Reckoning (50 page)

Stephenson was undisturbed.

"Without question," he said. "However, that does not change the fact that Charles Stern is a great danger to the defense of the Realm. He must be apprehended. Because we suspect that if he is not soon stopped he will begin some type of systematic repression, inspired by this lunatic who is his employer, against the nation of Israel. Possibly, it could even lead to nuclear threats inspired by the orchestrated cooperation between Middle Eastern countries that would be forged from this ancient manuscript." He waited. "In this situation, Mr. Kertzman, time is most certainly not on our side."

Kertzman nodded. "Yeah," he said, "I know this part." He waited to decide what he wanted to ask. "And now you want me to help you bring Stern back in from the cold."

It was a statement.

Stephenson nodded, utterly dignified. "Yes. I ask you for this single favor. I have been honest with you, and I would like for you to return that courtesy."

"And how, exactly, do you want me to do that?"

Stephenson stepped forward, earnest. Kertzman didn't move.

"It is a simple request, really," Stephenson said. "I understand that the American, Jonathan Gage, is attempting to obtain the manuscript that Stern and his employer seek so badly. Also, I understand from my sources that you are planning an exchange, the manuscript for the woman. I merely ask that you telephone and advise me where you will be making the rendezvous so that I may attend. I will not interfere until after the exchange. I give you my word that I will not jeopardize your plans. Perhaps, I might even be of assistance in some small way."

Kertzman nodded, cold. "You must want Stern pretty badly."

"Yes," the Englishman replied. "We do. He must be taken for interrogation. For one thing, we must learn how many state secrets he has already compromised in his madness." He took another draw on the cigarette, released it steadily, unhurried.

"And if you can't take him alive," Kertzman said, "you're gonna kill him. In fact, you would probably prefer to kill him because if you take him alive you'll have to figure out what to do with him. It'd turn out to be a long-term problem. Too many questions. Too many people who can disagree with your methods." He paused, eyed Stephenson up close. "That's the real plan, ain't it Stephenson? You're gonna kill him."

Silence followed Kertzman's words. Stephenson waited, composed. "Yes," the Englishman said, finally. "That is the plan."

Kertzman took it in, saw how far things had gotten out of hand. Old comrades killing one another. No arrests, no apprehensions. No questions.

He shook his head, half-turned away. "Well, at least you didn't lie to me," he said, looking at the city again. "And that's good. 'Cause I knew the answer anyway."

"I know," said Stephenson.

Kertzman laughed without humor.

"Yeah," he continued, "I figure you do." Then he shook his head again. "But I think I'll pass, Sir Henry. I only drop a man in self-defense. And, then,
only when I have to. I ain't no hitter. And I ain't gonna set nobody up to get hit."

He stared at Stephenson for a moment, as if he were searching for what he wanted to say.

"I'm grateful for what you've told me. I owe you for that. But I don't bend over backwards for nobody. Never have. Never will."

Suddenly, even as Kertzman uttered the words, Sir Henry Stephenson seemed struck by something else, an idea, or
inspiration. He gazed at Kertzman for a long moment. Then he slowly nodded, murmuring.

"Yes, of course," he said, turning away from Kertzman. "That would be it
... I see ..."

"What do you see?" Kertzman asked, in no mood for games.

A pause, and Stephenson looked back at Kertzman with an abrupt and unusual compassion. "How is it, if I may ask, that you were chosen to hunt down Gage, Mr. Kertzman?"

"Bout the same as always," Kertzman said. "I got volunteered."

"Because of your integrity, I presume."

Kertzman's face revealed nothing. "That was the line they used."

"Yes." Stephenson's gaze grew distant. "Of course."

Kertzman took a step forward, eye to eye. "I'm runnin' out of patience, Stephenson."

The Englishman's fortitude was unmoved. He studied Kertzman with a mesmerizing steadiness. "I would like to ask you one more question," he ventured.

"Make it quick," said Kertzman.

"First, I must tell you that I know of Black Light. I know of Radford and Milburn and Carthwright and, even, Admiral Talbot."

"I figured," Kertzman said, without blinking.

Stephenson laughed. "Yes, I suppose that you would. In any case, when you agreed to take this assignment from Carthwright, when you agreed to discover who was running Black Light, you obviously told them that you would document everything. You warned them you would protect no one. Absolutely no one. Even if it led straight to their desk, so to speak."

It didn't sound like a question. Kertzman wasn't sure how to reply. "Yeah," he said finally. "I told them I'd document everything. I told them I'd nail whoever it led back to. Even them."

Stephenson nodded. "Of course you did. Because you are a man of genuine integrity. A man, even, of unyielding integrity."

A silent, focused stare from Kertzman. "What are you thinking, Stephenson?"

Bowing his head slightly, Stephenson looked at the ground for a moment. "You must allow me some credit, Mr. Kertzman," he began, looking up again. "I am, as an old OSS man would put it, 'a perfect spy.' It is both my craft and my love. You, however, are primarily a hunter. You are not attuned to the subtleties of this world, as I am. So you could not be expected to see it. Not in the beginning, at least."

Kertzman began to get a terrible feeling. A question came to him, but he couldn't ask it.

"Let me tell you how it happened," said Sir Stephenson, kindly. "I know, already, the basic scenario. The NSA needed a man who could hunt Gage. You, as a consummate hunter, were deemed a good selection for the job. But there are other men who are also good hunters, Mr. Kertzman. So why did the NSA select you for the job, and not one of them? That is the question you must first ask. And quite probably, you did. And you were simply told that you were the best available man."

Kertzman nodded slowly, "Go on."

