Don swallowed. “What did you say?”
“How else would you have known that I would he here? And I mean know, not guess. You were certain that you would find me, as certain as I am that—”
“Go on.”
“You have the talent. By knowing that I would be here at this time you ‘saw’ into the future. Not far, perhaps, but too clearly, but you ‘saw. What other proof do you need?”
“But I simply had a conviction that— Is that how clairvoyancy works?”
“For you, obviously yes. For others perhaps not exactly the same. But when you are convinced beyond any shadow of doubt that at a certain time a thing will happen, or that a thing will happen even if the exact time is not too precise, then you have the gift which General Penn values most highly.” Klieger gave a bitter smile. “Much good may it do you.”
Don shook his head, conscious of receiving knowledge too fast and too soon. At his elbow Bronson shifted his weight a little, poising on the balls of his feet. Around them was a clear space as the other visitors moved down the line of cases. The three of them stood in an island of isolation.
“I am not coming back with you,” announced Klieger. “I have had enough of Cartwright House.”
“You have no choice.”
Klieger smiled. “You forget,” he pointed out gently, “it isn’t a question of choice. It is a simple question of knowledge. I shall never see the general again.”
Bronson made an incoherent sound deep in his throat.
He was fast, incredibly fast, but Don was even faster. Warned by some unknown sense he spun as the gun flashed into view, snatching at the wrist as it swung level, twisting and forcing the black muzzle from its target with viciously applied leverage. Muscles knotted then the bone snapped with the dry sound of a breaking stick. Bronson opened his mouth as the gun fell from nerveless fingers then Don slashed the hard edge of his palm across the nerves in the neck and the mute collapsed.
Quickly Don scooped up the gun and heaved Bronson to his feet, supporting the unconscious man as he fought mounting tides of hate. Hate for Bronson who lived only to take revenge on the world for his disability. Hatred for Penn who could find a use for the psychopathic mute and others like him. Licensed murderers in the sacred name of expediency; safe because they could never talk.
Earlman had seen what the others in the gallery had not. Running forward he met the blaze of Gregson’s eyes.
“Get rid of this thing, fast!”
“So he had to try it.” Earlman relieved Don of the dead weight. “Penn is going to love you for this.”
Don sucked air, fighting to rid himself of hate. “Take him back to the hotel. I’ll worry about Penn when I have to.”
“And Klieger?”
“I’ll take care of him.”
Don had almost forgotten Klieger in the savage fury of the past few minutes. He found him standing by one of the exhibits, staring at a relic of the past as if he were trying to drink its beauty and impress its image on his brain. Gently he picked up the piece, a man entranced by the artistic perfection of ancient craftsmen and, looking at him, Don felt his stomach tighten with a sudden, sick understanding.
* * * *
Penn didn’t trust women. The receptionist was a man as were all his personnel. He took one look at Don then lunged for a buzzer.
“Why bother?” Don headed past him towards the inner office. “Just tell the general that I’m on my way in.”
“But—?”
“How did I get this far without being stopped?” Don shrugged. “You figure it out.”
Penn wasn’t alone. Earlman, more haggard than ever, sat smoking unhappily and Don guessed that he had been receiving the full weight of the general’s anger. He grinned as the door slammed shut behind him.
“Hi, Max, you look as if you’ve been having a bad time.”
“Don!” Earlman lunged to his feet. “Where have you been? It’s more than a week now. Where’s Klieger?”
“Klieger.” Don smiled. “At this moment he is somewhere in Soviet territory being interrogated by every lie-detection device known to man.”
For a moment there was a deathly silence then Penn leaned forward.
“All right, Gregson, you’ve had your joke. Now produce Klieger or take the consequences.”
“It’s no joke.” Don stared grimly into the general’s eyes. “That’s what I’ve been doing this past week. Talking to Klieger, fixing his passage, dodging your hunters.”
“Traitor!”
Don didn’t answer.
“You dirty, stinking traitor!” Suddenly Penn became icy calm and his calmness was more terrible than his rage. “This is a Democracy, Gregson, but we know how to protect ourselves. You should have gone with Klieger to the safety of your friends.”
“Friends! You think I did it for them?” Don looked down at his hands, they were shaking. Deliberately he sat down, lit a cigarette, waited for his anger to pass.
“You demand loyalty,” he said. “Blind, unswerving, unthinking loyalty. You think that those who are not with you must be for the enemy but you are wrong. There is a greater loyalty than to an individual, a nation or a group of nations. There is a loyalty to the human race. One day, please God, both sides may realize that.”
“Don!”
Earlman leaned forward. Gregson gestured him back to his chair,
“Just listen, Max, you too, General. Listen and try to understand.”
He paused, dragging at the cigarette, his broad-planed face revealing some of his fatigue.
“The answer,” he said, “lay in the Ming vase.”
“The one Klieger stole from the antique shop?” Earlman nodded. “What about it, Don? Why was it so important?”
He was, Don knew, acting as a barrier between him and the wrath of the general and he was suddenly glad that he was there. Penn, alone, might never have found the patience to listen.
“Klieger can see into the future,” continued Don. “Never forget that. He was the star ‘resident’ at Cartwright House and stayed there for ten years. Then, for no apparent reason, he decided to take off. He did. He stole money—he had to live, and he stole a vase, to him a thing of wondrous beauty. The answer lies in why he did it.”
“A thief!” Penn snorted. “He was a thief. That’s the answer.”
“No,” said Don quietly. “The reason is that time was running out—and he knew it!”
They stared at him. They didn’t understand, not even Earlman, certainly not Penn and yet, to Don, it was all clear. So ghastly clear.
“What a man does is determined by his character,” said Don. “Given a certain stimulus he will react in a certain way—and this is predictable. Think of Klieger and what he was. Meek, mild, inoffensive, willing to do as he was told without question. He did it for ten years while his talent was being trained so that he could ‘see’ further and clearer into the future. Then one day he ‘sees’ something that drives him desperate.
“Desperate enough to break the habits of a lifetime. He persuaded the others to help him escape. They thought that he was doing it to help them, perhaps they wanted to prove something, that isn’t important now. Klieger is. He walked out. He stole. He tried to fill every waking hour with what he considered to be the ultimate of beauty. A different man would have gambled, drank, chased women. Klieger loves old and precious things. He stole a Ming vase.”
“Why?”