to a valley below. It was no more than a hundred and fifty yards from mountain crest to valley floor, perhaps a mile of acreage covering the basin. The moon had grown progressively brighter; they could see a small farmhouse in the center of the pasture, a barn at the end of a short roadway. They could hear the sound of rushing water; a stream flowed out of the mountain near where they stood, tumbling down the slope between a row of rocks, passing within fifty feet of the small house.
"It's very beautiful," said Taleniekov.
"It is the only world she has known for over half a century," replied Antonia.
"Were you brought up here?" asked Scofield. "Was this your home?" "No," said the girl, without elaborating. "Come, we win see her. She has been waiting." "At this hour of the night?" Taleniekov was surprised.
"There is no day or night for my grandmother. She said to bring you to her as soon as we arrived. We have arrived."
There was no day or night for the old woman sitting in the chair by the wood-burning stove, not in the accepted sense of sunlight and darkness. She was blind, her eyes two vacant orbs of pastel blue, staring at sounds and at the images of remembered memories. Her features were sharp and angular beneath the covering of wrinkled flesh; the face had once been that of an extraordinarily beautiful woman.
Her voice was soft, with a bollow whispering quality that forced the listener to watch her thin white lips. If there was no essential brilliance about her, neither was there hesitancy nor indecision. She spoke rapidly, a simple mind secure in its own knowledge. She had things to say and death was in her house, a reality that seemed to quicken her thoughts and perceptions. She spoke in Italian, but it was an idiom from an earlier era.
She began by asking both Taleniekov and Scofield to answer--each in his own words-why he was so interested in Guillaume de Ma~tarese. Vasili replied first, repeating his story of an academic foundation in Milan, his depart- ment concentrating on Corsican history. He kept it simple, thus allowing Scofield to elaborate in any way he wished. It was standard procedure when two or more intelligence officers were detained and questioned together.
Neither had to be primed for the exercise; the fluid lie was second nature to them both.
Bray listened to the Russian and corroborated the basic information, adding details on dates and finances he believed pertinent to Guillaume de Matarese. When he finished, he felt not only confident about his response, but superior to the KGB man; he had done his "schoolwork" better than Taleniekov.
Yet the old woman just sat there, nodding her head in silence, brushing away a lock of white hair that had fallen to the side of her gaunt face.
Finally, she spoke.
"You're both lying. The second gentleman is less convincing. He tries to impress me with facts any child in the hills of Porto Vecchio might learn." "Perhaps in Porto Vecchio," protested Scofield gently, "but not necessarily in Milan." "Yes. I see what you mean. But then neither of you is from Milan.
"Quite true," interrupted Vasili. "We merely work in Milan. I myself was born in Poland... northern Poland. I'm sure you detect my imperfect speech." "I detect nothing of the sort. Only your Res. However, don't be concerned, it doesn't matter." Taleniekov and Scofield looked at each other, then over at Antonia, who sat curled up in exhaustion on a pillow in front of the window.
"What doesn't matterT' Bray asked. "We are concerned. We want you to speak freely." "I will," said the blind woman. "For your lies are not those of seN-seeking men. Dangerous men, perhaps, but not men moved by profit. You do not look for the padrone for your own personal gain." Scofield could not help himself; he leaned forward. "How do you knowT' The old woman's vacant yet powerful pale blue eyes held his; it was hard to accept the fact that she could not see. "It is in your voices," she said. "You are afraid:' "Have we reason to beT' asked Taleniekov.
"That would depend on what you believe, wouldn!t itT, "We believe a terrible thing has happened," said Bray. "But we know very little. That's as honestly as I can put it.
"What do you know, signorir' Again Scofield and Taleniekov exchanged glances; the Russian nodded first. Bray realized that Antonia was watching them closely. He spoke as obviously to her as