed natural-walk up to Garth and hug him. Garth had emerged from his long, silent journey to nowhere, but now he seemed like a stranger to me; I almost felt as if I should be introduced to this man who was my brother.
"It's roast beef," Garth said around a mouthful of food. "Very good."
"I'm sure it is."
"How did you hurt your head?"
"Just an accident." There were more important things than Henry Kitten to talk about. "I'm glad to see. . you're feeling better, Garth."
"Garth told you he could talk."
"Why didn't you?"
"Garth had too many things on his mind; he couldn't talk through all the thoughts."
"What were you thinking about?"
Garth paused with his fork halfway to his mouth, suddenly fixed me with a hard stare. Strange lights and shadows moved in his eyes. "You know," he said, and then put the forkful of food in his mouth.
"Yes," I said softly. "I know. That was a stupid question. I'm sorry if I brought you pain."
"The pain was already there."
"We have to talk, Garth."
"We are talking, aren't we?"
"Can you turn that thing off for a little while?"
"Garth would rather not," my brother replied evenly.
"Richard Wagner is a tough act to compete with for your attention."
"Garth can hear you."
"Garth, how are you feeling?"
"You know how Garth is feeling."
"No, I don't. I know what you were thinking about, but I don't know how you feel now."
Garth pushed his tray aside, once again fixed me with a hard gaze. "Once, you would have."
"Jesus, Garth, are you saying that you feel the same way now as we felt when Loge showed us his film?"
"Yes."
"Then you're feeling very bad."
"Yes. You could say that."
"If the music makes you feel bad, why do you keep listening to it?"
"Garth must."
"Why?"
"Garth must."