I couldn't reach him in time." "You couldn't?... For the love of God... why didn't you, couldn't you.
tell me? He was the Foreign Secretary, England's Foreign Secretaryl Have you any idea the repercussions, the... oh, my God, a tragedy! A catas- trophe! Butchered!" Symonds paused. When he spoke again it was obvious that the professional in him was struggling for control. "I want you down in my office as soon as you can get there. Consider yourself under detention by the British government." "I can't do that. Don't ask me." "I'm not asking, Scofield! I'm giving you a direct order backed up by the highest authorities in England. You will not leave that hotel! By the time you reached the lift, all the current would be shut off, every staircase, every exit under armed guard." "All right, all right. I'll get to MI-Six," lied Bray.
"You'll be escorted. Remain in your room." "Forget the room, Roger," said Scofield, grasping for whatever words he could find that might fit the crisis. "I've got to see you, but not at MI-Six." "I don't think you heard me!" "Put the guards on the doors, shut off the godarnned elevators, do anything you like, but I've got to see you here. I'm going to walk out of this room and go down to the bar, to the darkest booth I can find. Meet me there." "I repeat-" "Repeat all you want to, but if you don't come over here and listen to me, there'll be other assassinationsthat's what they are, Roger!
Assassinations. And they won't stop at a Foreign Secretary, or a Secretary of State. or a President or a Prime Minister." "Oh, my... God," whispered Symonds.
"It's what I couldn't tell you last night. It's the reason you looked for when we talked. But I won't put it on- record, I can't work in-sanction. And that should tell you enough. Get over here, Roger." Bray closed his eyes, held his breath; it was now or it was not.
"I'll be there in ten minutes," said Symonds, his voice cracking.
Scofield hung up the phone, looking first at Antonia, then Taleniekov.
"He's on his way." "He'll take you inl" exclaimed the Russian.
"I don't think so. He knows me well enough to know I won't go on-record if I say I won't. And he doesn't want the rest of it on his head." Bray crossed to the chair where he had thrown his raincoat and travel bag.
"I'm sure of one thing. He'll meet me downstairs, and give me a chance.
If he accepts, I'll be back in an hour. If he doesn't... I'll kill him." Scofield unzipped his bag, reached into it, and pulled out a sheathed, long-bladed hunting knife. It still had the Harrods price tag on it. He looked at Toni; her eyes told him she understood. Both the necessity and his loathing of it.
Symonds sat across from Bray in the booth of the Connaught lounge. The subdued lighting could not conceal the pallor of the Englishman's face; he was a man forced to make decisions of such magnitude that the mere I ought of them made him ill. Physically ill, mentally exhausted.
They had talked for nearly forty minutes. Scofield, as planned, had told him part of the truth-a great deal more of it than he cared to--but: it was necessary. He was now about to make his final request of Roger and both men knew it. Symonds felt the terrible weight of his decision; it was in his eyes. Bray felt the knife in his belt; his appalling decision to use it if necessary made it difficult for him to breathe.
"We don't know how extensive it is, or how many people in the various governments are involved, but we know it's being financed through large corporations," Scofield explained. "What happened in Belgravia Square tonight can be compared to what happened to Anthony Blackburn in New York, to the physicist Yurievich in Russia. We're closing in; we have names, covert alliances, knowledge that intelligence branches in Washington, Moscow, and Bonn have been manipulated. But we have no proof; we'll get it, but we don't have it now. If you take me in, we'll never get it.
The case against me is beyond salvage; I don't have to tell you what that means. I'll be executed at the first... opportune moment. For the wrong reason, by the wrong people, but the result will be the same. Give me time, Roger." "What will you give me?" "What more do you want?" "Those names,