evidence. Everything they knew to be true was so easily denied as the paranoid ramblings of lunatics and traitors. Oii the surface, the logic was their enemies'. Why would the leaders of mammoth corporations, conglomerates that depended on stability, finance chaos?
Chaos. Formless matter, clashing bodies in space.
"Another few minutes, we'll reach our first destination," said Israel Isles.
"First destination?" "Yes, our trip's in two stages. We change vehicles up ahead; this one is driven back to London-the driver black , his passenger white-and we proceed in another, quite different car. 'Me next leg is less than a quarter of an hour. Mr. Symonds may be a little late, however. He had to make four changes of vehicles in city garages." "I see," said Scofield, relieved. The West Indian had just provided Bray with his answer. As the rendezvous with Symonds was in stages, so, too, would be the expla. nation to Symonds. He would tell him part of the truth, but nothing that would implicate the Foreign Secretary, David Waverly.
However, Waverly had to be given information on a most confidential basis; decisions of foreign policy could be affected by the news of massive shifts of capital being manipulated secretly. This was the information Scofield had come across and was tracing: massive shifts of capital. And although all clandestine economic maneuvers were subjects for intelligence scrutiny, these went beyond MI-Five and -Six, just as they superseded the interests of the FBI and the CIA.
In Washington, there were those who wanted to prevent him from disclosing what he knew, but could not prove. The surest way of doing so was to discredit him, kill him, if it came to that. Symonds would understand. Men killed facilely for money; no one knew it better than intelligence officers. So often it was the spine of their... accomplishments.
Isles slowed the Mini down and pulled to the side of the road. He made a U-turn, pointing the car in the direction from which they came.
Within thirty seconds another, larger automobile approached; it had picked them up along the way and had followed at a discreet distance. Bray knew what was expected; he got out, as did the West Indian. The Bentley came to a stop. A white driver opened the rear door for a black companion. No one spoke as the exchange was made, both cars now driven by blacks.
"May I ask you a question?" said Israel Isles hesitantly- "Sure.,' "I've gone through all the training, but I've never had to kill a man. I worry about that sometimes. What's it like?" Scofield looked out the window at the shadows rushing past. It's like walking through a door into a place you've never been before. I hope you do not have to go there, for it's filled with a thousand eyes-a few angry, more frightened, most pleasing... all wondering. Why me now? "There's not very much of that," said Bray. "You never take a life unless it's absolutely necessary, knowing that if you have to, you're saving a lot many more. That's the justification, the only one there should ever be. You put it out of your mind, lock it away behind a door somewhere in your head." "Yes, I think I understand. The justification is in the necessity. One has to accept that, doesn't one?" "That's right. Necessity." Until you grow older and the door opens more and more frequently. Finally it will not close and you stand there, staring inside.
They drove into the deserted parking area of a picnic grounds in the Guildford countryside. Beyond the postand-rail fence were swings and slides and seesaws, all silhouetted in the bright moonlight. Not too many weeks hence, spring would come and the playground would be filled with the shouts and laughter of children; now it echoed the roar of powerful engines and the quiet sounds of men talking.
A car was waiting for them, but Roger Symonds was not in it; he was expected momentarily. Two men had ar- rived early to make certain there was no one else in the picnic grounds, no intercepts placed on phones considered sterile.
"Hello, Brandon," said a short, stocky man in a bulky overcoat, extending his hand.
"Hi, how are youT' Scofield did not recall the agent's name, but remembered the face, the red hair; he was one of the best men fielded by MI-Six. Cons Op had called him in-with British permission-when the Moscow-ParisCuba espionage ring was operating inside the Chamber of Deputies. Bray was impressed at seeing him now. Symonds was