Summit (34 page)

They lay on the bed together. He held her and kissed her and tried to stop the tears. But even he couldn't make them go away, any more than he could rewrite her past and remove all the pain she had suffered—and all the pain she had caused.

She had gotten what she wanted out of life, but did she deserve it? If she were still a clerk in Food Store Number One, the world would have been a better place. She thought of all the closed doors in that corridor in her mind. Behind each of them was a life she had destroyed. They may not have been particularly good lives, but they weren't hers to warp and torture until they fit a new mold, until they were willing to fight to the death for a cause that neither she nor they believed in. Her own pain was gone now, but that just made it easier to feel the guilt.

When she could finally sob out an explanation, Daniel seemed to understand. "I'm not anyone to preach," he said, "but I'm beginning to realize that guilt is something you have to live with, along with all the other baggage you carry around with you through life. There isn't a day goes by that I don't feel some guilt over the way I've treated—the way I
am
treating—my parents, and I don't seem to be able to do anything to change myself or to make it right. But I've got to do something more than stare out at my bird feeder. And I can't deny myself the pleasure that I feel from the good things in my life—like playing the piano. And being with you."

Yes, he was right. There was nothing she could do about the past, so she would try not to think about it. And she knew that this would not be hard, eventually, with Daniel lying beside her. She fell asleep in his arms, and when she awoke in darkness he was still there, as she knew he would be. He too was awake, and he made slow, languorous love to her, and life seemed perfect once again.

The next day it felt awkward for a while as they showered and dressed and ate the breakfast Abigail cooked for them. This was a strange sort of domesticity, but she was sure she could get used to it. There was a baby grand in a parlor on the first floor, and later in the morning Daniel played for her. For her! The piano was slightly out of tune, and one of the keys gave off an unpleasant twang when struck, but Valentina scarcely noticed. "I can't believe this," she said when he took a break. "A recital just for me."

Fulton shrugged. "Someday maybe you'll get bored with it. I can hear you now: 'Quit playing that damn piano and get in here and help with the dishes."'

Valentina laughed. "There is no chance of that, Daniel."

He joined her on the dusty sofa. "Who knows what the future will bring?" he said. "I read about emigrés from the Soviet Union while I was waiting for you to get out. A lot of them become disenchanted after a while, and some of them go back. America isn't for everyone."

"You are too hard on America, I think, Daniel."

"I suppose. I suppose that, now you're here and the present is wonderful, I've started to worry about the future. I'm too used to worrying."

"But you have always been hard on America. That's why the big shots in the Soviet Union like you so much."

He took her hand in his. "You're right. My friend Dmitri Khorashev didn't like my attitude toward America either. 'Orphans resent complaints about parents,' he said to me once, 'and slaves resent complaints about freedom.' But if you're free, it's hard to imagine being a slave. And if you've lived all your life in America, you just get used to seeing what's wrong with it, and you don't stop and consider the awful alternatives that the world has managed to come up with."

"You sound like you are finding wisdom, Daniel. I want to live in America for a long, long time—with you."

"It's going to happen, Valentina. It's going to happen."

Valentina smiled and leaned her head against his shoulder. There was silence for a while, until the doorbell rang: one short ring, then two long rings. She heard footsteps along the hallway, and then more footsteps returning. And then Daniel's voice, cheerful and surprised. "Well hello, Lawrence. I thought you were off on another assignment."

Valentina looked up.

And then she screamed.

* * *

She is standing at the beginning of the endless corridor. So many doors; she knows the secret behind each. They are all closed, but there is no guarantee they will not open. There—the second, one on the right. She finds herself in front of it. The door is closed—isn't it? And yet she can see through it, can see the monster she has created in this room. The monster is no longer lying vanquished on the bed; it is standing up and staring back at her. She feels the stirrings of her ancient hatred, but much more than that she feels the terror a victor must feel when her victim returns to life, when the battle must be refought and she has no strength left and no way of knowing if she can ever really win.

And so the only thing she can do is scream.

* * *

Lawrence Hill was staring at her. "I have wanted to meet you for a long time, Valentina Borisova," he murmured when her screaming finally stopped.

She clutched at Daniel. "What's the matter?" he asked. "What's going on? He's on our side, darling. He's from the CIA."

"I know he's from the CIA," she whispered, barely able to speak. "I know much more than I want to know about him. He was one of my first targets, Daniel, in the machine. His name was different then—perhaps he was using an alias in Moscow. But it's him. And now he's working for the Soviets."

Daniel shook his head. "There must be a mistake," he insisted. "He got you out of Russia, away from the machine. He brought us together. How can he be working for the Soviets?"

She stared back at Hill, who was smiling softly. She had never seen one of her targets in the flesh before. Sometimes she could half convince herself that nothing in fact had happened—it was just a game in her mind, a game that the KGB thought was real. But she knew the KGB was not that stupid. "Is there a mistake?" she asked Hill.

Hill's smile widened. He sat down opposite them. "I have to confess I was upset when I found out the real reason for my conversion," he said. "I was so impressed by my discussion with Pavel in that Moscow apartment. And then to learn that some psychic had been fiddling with my brain—well, it didn't say much for my free will, did it? But then I thought: it doesn't matter how it happened, what matters is that it's the truth. And it
is
the truth, you know, even if you yourself don't believe it, Valentina. The Soviet Union, for all its flaws, is on the side of progress, on the side of humanity, whereas America, for all its talk of freedom and opportunity, is only on the side of the people with money. My upbringing, my education, the media—everything had brainwashed me to see things the other way around—and you simply cleared away all the garbage and let me see things as they really are. I am very grateful to you, Valentina Borisova."

