But it’s hard on her, too, ya know?” “What are you talking about?”
Rencke was frightened. His eyes were filling. He couldn’t control his hands. “It was the pictures of your folks. The accident. She saw the file. I tried to stop her.” McGarvey’s parents had been engineers at Los Alamos toward the end of the Manhattan Project. For a few years they were suspected of being spies for the Russians. The taint had carried over to their only son. But it wasn’t true, of course. The whole thing had been a complicated Baranov plot to discredit McGarvey before he rose to become a power in the CIA. They had been killed in an automobile accident that had probably been engineered by the Russians. The Kansas Highway Patrol accident scene photographs had been explicitly grisly. Elizabeth had a chip on her shoulder. Maybe she was angry at her father for not sharing the details about her grandparents’ deaths. Seeing those pictures now had to have been a terrible shock. “What are you doing rummaging around inside the old KGB files?” “It’s for Liz.” “She can run a computer,” McGarvey said.
“You were supposed to be working up the NIE in-depths on Pakistan’s and India’s technical capabilities.” “I transferred the file to your machine two days ago,” Rencke said. He was defensive, like a cornered animal. McGarvey glanced at the Moscow photos. They were date-and time-stamped for sometime in August. “You’re lying to me, Otto. You’re into something down here that you’re not telling anybody. Lavender, you said. What’s lavender?” “Maybe it’s you who are lying,” Rencke shot back. There was a cold, distant edge in his voice. “Maybe you don’t want to be DCI after all.”
The remark took McGarvey’s breath away. It was so unlike Rencke. He was practically family. It was as if a favored son had turned on his father for no reason.
“You’re right, it is lavender, and it’s getting worse,” Rencke said.
“Two weeks, maybe less, then I’ll tell you.”
“Now-“
Rencke shook his head. “You can’t be boss of everything. You lost that right the first time you pulled a trigger.” Rencke suddenly clasped his hands in his lap, and his jaw tightened. He was on the verge of something terrible.
McGarvey nodded. “Get out of here, Otto. Go home and get some rest.”
“Are you firing me?”
“Go home and get some sleep. We’ll talk later.” McGarvey walked out without looking back.
Rencke closed his eyes and saw bright flashes of color: spikes of blue, circles of orange, shards of red; violets, purples, lavender.
The dark beast was coming, and he didn’t know how to stop it. He was sure that he was finally going crazy.
McGarvey went downstairs to the indoor pistol range in the basement more than a little confused. Otto was an odd duck, but he was a friend. He’d never thrown a tantrum like this before. Something was eating at him; something serious enough to change him. He’d had a maniacal look in his eyes that McGarvey had never seen. He was on the verge of fragmenting into a billion pieces. McGarvey was afraid that if Otto fell apart, there’d be no one strong enough or bright enough to put him back together. And the CIA needed Otto. McGarvey had always used the compact Walther PPK autoloader in its 7.65mm version. But recently he’d been convinced to upgrade to the 9mm version, and he was still having a little trouble with the placement of his second and third shots. The more powerful ammunition tended to raise his pattern.
But he was quickly getting a handle on the problem. Yemm went with him, and they each fired two hundred rounds. Afterward McGarvey went back to his office. He had to get some help for Otto before it was too late. Dr. Norman Stenzel, chief of the CIA’s Office of Medical Services Psychology Clinic, came right up. Ms. Swanfeld was gone for the day, and Yemm waited in the outer office, the door to McGarvey’s office open.
It was snowing again. McGarvey watched how it blew around the lights, and he shivered. Every man belonged to his own age. It was a snatch of something he’d picked up somewhere. Voltaire would not have liked the twenty-first century. Nobody these days cared about the primacy of the Catholic Church. Religion was not such a big part of most people’s lives as it had been in the eighteenth century, though Voltaire would have perfectly understood the current struggle between Islam, Christianity and Judaism. McGarvey turned when he heard the Company psychologist come in. Dr. Stenzel looked like an academic, as did a lot of the people in the CIA. Beard, longish hair, tweed jacket with leather elbow patches, even corduroy trousers and a serious, studious demeanor; all of it was right out of the sixties. He reminded McGarvey of the actor Robin Williams, with his boyish, off-center smile. “Have a seat, Doc,” McGarvey said. “It’s not me who needs you, I’m asking for a friend.” Dr. Stenzel’s grin widened. “That’s what they all say.” “It’s Otto Rencke.” Stenzel had started to sit down, but he stopped, his good cheer instantly evaporating. “I see.” He sat down.
“What’s the problem.” “He’s under a lot of strain. I think that he might be on the verge of a nervous breakdown.” “I’m not surprised, Mr.
Director. In fact I’ve expected it for a long time.” Stenzel tried to regain his smile, but it was uncertain. “People like him are always on the edge. Classic.” “I’d like you to talk to him.” Stenzel thought about it for a few moments. “I’ll try, if you can get him to come to my office. We’ll have to do this on my turf. God only knows any shrink would love to get his hands on someone like Otto Rencke. The man is fascinating. But I don’t know if I’ll be able to do anything for him.”
“But you’ll try.” “Sure. It’s guys like him who design the tests I’m going to use. If he doesn’t want to open up, it’ll be me who comes out looking like a basket case.” Stenzel shrugged. “What’s he done that made you call me?” “He’s irritable, forgetful, off in another world.
More than normal. Maybe even dangerous. It’s like he’s ready to explode. The person I used to know as Otto Rencke isn’t the same person working for me now. It’s like somebody’s impersonating him.”
“That’s not possible, is it? A double?” “No,” McGarvey said. “He’s coming apart, Doc. I think he needs help.”
“I’ll do what I can. How about tomorrow morning. Ten?” “He’ll be there.” Dr. Stenzel eyed McGarvey with some curiosity. “What about yourself, Mr. Director? You look as if you could use some R and R.”
“It’s the season.” Stenzel waited. McGarvey got up and came around the desk. “We’re putting in a lot of hours because of my confirmation hearings and because in the meantime the real work still has to get done around here.” The meeting was obviously over, but Stenzel didn’t get up. “My job description is real simple. I’m supposed to look after the mental health of everyone in this building. A lot of bad stuff can happen if someone goes nuts around here. Including you, Mr.
McGarvey. Maybe especially you.” “No, I didn’t hate my mother.”
“That’s nice,” Stenzel said, grinning like he was getting a joke.
“It’s overwork. We’re all tired.” “I understand that you and your ex-wife got remarried. Congratulations. How is she handling what they’re trying to do to you on the Hill?” Yemm had come to the door.
McGarvey glanced over at him, and Yemm shrugged. Stenzel was doing his job. “It’s depressing her,” McGarvey said. “She’s tired, like the rest of us. Distant sometimes, forgetful. She and our daughter are going round and round.” “Speed bumps,” Stenzel said. He got up. “We all get them from time to time. Tells us to slow down and smell the roses.” “That simple?” “Yup. You need a vacation.” “Tell me about it,” McGarvey said. Stenzel made to leave, but McGarvey stopped him at the door. “How can you be so sure about my wife without first talking to her?” “When you were put up for DCI, another background check was automatically put into motion. That includes the backgrounds of your wife and daughter, as well as your friends. I’m a part of the process.” Speed bumps, McGarvey thought. They all were going a little crazy because of the hearings, because of the workload and, in Liz’s case, because she was pregnant. His daughter hadn’t been herself for several months. Part of it was the pregnancy; she was a little frightened about losing the baby again, and a little angry because her physical abilities were diminishing. But that was only a part of it.