But all you did was disarm him. Why would you do that?" She coughed, and tried for a brave smile, but it looked like a wince. "Nobody uses a goddamn Havahart trap in the middle of a gunfight!"
"Maybe I missed. Maybe I was out of ammunition."
Her face was red as she slowly shook her head. "You think I can't handle the truth? Well, I don't know if I can. I just know that I can't hear any more lies right now."
"Museumplein nineteen," Janson repeated.
"Don't leave me here," she said, her voice cracking with fear and bewilderment. "I'm scared, all right? These fuckers weren't in the prep book. I don't know who they are or what they want or where they are. All I know is, I need help."
"The consulate will help." Janson started to walk away.
"Don't you turn your back on me, Paul Janson! I almost killed you three times. The least you owe me is an explanation."
"Report back to work," Janson replied. "Go back to your job."
"I can't. Don't you understand anything?" Suddenly, her voice became thick; the woman who sought to kill him was choking up. "My job - my job is to kill you. I can't do that now. I can't do my job." She laughed bitterly.
Slowly, slowly, she struggled to her feet, holding on to the pillar for support.
"Listen to me now. I met this American in Regent's Park who told me some lunatic story that maybe us Cons Op folks had got caught up in some big ... manipulation. That the bad guy we were supposed to take down wasn't really the bad guy. I ignored that, because if that were true, up was down and down was up. Can you understand that? If you can't trust the people who give you your orders, what's the point of anything? Later, I filed my Memorandum of Conversation about it, just pro forma, and I get a phone call not from my boss, but my boss's boss. And he wants me to remember that Paul Janson is a genius liar, and was I sure he hadn't gotten to me somehow? Now I'm shivering in this godforsaken warehouse and thinking if I ever want to learn what's going on in the world, I'm probably not going to get that from my bosses. Now I'm thinking that the only one who can tell me what time it is is the guy I'm looking at." Trembling, she began to put on the clothes he had brought her. "The same guy I've spent forty-eight hours trying to drill."
"You've just gone through a traumatic experience. You're not yourself. That's all."
"I'm not finished with you, Paul Janson." She licked her cracked lips. Raised welts were beginning to appear on her bruised cheeks.
"What is it that you want from me?"
"I need help. I need ... to know what's going on. I need to know what's a lie and what isn't." More tears welled up in her eyes, and she wiped them away, mortified. "I gotta get somewhere safe."
Janson blinked. "You want to be safe? Then stay the hell away from me. It's not safe where I am. And that's the one thing I am certain of. Do you want me to take you to a hospital?"
An angry stare. "They'd get me there. They'd find me, for sure they would."
Janson shrugged uneasily. She was right.
"I want you to tell me what the hell is going on." Her gait was unsteady, but she took a step toward him.
"That's what I'm trying to find out."
"I can help. You have no idea. I know stuff, I know plans, I know faces - I know who's been dispatched to come after you."
"Don't make things worse for yourself," Janson said, not unkindly.
"Please." The woman looked at him forlornly. She had the air of someone who had never experienced a moment's doubt in her professional life before now - someone who did not know how to deal with the uncertainties that now thronged her.
"Forget it," Janson said. "In about a minute, I'm going to steal a car. This is an act of larceny, and anybody who's with me at the time is legally an accomplice. That put things into perspective for you?"
"I'll steal it for you," she said huskily. "Lookit, I don't know where you're going. I don't care. But if you get away, I'll never know the truth. I need to know what's true. I need to know what isn't."
"The answer is no," Janson said shortly.
"Please."
His temple began to throb