Stephenson's gaze strayed toward the city lights, and back. He seemed to be recalling a vast panorama of experience and tradecraft, weaving it together in a mesmerizing dialogue.

"Your superior, Carthwright, told you that the situation was extremely grave. Further, he told you that someone occupying a significant post within your government was possibly the sinister force who misused Black Light for his own personal gain. So you began your investigation. Your primary objective was to locate Gage. Your secondary objective was to locate whomever had misused the unit. As it happened, you did eventually find Gage's safe house. At this point you also discovered that someone within your own division had betrayed you. However, against what fate might have decreed, Stern and his men, who were also hunting Gage, failed to kill all of you. So, whoever it was that was trying to contain the investigation and confine the blame to Gage alone failed. And you refocused your efforts to find out who had truly misused Black Light."

Stephenson shuffled a step, studied Kertzman. "Let us begin with basics, Mr. Kertzman." He paused. "Who attempted to kill you at the cabin?"

"Stern," said Kertzman.

"Yes. So it has, of course, occurred to you that Black Light was run by Stern, and he was under orders from someone
else to contain the situation with Gage?"

"Yeah, I've gone past that already," said Kertzman.

"Yes, of course you have," Stephenson replied. "So you've obviously surmised that Stern and his ... master ... were the force using someone within your government, and by extension using Black Light, to build their financial empire."

"Uh huh," Kertzman grunted. "I'm just trying to find out who it was." With the words, Kertzman began to arrive at a terrible conclusion, nothing he had ever anticipated.

"Now, at this point, after the situation at the cabin, the investigation began to take a new and unexpected turn," Stephenson said.

"More than likely, evidence was mysteriously uncovered that cast the light of guilt onto a new head
..."

Kertzman remembered Acklin's package.

"Yes," said the Englishman mildly, as if he were teaching a history class, "but it was not someone you did not already suspect. No, this guilt was thrown onto the head of someone that you did, indeed, suspect. It might even be someone who knew that you would do whatever you had to do to find the guilty party. Someone who knew, without question, that you would never allow any personal feelings of loyalty to interfere with your unyielding integrity. Ideally, it was someone who, on several occasions, warned you explicitly to stay away from a certain area of the investigation, an area where evidence would lead the investigation back to him." Stephenson nodded with his words, spoke more slowly. "Yes, someone who knew that you would document all of his hampering efforts to prevent the investigation from following a certain line of inquiry that would lead, without question, directly back to him. Making him appear even more guilty."

Kertzman waited in a subdued, awful silence.

A long drag on the cigarette and Stephenson resumed in a knowing, patient voice. "Yes, you documented everything, Mr. Kertzman. You documented every stonewalling action, every misdirecting comment or hampering effort, just as you told them you would."

Kertzman closed his eyes.

"Just as they
wanted
you to do," Stephenson continued. "And it was for
this purpose
that you were truly selected for the job. They knew that you would not allow personal feelings to interfere in your dedicated, single-minded pursuit of truth. They could, in a sense, bank on your integrity to support their efforts where another man might fail them by concealing information or even overlooking something that would have incriminated his superiors." He paused, continued, "However, with you they knew there would be no danger of that. They knew that you would follow the tracks of guilt to the last man. Even to the desk of your beloved supervisor."

Shaking his head, Kertzman saw the perfection.

"You see, Mr. Kertzman, it is the craft of a spy to use an adversary's own, ah... casual nature, if you will, against him. For you, this means that your adversary would use your own unbending integrity to serve his purpose."

Kertzman released a deep breath, half-turned his head away, remembering the words.

"
Make sure you document everything...
"

And,
"
I knew we could count on you...”

Carthwright.

Kertzman understood, at last, why they had picked him: He was the perfect man for the job. So stubbornly determined not to be broken, not to bend backward, he had documented all the denials, all the misdirection, just as they knew all along that he would, had planned on it. He had even seen it, felt it from the very beginning, had sensed that something was wrong but never understood it.

He had looked for something complicated, something buried. That's why he'd never seen it. It never was buried, never concealed. From the very beginning it was too easy to see.

Hiding in plain sight.

Carthwright.

A head high enough to take the heat, heavy enough to call the shots. But still a fall guy, set up from the very beginning to make the sacrifice.

"Don't mess with these people, Kertzman
... Stay away from the money ... There's nothing there ... Stay away from the money ... There's nothing there ..."

The perfect plan.

And, like the perfect fool, he had done exactly what he was supposed to do to make it work. Kertzman knew now what name Acklin would eventually find in the computer search, knew where it would end, even as he knew that it was a sacrificial move. And their sacrifice would work. It would work because he had made it work by documenting every action that would have stalled the investigation, and had even moved beyond it to the place where they always intended for him to go.

Sullen and angry, he looked at Stephenson.

The Englishman smiled. "Yes, Mr. Kertzman. I would surmise that there is no one who is truly on your side."

Kertzman couldn't think of anything to say.

"And yet," Stephenson added, "I believe that Mr. Carthwright is a valuable man. More than likely, he would be a costly sacrifice. And their game is not over. If you and Gage still happen to fall under a sanction, I'm sure other containment plans can be initiated which will save the career of both your supervisor and those around him." He debated. "Carthwright would normally be reserved as an extreme sacrifice for an extreme emergency. Surely, both Gage and you remain primary targets."

Solemn, Kertzman nodded. "Yeah," he said quietly. "If they can still kill me and Gage they might be able to pin it all on him, despite everything I've written in my reports. But if Gage survives, it'll all
fall on Carthwright. For containment. It'll never reach who's really guilty. It'll never reach Stern. Carthwright will take it all and live with it."