Kongrosian said, with reluctance, ‘I moved him downstairs to the subsurface laundry room. He’s all right.’
‘Do you know what the von Lessinger principle is?’ Pembroke asked him, eyeing him tensely.
‘Of course.’
Pembroke said, ‘As a member of the higher NP, I have access to von Lessinger equipment. Would you like to know whom you’ll next mistreat by means of your psychokinetic ability?’
‘No,’ Kongrosian said.
‘Knowing would be to your advantage. Because you might want to stop yourself; it will be a manoeuvre you’ll regret.’
‘Who’s the person?’ Kongrosian asked, then.
‘Nicole,’ Pembroke said. ‘You can tell me something if you want. Under what operating theory have you refrained, up until now, from using your talent politically?’
‘ “Politically”?’ Kongrosian echoed. He did not see how he had used it politically.
‘Politics,’ Pembroke said, ‘if I may remind you, is the art of getting other people to do what you want them to, by force if necessary. Your application of psychokinesis just now was rather unusual in its directness … but nevertheless it was a political act.’
Kongrosian said, ‘I always felt it was wrong to use it on people.’
‘But now — ‘
‘Now,’ Kongrosian said, ‘the situation is different. I’m a captive; everyone’s against me. You’re against me, for instance. I may have to use it against you.’
‘Please don’t,’ Pembroke said. He smiled tightly. ‘I’m merely a salaried employee of a government agency, doing my job.’
‘You’re a lot more than that,’ Kongrosian said. ‘I’d be interested in knowing how I’m going to use my talent against Nicole.’ He could not imagine himself doing that; he was too awed by her. Too reverent.
Pembroke said, ‘Why don’t we wait and see.’
‘It strikes me as strange,’ Kongrosian said, ‘that you’d go to the trouble of using von Lessinger equipment merely to find out about me. After all, I’m utterly worthless, an outcast from humanity. A freak that should never have been born.’
‘That’s your illness talking,’ Pembroke said. ‘When you say that. And down inside your mind somewhere you know that.’
‘But you must admit,’ Kongrosian persisted, ‘that it’s unusual for someone to use the von Lessinger machinery as you evidently have. What’s your reason?’ Your real reason, he thought to himself.
‘My task is to protect Nicole. Obviously, since you will soon be making an overt move in her direction — ‘
‘I think you’re lying about that,’ Kongrosian interrupted. ‘I could never do anything like that. Not to Nicole.’
Wilder Pembroke raised an eyebrow. And then he turned and rang the elevator button to begin his trip downstairs to search for the psych-chemist from A.G. Chemie.
‘What are you up to?’ Kongrosian asked. He was highly suspicious of the NP men anyhow, always had been and always would be, and particularly so ever since the NP had shown up at the jalopy jungle and seized him. And this man impelled an even greater suspicion and hostility in him, although he did not understand quite why.
‘I’m just doing my job,’ Pembroke repeated.
And still, for reasons he did not consciously know, Kongrosian did not believe him.
‘How do you now expect to get well?’ Pembroke asked him as the elevator doors opened. ‘Since you’ve destroyed the A.G. Chemie man — ‘ He entered the elevator, beckoning Kongrosian to join him.
‘My own doctor. Egon Superb; he can still cure me.’
‘Do you want to see him? It can be arranged.’
‘Yes!’ Kongrosian said eagerly. ‘As soon as possible. He’s the only one in the universe who isn’t against me.’
‘I could take you there myself,’ Pembroke said, a thoughtful expression on his flat, hard face. ‘
If I thought it was a good idea … and I’m not very certain of that, at this point.’
‘If you don’t take me,’ Kongrosian said, ‘I’ll pick you up with my talent and set you down in the Potomac.’
Pembroke shrugged. ‘Doubtless you could. But according to the von Lessinger equipment, you probably won’t. I’ll take the chance.’
‘I don’t think the von Lessinger principle can deal properly with us Psis,’ Kongrosian said irritably as he also entered the elevator. ‘At least, I’ve heard that said. We act as acausal factors.’ This was a difficult man to deal with, a strong man whom he actively did not like. Like — or trust.
Maybe it’s just the police mentality, he conjectured as the two of them descended.
Or maybe it’s more.
