Lang's people had relied on them for some of the instrumentation and equipment. They would have sworn her to secrecy, of course, invoking the "political considerations" that Lang had alluded to with such sardonicism. There was no need for Janson to know the provenance of the hardware; no reason for Lang not to keep her word to the U.S. officials with whom she had dealings. Who were these officials? No names were used; all Janson was told was that they knew him, or of him. Consular Operations, presumably.
And then the inculpating transfers to his Cayman Islands account; Janson had believed that his former employers remained ignorant of it, but he also knew that the American government, when it wished to, could apply subtle pressure to offshore banking institutions when the activities of U.S. citizens were at issue. Who would have been better placed to interfere with his financial records than high-level members of the American intelligence services? Janson had not forgotten the rancor and ill will that surrounded his departure. His knowledge of still-extant networks and procedures meant that he was, in principle, a potential threat.
Was it possible?
How had the plot been hatched? Was it simply that a golden opportunity had presented itself to quick-thinking tacticians? Two birds with one stone: kill the meddlesome mogul, blame the noncompliant ex-agent? Yet why not leave the Kagama extremists to carry out their announced plan? That would have been the easy, the convenient thing to do: let murderous fanaticism run its course. Except ...
There was the muted sound of an old-fashioned brass bell: somebody was at the rear door, which led to a waiting area outside the master's office.
Fielding roused himself from his own rumination and stood up. "You'll excuse me for a minute - I'll be right back," he said. "The hapless graduate student makes an inopportune visit. But so it must be."
The flowchart branched out. In one branch, the United States does nothing, the world does nothing, and Novak is killed. The diplomats and officials that Marta Lang consulted emphasized the hazards of American involvement. Yet there were risks in inaction as well - the risks of political embarrassment. Despite the countercurrents Fielding identified, Peter Novak was a widely beloved man. If he were killed, ordinary people would wonder why the United States had refused to help a secular saint in his hour of need. The Liberty Foundation might denounce the United States - furiously and vociferously - for refusing to provide any assistance whatsoever. It would be easy to imagine the ensuing deluge of congressional hearings, TV reports, newspaper editorials. The old words would reverberate throughout the land: For evil to triumph, it is enough that good men do nothing. In the resulting uproar, careers could be ruined. What looked like the path of caution was in fact strewn with broken glass.
But what if there was another explanation?
The Liberty Foundation, typical of its go-it-alone ways, assembles its own international commando team in a reckless attempt to spirit away the captive. Who can they blame but themselves if things go badly? Mid-level employees at the State Department would "leak" the word to the beat reporters who had come to rely upon them as unnamed sources: Novak's people rejected our offers of help out of hand. It seems they were afraid it would compromise his aura of independence. The secretary of state is completely broken up about what happened, of course - we all are. But how can you provide assistance to people who absolutely refuse to accept it? Arrogance on their part? Well, some might say so. In fact, wasn't that the fatal flaw of the Liberty Foundation itself? The worldly, knowing reporters - for the New York Times, the Washington Post, the syndicated wire services - would file dispatches subtly infused with what they'd been told on deep background. Informed sources said that offers of assistance were snubbed ...
Janson's mind reeled. Was the scenario anything more than a fantasy, an invidious fiction? He did not know; he could not know - not yet. What he did know was that he could not exclude the possibility.
Fielding's minute stretched to three minutes, and when he reappeared, closing the door carefully behind him, there was something different about him.
"The aforementioned grad student," Fielding assured him, in a slightly piping voice. "Hopeless Hal, I think of him. Trying to unknot an argument in Condorcet. I can't get him to see that in Condorcet the knots themselves are what's interesting."