I could trust? Even what you call drones outside the stations; who would not be curious? Who could resist the pressures of Washington or Moscow?" "It's the emotional upheaval that bothers me," Bray said. "I think it happened long before we found her. She said she was down in Porto Vecchio to get away for a while. Get away from what?" "Mere could be a dozen explanations. Unemployment is rampant throughout Italy. She could be without work. Or an unfaithful lover, an affair gone sour. Such things are not relevant to what we would be asking her to do." "Those areWt the things I saw. Besides, why should we trust her, and even if we took the chance, why would she accept?" "She was there when that old woman was killed," said the Russian. "It may be enough." Scofield nodded. "It's a start, but only if she's convinced there's a specific connection between what we're doing and what she saw." "We made that clear. She heard the old woman!s words; she repeated them." "While she was still confused, still in shock. She's got to be convinced." "Then convince her." "Me?" "She trusts you more than she does her 'Socialist comrade,' that's obvious." Scofield lifted his glass. "Were you going to kill her?" "No. That decision would have had to come from you. It still does. I was uncomfortable seeing your hand so close to your belt." "So was L" Bray put down the glass and glanced over at the girl. Berlin was never far away-Taleniekov understood that-but Scofield's mind and his eyes were not playing tricks with his memories now; he was not in a cave on the side of a hill watching a woman toss her hair free in the light of a fire. There was no similarity between his wife and Antonia any longer. He could kill her if he had to. "She'll go with me, then," he said to the Russian. "I'll know in forty-eight hours. Our first communication will be direct; the next two through her in prearranged code so we can check the accuracy.... If we want her and she says she'll do it." "And if we do not, or she does not?" "That'll be my decision, won't it." Bray made a statement; he did not ask a question. Then he took out the leaf of lettuce from his jacket pocket and opened it. The yellowed scrap of paper was intact, the names blurred but legible. Without looking down, Taleniekov repeated them.
"Count Alberto Scozzi, Rome. Sir John Waverly, London. Prince Andrei Voroshin, St. Petersburg--the name Russia is added, and, of course, the city is now Leningrad. Seflor Manuel Ortiz Ortega, Madrid; hes crossed out. Josua-which is presumed to be Joshua-Appleton, State of Massachusetts, America. The Spaniard was killed by the padrone at Villa Matarese, so he was never part of the council. The remaining four have long*ce died, but two of their descendants are very prominent, very available. David Waverly and Joshua Appleton the fourth. Britain's Foreign Secretary and the senator from Massachusetts. I say we go for immediate confrontation." "I don't," said Bray, looking down at the paper and the childlike writing of the letters. "Because we do know who they are, and we don't know anything about the others. Who are their descendants? Where are they? If there're more surprises, let's try to find them first. The Matarese isn't restricted to two men, and these two in particular may have nothing to do with it." "Why do you say that?" "Everything I know about both of them would seem to deny anything like the Matarese. Waverly had what they call in England a 'good wae; a young commando, highly decorated. Then a hell of a record in the Foreign Office.
He's always been a tactical compromiser, not an inciter; it doesn't fit.
Appleton's a Boston Brahmin who bolted the class lines and became a liberal reformer for three terms in the Senate. Protector of the working man as well as the intellectual community. He's a shining knight on a solid, political horsethat most of America thinks will take him to the White House next year." "What better residence for a consigliere of the Matarese?" "It's too jarring, too pat I think he's genuine." "The art of conviction-in both instances, perhaps. But you're right: they won't vanish. So we start in Leningrad and Rome, trace what we can." "'You and yours will do what I can no longer do..