was a bomb; a bomb had to be controlled. "I wouldn't forget the purpose of my coming here, if I were you." "Your purpose? By all means it will be achieved. You want the woman? You want Taleniekov? They're yoursl You'll be together, I assure you. You will be taken from this house and driven far away, never to be heard from again." "Let's deal, Guiderone. Don't make any foolish mistakes. You have a son who can be the next President of the United States-as long as he's Joshua Appleton. But he's not, and I have the X-rays to prove it." "The X-rays!" roared Guiderone. "You ass!" He pressed a button on his desk console and spoke. "Bring him in," he said. "Bring in our esteemed guest." The Shepherd Boy sat back in his chair. The door behind Scofield opened.
Bray turned, mind and body suspended in pain at what he saw.
Seated in a wheelchair, his eyes glazed, his gentle face bruised, Robert Winthrop was brought through the door by his chauffeur of twenty years. Stanley smiled, his expression arrogant. Scofield sprang up; the chauffeur raised his hand from behind the wheelchair. In it was a gun.
"Years ago," said Guiderone, "a marine combat sergeant was sentenced to spend the greater part of his life in prison. We found more productive work for a man of his skills. It was necessary that the benign elder statesman whom everyone in Washington sought out for comfort and advice be watched very thoroughly. We learned a great deal." Bray looked away from the battered Winthrop and stared at Stanley.
"Congratulations, you bastard! What did you do? Pistol whip him?" "He didn't want to come," Stanley said, his smile vanishing. "He fell." Scofield started forward; the chauffeur raised the gun higher, aiming at Bray's head. "I'm going to talk to him," said Scofield, disregarding the weapon, kneeling at Winthrop's feet. Stanley glanced at the Shepherd Boy; Bray could see Guiderone nod consent. "Mr. AmbassadorT' "Brandon...." Winthrop's voice was weak, his tired eyes sad. "I'm afraid I wasn't much help. They told the President I was ill. There are no soldiers outside, no command post, no one waiting for you to strike a match and drive to the gate. I failed you." "The envelope?" "Bergeron thinks I have it; be knows Stanley, you see. He took the next plane back to Boston. I'm sorry, Brandon. I'm very, very sorry. About so many things." The old man glanced up at the ex-marine he bad befriended for so many years, then back at Scofield. "I've heard the gospel of trash, according to Nicholas Guiderone. Do you know what they've done?
My God, do you know what they've done?" "They haven't done it yet," said Bray.
"Next January they'll have the White Housel The administration will be their administrationl" "It won't happen." "It will happen!" shouted Guiderone. "And the world will be a better place. Everywhere! The period of violence will stop-a thousand years of productive tranquility will take its placel" "A thousand years... ?" Scofield got to his feet. "Another maniac said that once. Is it going to be your own personal thousand-year Reich?" "Parallels are meaningless, labels irrelevantl There's no connection." The Shepherd Boy rose behind his desk, his eyes again on fire. "In our world, nations can keep their leaders, people their identities. But governments will be controlled by the companies. Everywhere. The values. of the marketplace will link the peoples of the worldl" Bray caught the word and it revolted him. "Identities? In your world there are no identitiesl We're numbers and symbols on computersl Circles and squares." "We must forfeit degrees of self for the continuity of peace." "Then we are robotsl" "But alive. Functioningl" "How? Tell he how? 'You, therel you're not a person any more; you're a factor. You're X or Y or Z, and whatever you do is measured and stored on wheels of tape by experts trained to evaluate factors. Go on, factorl Be productive or the experts will take your loaf of bread away... or the shiny new earl"' Scofield paused in a fever. "You're wrong, Guiderone. So wrong. Give me an imperfect place where I know whoI am." "Find it in the next world!" screamed the Shepherd Boy. "You'll be there soon enoughl" Bray felt the weight in his belt-the gun supplied by the dying Taleniekov.
The visitor to Appleton Hall had been searched thoroughly for weapons, none found, yet one provided by his old enemy. The decision to make a final gesture