Nicole, he thought. You know darn well I could never do anything to you; it’s utterly out of the question — my entire world would collapse. It would be like injuring my own mother or sister, someone sacred.
I’ve got to keep my talent in check, he realized. Please, dear Lord, help me keep my psychokinetic ability in check whenever I’m around Nicole. Okay? As the elevator descended he waited, fervently, for an answer.
‘By the way,’ Pembroke broke into his thoughts suddenly. ‘About your smell. It seems to be gone.’
‘Gone!’ And then the implication of the NP man’s remark struck him. ‘You mean you could detect my phobic body odour? But that’s impossible! It can’t actually be — ‘ He ceased talking, confused. ‘And you say now it’s gone.’ He did not understand.
Pembroke eyed him. ‘I would certainly have noticed it here, cooped up with you in this elevator. Of course, it may come back. I’ll be glad to let you know if it does.’
‘Thank you,’ Kongrosian said. And thought, Somehow this man is getting the upper hand over me. Constantly. He’s a master psychologist … or is it that, by his definition, he’s a master political strategist?
‘Cigarette?’ Pembroke extended his pack.
Horrified, Kongrosian leaped back. ‘No. They’re illegal too dangerous. I wouldn’t dare smoke one.’
‘Always danger,’ Pembroke said, as he lit up. ‘Right? A constantly dangerous world. You must be ceaselessly careful. What you need, Kongrosian, is a bodyguard. A squad of hand-picked, rigorously-trained NP men, with you at all times.’ He added, ‘Otherwise — ‘
‘Otherwise you don’t think I have much of a chance.’
Pembroke nodded. ‘Very little, Kongrosian. And I say this on the basis of my use of the von Lessinger apparatus.’
From then on the two of them descended in silence.
The elevator stopped. The doors slid back. They were in the subsurface level of the White House. Kongrosian and Pembroke stepped out into the hall. A man, whom both of them recognized, stood waiting for them. ‘I want you to listen, Kongrosian,’ Bertold Goltz said to the pianist.
Swiftly, in a fraction of a second, the NP Commissioner had his pistol out. He aimed at Goltz and fired.
But Goltz had already vanished.
A piece of folded paper lay on the floor where he had stood. Goltz had dropped it. Stooping, Kongrosian reached for it.
‘Don’t touch that!’ Pembroke said sharply.
It was too late. Kongrosian had it, was unfolding it. It read: Pembroke leads you to your death.
‘Interesting,’ Kongrosian said. He passed the slip of paper to the NP man; Pembroke put his pistol away and accepted it, scrutinizing it, his face distorted with outrage.
From behind them, Goltz said, ‘Pembroke has waited months for you to be taken into custody, here at the White House. Now there isn’t any time left.’
Spinning, Pembroke snatched at his pistol, brought it out and fired. Again Goltz, grinning with scornful bitterness, disappeared. You’ll never get him, Kongrosian realized. Not as long as he has the von Lessinger equipment at his disposal.
Time left for what? he wondered. What’s going to happen? Goltz seemed to know and probably Pembroke knows, too; they have identical equipment available to them.
And, he thought, how does it involve me? Me — and my talent, which I’ve sworn to keep in check.
Does this mean I’m going to use it? He had no intuition that this was precisely what it meant.
And there was probably little he could do about it.
From outside the house Nat Flieger heard children playing.
They chanted some sort of dirge-like rhythm, unfamiliar to him. And he had been in the music business all his life. No matter how hard he tried he could not make out the words; they were strangely blurred, run-together.
‘Mind if I look?’ he asked Beth Kongrosian, rising to his feet from the creaky wicker chair.
Turning pale, Beth Kongrosian said, ‘I — would rather you didn’t. Please don’t look at the children. Please!’
Nat said gently, ‘We’re a recording company, Mrs Kongrosian. Anything and everything in the way of music is our business.’ He absolutely could not refrain from going to the window to look; the instinct, right or wrong, was in his blood — it came before civility or kindness, before all else. Peering out, he saw them, seated in a circle. And they were all chuppers. He wondered which was Plautus Kongrosian. They all looked so much alike to him. Perhaps the little boy in yellow shorts and T-shirt off to the side. Nat motioned to Molly and Jim; they joined him at the window.