A long silence ensued, broken only by the whine of generators and the distant thump of the guardian helicopters. Finally, Fran spoke. "You looked surprised when I said that I had had a breakdown."
Hawkins blinked, his mind returning to the present. "I was."
"Why?"
"You seem like someone who, pardon the expression, has her shit together."
"So do you," she noted. "I would have never imagined that I would see you get emotional like you just did."
Hawkins had no response to that. "I lost it-completely lost it," Fran said quietly. "I calculated so many different ways the world could get screwed up. No one was very interested in projecting ways we could get our act together. That would have required action and upsetting the status quo. It just overwhelmed me-something I couldn't control, but was there present in front of me every day."
"Yeah," Hawkins said. "I understand the feeling."
"But my problem," Fran continued, "was that I started taking responsibility for it all. As if I alone should somehow change things. Yet I also knew I couldn't. I drank so I didn't have to think, and when that didn't work, I flipped out. Just withdrew from the entire world. Locked myself in my room for three days before my husband broke down the door and had me committed. The one thing those people at the institute taught me, and the only thing that helps me get out of bed every morning, is that I am responsible for me and for doing all I can do, and that's it. That's all that can be expected of us as human beings. To do our best."
"If only more people thought that way, we might have a better world," Hawkins noted.
"If you thought that way, perhaps your life would be a bit happier," Fran said.
Hawkins stared at her for a long moment, and then the trace of a smile crossed his lips. "All right, Doctor Volkers. I'll keep that under advisement. Now, I’d advise you to get some sleep. You're going to need it."
Fran turned for her tent. "You get some sleep yourself," she called over her shoulder.
Hawkins waved at her and then turned back to stare out over the red sand. When Fran looked out the flap of her tent ten minutes later before lying down on her cot, he was still there, a lonely figure etched against the brilliant blue sky.
"What kind of fallout are we going to get over those three men from Orion?" the President demanded.
"Should be minimal," Lamb replied. "They were completely sterile, so nothing can be gleaned from their equipment. The Russians will suspect we were behind it but they won't really have anything to show. I don't think we need to worry about them trying to expose the mission. I think our main problem now will be that they'll try to infiltrate our site here. We've upped the stakes and they could answer quite readily."
"You have no idea what it was that those men saw before they were compromised?"
"No, sir."
"No idea if the Russians know what they have uncovered or even if the Russians are behind it?"
"No, sir."
The President shook his head. "I need some answers, Steve. You've got a mess there and I've got one here." The President frowned as he looked down at some papers spread on the desk in front of him. "Things are not looking good. Volkers's projections are running true to form. Congress is battling me to a standstill on my aid plan to those countries hardest hit economically because of the loss of the mine."
Lamb could understand Congress's reluctance. Why spend desperately needed dollars overseas? He also knew that the few Congressional leaders briefed on Volkers's statistical projections had not been impressed. Long-range planning was not a strength of the American political system.
"What about the other bomb?" the President asked.
"I haven't heard anything. Still searching, sir."
"How long until you're into whatever you have there?"
"Six or seven hours."
"All right. Let me know what you come up with." Lamb watched the television screen go blank and then called for Colonel Tolliver. Perimeter security needed to be tightened. He hadn't told the President about the last two broadcasts from the Rock. Lamb figured that this was his own problem right now-not something he should burden the President with.
Done with Tolliver, Lamb had one of the marines track Hawkins down. "What more did you pick up on Levy?" Hawkins asked, slumping into a chair.
Lamb snapped open one of the ever-present file folders. "I have a copy of the transcript of her last meeting with her psychologist a week ago in New York." Hawkins didn't bother asking how Lamb had gotten hold of that privileged information-in fact, it didn't occur to him to ask. He took it for granted that Lamb would get such information.
"What are the highlights."
Lamb studied the fax paper for a few seconds. "Her doctor is Michael Preston. Ten sixty-five Fifth Avenue. Does quite a bit of work with people like Levy-they call them intellectually accelerated personalities. She's been seeing him for eight months, ever since she was released from the hospital. All previous work focused on her trying to adapt socially to a world she did not emotionally feel a part of. This last session, however, took a different turn, with Levy terminating the relationship."
"Was she on any sort of drugs? Antidepressants or any of that?" Hawkins asked.
"No. Just therapy."
"Why'd she terminate?"
"It would be easiest if I read you the transcript," Lamb said. "It's not very long."
Hawkins leaned back and closed his eyes. "Go ahead."
"She started the session: quote, Levy: 'I'm afraid this simply isn't going to work'
"Doctor: 'What isn't going to work?'
"Levy: 'My seeing you. I don't think you can help me.'
"Doctor: 'Why not?'
"Levy: 'Because you can't understand me. It's not your fault. No one has ever really understood me. And you can't even understand that, can you?'
"Doctor: 'You can help me understand, Debra.'
"Levy: 'No, I can't. I've tried that before and it didn't work. My head is my enemy. And I can't get rid of it without getting rid of me.'
"Doctor: 'Is that why you tried to kill yourself!'
"Levy: 'I tried to kill myself because I'm dangerous and I will become more dangerous as I learn more.'
"Doctor: 'Learn more about what?'
"Levy: 'You wouldn't understand. My work.'
"Doctor: 'Dangerous to whom? Yourself!'
"Levy: 'No. To the world.'
"Doctor: 'Oh, come now. Why do you say that? How can you be dangerous to the world.'
"Levy: 'Wouldn't you say the men who worked on the Manhattan Project were some of the most dangerous men the world has ever seen?'
"Doctor: 'But they also gave us nuclear power.'
"Levy: 'And that's not very safe either. No, Doctor, I don't think you can help me. If you can't think like me, then how can you hope to help? Don't worry. I'll be all right.' "
Lamb closed the folder. "And that was the end. She walked out of his office and never went back."
"What was she working on?" Hawkins asked. "She consulted for a few of the teams working on some SDI projects, but nothing particularly earth shattering," Lamb replied. "She was mainly working theoretical stuff at MIT."
Hawkins rubbed his chin. Not earth shattering now, but Levy was only twenty-three. In another decade who was to say what she would be working on and whether her theories might turn into reality? Hell, Lamb had told him that they had her on the list to be added to Hermes during the next selection-at only twenty-three!
Hawkins looked across the desk. "I'm starting to think we've got this thing by the tail and it's going to turn around and bite our head off." He thought of the deaths of the members of his team in Tunguska. He had grown used to death a long time before-at least he thought he had. But there was a feeling in his stomach and chest that didn't agree with that cold logic. He remembered Fran's recent advice and stood. "I'm going to try and get some sleep."