"He was also very successful sexually. Women feared him, but in a way that gave them pleasure. This made them want him, and when he slept with them they enjoyed it intensely, sometimes with a degree of gratification they had never known before. This again Craig accepted as being a natural part of manhood. He was a strong, aggressive, even brutal lover, but in an odd sort of way he was also very polite in bed, even gentlemanly."
He broke off for a moment, as he and Chinn observed with pleasure that Loomis was blushing.
"His most recent conquest was Simmons's daughter, Jane," Wetherly'said. "She is a healthy young woman, not a virgin almost certainly—" he looked at Chinn, who nodded. There was no appeal from that nod. "But she's young, to a certain degree innocent, and what Craig would call a lady. She appears to have gotten intense pleasure from Craig. Almost immediately afterwards she betrayed him to her father, who punished him by destroying his penis as a sexual organ, slowly and painfully."
"He's impotent?" asked Loomis.
"Not organically," Chinn said. "But impotence is in his mind."
"And with it the loss of his manhood," said Wetherly. "He couldn't possibly have withstood one more shock. And in his unconscious he knows this very clearly. He knows, too, that if he continues working for you he may suffer again. But he can only work for you while he is a man. That means a fighter and a lover. The two are absolutely intertwined for him. Take one away and the other must fail. You understand what I'm telling you?"
"Just tell it," said Loomis.
"His mind has decided that he can no longer make love. That way he won't have to fight either. Or risk the consequences of failure in a fight."
Loomis turned to Chinn.
"You agree with all this?"
Chinn nodded once more, and again there was no appeal.
Loomis said desperately: "He went for the nurse."
"He was afraid of her afterwards," said Chinn. "We had to send her away."
"You mean I've lost him?"
Chinn said: "He was almost played out anyway. I warned you at the nursing home—"
"You gave him three months—"
"Before he turned on you," said Chinn.
"I'd take care of that. But I need those three months."
"He would betray you at the first threat of pain," said Chinn.
Almost before their eyes the fat man crumbled as his aggressive optimism left him. He looked twenty pounds lighter, and twenty years older: a man with too much responsibility, too much power, and too little time. An old man.
"He had one more job to do," said Loomis. "He was made for it."
"To dispose of Simmons?" Chinn asked.
"And others," Loomis said. "Nut cases. Blokes who hate the Russians."
"He's the last man in the world to kill Simmons now," said Chinn.
"There's one way," Wetherly said suddenly. He turned to Chinn.
"I think not," said Chinn.
"But dammit man, it's got a good chance. For three months, anyway."
"How long would it take?" Loomis asked.
"Two weeks. Three at the most," said Wetherly, "and he needs that long to heal." He looked at the Napoleonic little man.
"A few days after that is all we need," he said.
Chinn said "No!" and for the first time he raised his voice.
"Can you do it?" Loomis asked, and Wetherly shook his head.
"It's Chinn's technique," he said. "There isn't anybody else."
Loomis swelled up in front of them like a combative bullfrog, growing lighter and more manic by the second, all his energies reaching out to Chinn, who speculated on how freely the adrenaline must be pumping into him.
"At least you can tell me about it," said Loomis, and his voice was soft and reasonable.
"You're being dishonest, Loomis," said Chinn, then surrendered. "Very well, I'll tell you about it. At least I'll tell you what I can do to Craig—then
I'll tell you why I won't do it."
"I'm listening," said Loomis.
"I can simplify him," said Chinn. "For a time, at any rate. I can seal off his fears about his sex life and canalize his energies into destruction. Turn him into a machine for killing people, or for hurting them."
"You're a very dangerous little feller," said Loomis.
"I've dealt with disordered personalities before," said Chinn. "Lots of them. Some of them have been the result of artificially induced stress—like Craig. It is possible to simplify such people up to a point—sometimes to the point where they can take their place in society at large. If I did what you want to Craig, that of course would not be possible."
"How d'you do it?"
"Drugs, hypnosis, certain Pavlovian techniques. Stimuli buried in the unconscious." He smiled a smile like midwinter. "That information is useless unless I were to be more specific. I shan't—any more than I shall do it to Craig."
"You said you would tell me why not," said Loomis.
Sir Matthew said at once: "Because it would contravene my conception of what one human being may morally do to another."
"All right," said Loomis. "And now I'll tell you why you will do it."
Chinn said: "Really, Loomis," but the fat man talked straight through it, his eyes bright with the certainty of what had to be done.
"Simmons is up to his ears with a group called
BC. They're a bunch of wealthy fanatics who hate Russia—and they'll do anything that hurts the Russians. Anything. Well we've had nuts before, and usually they're easy to cope with. But these particular nuts are good. They only do the big jobs —and they bring them off. And now they've ganged up with the Chinese."
"To attack the Russians?" said Chinn.
"The Chinese hate the Russians because they think they've betrayed communism," said Loomis. "The BC hates Russia just because it exists. But they both hate her, and they both want to hurt. They're pushing hard, trying to blame the West for the things they're doing. And the Russians don't push easy. They don't like it, d'you see? I met a feller in Paris recently—chap called Chelichev— head of the Executive Division of the KGB. He knows the things the BC's done. But his masters blame us. They'll go on blaming us until we can prove they're wrong—or get rid of who's doing it."
"And if we don't?" asked Wetherly, on cue.
"We'll lose all the gains we've made," said Loomis. "It'll be the cold war all over again. Or maybe the hot one."
"How could it possibly—" Chinn began.
"Suppose BC knocked off a few Russian politicians? The premier maybe, and a few members of the Presidium, and it looked like the Yanks had done it, or us? Because that's what they're after," Loomis said. "And that's what they'll do." He looked at the still figure in the coma. "Unless—"
"And there's really no one else you can use?" asked Chinn.
"How many like him have you ever treated?" asked Loomis, and Chinn sighed. "Look, cocu, I want rid of him. He's dangerous. But I can't do without him. For what I want he's the best I've ever seen—or even heard of. Now try your moral conceptions on that one."
"There's no need," said Chinn. "If you are telling me the truth."
"Every word," said Loomis, and looked into the bright, unwinking eyes.
"I believe you," said Chinn, "and I'll do what you ask."
"Wetherly can help you," said Loomis.
"No," said Chinn. "Wetherly's concept of morality differs from mine. He might use the technique again for reasons that I would not approve." He turned to the bland, smooth man. "I'm sorry, Wetherly," he said, "but if Craig comes to my nursing home, and you attempt to observe the techniques I use on him I shall give him up." His glance flicked to Loomis. "I assure you I mean that," he said.
13
Chelichev poured vodka neatly and precisely. The woman tossed hers back at once, like a man, and still looked strong and female and beautiful.