Valentina did not want his gratitude. "Why?" was all she could manage to say.

"Why am I here? Why are
you
here? Because I want—
we
want—your cooperation. And this seemed to be the best way to get it."

"Cooperation for what?"

"We want you to use Trofimov's hyperspace amplifier one more time."

"But you
had
my cooperation for that in London. I don't understand."

"Don't think about London," Hill said. "London was just part of the plan to get you here. Think about New York. What can we have you do in New York?"

She gazed at him, perplexed and terrified. "I don't know. I don't know anything."

Then she looked at Daniel, whose face was filled with pain. "The summit," he murmured.

Hill nodded. "The summit, at the UN, where General Secretary Grigoriev and President Winn are going to discuss the future of our planet. Wouldn't it be nice if President Winn could be made to listen to reason the way I was—could have some of the garbage cleared away, so that he can see things as they really are?"

Valentina felt the guilt returning, stronger than ever. She should have been a clerk; she should have killed herself. How could it have come to this? "You want me to break President Winn?" she whispered.

"You're the Soviet Union's most powerful weapon, Valentina. It only makes sense that it would use this weapon against its most powerful enemy."

She couldn't make sense of it. It was too awful. She couldn't think. "I won't do it," she said.

"We're sure you'll do it, Valentina, if the stakes are high enough."

She couldn't stand any more guilt. She shook her head. "I'm an American now," she said. "I'm not going to help you people, no matter what you do to me."

Hill nodded. "I understand," he said. "But you see, we've gone to all this trouble letting you meet Daniel and run away to him just so you wouldn't be able to say that. Excuse me for a moment." He left the room then, and returned with Abigail, who gazed at them with her usual sullen expression. "Abigail, break the index finger of Mr. Fulton's left hand," he instructed her.

"Yes, sir."

Abigail strode over to the sofa. Valentina tried to get in front of Daniel, but Abigail flung her to one side and grabbed him. He struggled, but she tripped him almost casually and turned him face down on the floor. Then her knee was on his neck and she had hold of his left hand.

Valentina screamed and jumped on top of her. "No!" she shouted. "No! Stop!"

Hill dragged her away as Abigail bent Daniel's index finger slowly back. "You see why we had to do it, Valentina?" Hill asked, pinning her arms to her side. "This is the only way we could be sure you'd cooperate."

"Whatever you want," she sobbed. "Just leave him alone."

"All right, Abigail," Hill said.

Abigail let go of Daniel's hand and stood up. She didn't seem happy to be called off. Daniel turned over. He looked pale and frightened. "Don't do it, Valentina," he gasped. "It'll kill you."

It was all her fault, she thought, and now she would have to pay for it. That was fair, she supposed; she should have paid for it a long time ago. "I'll be all right," she lied. "Don't worry, Daniel."

Daniel looked at Hill. "You bastard."

"I understand how you feel," Hill replied, still holding her. "There's nothing personal in this, you understand. I'm really very fond of you, Daniel. It's just that I'm fighting for a cause I believe in."

"Is any cause worth the pain you're inflicting on innocent people?"

"Well of course," Hill said. "That's what causes are all about." He let go of her arms. She was too numb to move. "Valentina and I are leaving now, and you're going to stay, Daniel. Please don't try to escape, because we don't want to hurt you more than necessary."

And then Hill was leading her out of the room. She looked back over her shoulder as she was leaving, and Daniel was still sitting on the floor in a daze. "It'll be all right," she called out to him again. It was all she could think of to say, but she didn't believe it, and she knew he didn't believe it either.

* * *

Hill made her put her wig back on and become Andrea Dennison once again. He himself donned a wig, eyeglasses, and a fake mustache. "We need to be disguised," he explained. "We're going to the Soviet UN Mission, and American intelligence people keep track of comings and goings there. Odds are we'll end up on some videotape that no one will ever get around to looking at, but we can't be too careful."

Valentina didn't care about the disguise. She could only think about the illusion of happiness that had just been shattered, and the torture that now awaited her. "Is that where it's going to happen?" she asked.

He nodded. "Your colleagues will be joining you shortly, if they aren't there already. Everything is in place."

He sat in the backseat with her. Chuck Dennison was driving. "How long have you people been planning this?" she asked.

Hill looked pleased at her curiosity. It was time to show off. "For a long time, Valentina. Ever since I came back to America and happened to stumble across a CIA plan to get you to defect. They knew a lot about you and your infatuation with Fulton, thanks mainly to your good friend Doctor Chukova."

Valentina closed her eyes. "Olga is an American spy?"

"To begin with she was," Hill replied. "She fell for some smooth-tall and black-market type, I understand. When I informed the KGB about the CIA plan, I expected them to simply get rid of Chukova and plug the leaks. But they had a better idea. They turned Chukova into a double agent, you see, so that she told the Americans only what we wanted them told."

"She betrayed me?"

"Well, it was either that or the firing squad, you have to understand. Your friend was in a lot of trouble. Anyway, the KGB made sure your targets appeared to be failures. The targets did nothing out of the ordinary after you were finished with them. And meanwhile a female KGB officer was found who was willing to risk her life by becoming your double."

"My double?" Valentina whispered.

"That's right. Plastic surgery, months of training—she took on a whole new identity. Yours. She's at CIA headquarters right now—doing very badly on all their tests of psychic ability, I presume. You see, I convinced the CIA to put me in charge of the plan to get you to defect, so it was all fairly straightforward once we talked Fulton into going to Moscow. The KGB arranged a phony operation in London to smooth the way for us. And when you got there, there were two defections. First, I took your double and brought her to the CIA. Then Chuck here got you. The logistics were a little complicated, but it all worked out perfectly."