The Edge of Doom (8 page)

“What?”

“Yeats. Not to worry. Let’s go to the Frick. It’s my favorite museum, bespeaking as it does an earlier time when elegance was possible due to the lack of taxes, the lack of regulation, and the exploitation of the working classes.”

“In fact,” Reed said, “I think Frick did Carnegie’s dirty work. But I’m happy to enjoy the art and magnificent decor he has left behind.”

“ ‘The evil men do lives after them; the good is oft interred with their bones.’ It seems to have been the other way around with Frick; his lovely museum is certainly good.” She put her arm back in his and they walked on.

“Are there any pictures you particularly want to see?” Reed asked.

“Yes,” she rather surprised him by saying. “I used to go there with my mother. There are two Holbein portraits that might be titled good and evil: Thomas More and Thomas Cromwell. It’s amazing to see how Holbein accomplished it. Then there are the Rembrandts. Actually, the self-portrait at the Met is magnificent and two years later than the one at the Frick, but one has to climb stairs and wander about to find it. And then there is
The Polish Rider
.”

“Really Kate, you amaze me. Here we have been married all these years, and you never mentioned the Frick before, let alone suggested going there.”

“It just seemed the right antidote to my Fansler brothers,” Kate said. “But you mustn’t mind if we just look at those four pictures. We can sweep through the rooms if you want to admire the furnishings, but might you agree not to loiter? I believe in being very object-oriented in museums.”

“It’s so long since I’ve been there, I’m happy to follow you in every way,” Reed said.

And indeed the luxuriant and tasteful decorations did much to counter the ambience of the Fansler office. Kate and Reed contemplated Kate’s four pictures; Reed agreed on the amazing subtlety by which Holbein had made clear his opinion of the two men without failing to produce an acceptable portrait of each. The self-portrait of Rembrandt struck Reed most forcibly.

“Have you ever noticed,” he asked, “how few pictures there are of old people, and how most of them seem contrived to deny signs of aging? Rembrandt is different.”

Kate looked at the picture for a long time. “Jay is old,” she said, “though I never think of him that way. He’s older than Rembrandt was when he painted this picture. I know, people live longer now, and in better health. Still, Jay is going along in his seventies. As Falstaff more or less said of someone else, he cannot help but be in his seventies.”

“True,” Reed said. “I hadn’t really thought of his age. No doubt you’ll be just as upright and sprightly in your time. Genes you know.”

“I shall never be sprightly,” Kate said, turning to go. But it did occur to her that her Fansler father had died younger than Jay would; Jay was flourishing.

CHAPTER NINE

But that thy brothers beat aside the point.

For some days, nothing happened. Kate mentioned to Reed how odd it was that they should be devoting so much time to wondering about a man they had never heard of until some weeks ago; she hadn’t kept track, but it wasn’t that many weeks, was it? Now when they weren’t dreading whatever steps Laurence was taking, or hiring someone to take, they were hoping nothing violent had happened to Jay. Whatever kind of fugitive or adventurer he turned out to be, one hardly, as Reed pointed out to a puzzled Kate, wanted him snuffed out so soon after his dramatic appearance.

“Snuffed out?” Kate asked.

“Well, forced to disappear. Snuffed out of our presence. It’s very odd indeed; very odd.” So they kept repeating to one another, finding some consolation in this, particularly because, by some silent, never formulated pact, they had not mentioned him to anyone else. (Kate’s conversation with Leslie hardly counted; she was not “anyone else.”) Reed had no friends toward whom such intimacy was expected. Thus like Laurence, but for different reasons—so they hoped—they kept silent, and could only repeat the same apprehensions over and over to one another, at the same time debating why they should feel so apprehensive about a man they scarcely knew.

And then Laurence was heard from. Abiding by the habits of the established male world he still viewed as basically unchanged, he called Reed, man to man, at Reed’s office.

“Well,” Laurence barked over the telephone, “I was right. The man’s a criminal.”

“Oh, yes?” Reed said, waiting for the rest of it.

“He’s been in the Witness Protection Program. He left it, and no doubt has now been forced to disappear in fear for his life. Men who leave the Witness Protection Program are murdered more often than not.”

“Perhaps,” Reed said. “But not everyone in the program is a criminal. Sometimes they are only in danger from others who are criminals.”

“Usually they’ve been criminals themselves who have testified against their associates in return for no sentence and the Witness Protection Program. Everyone knows that.”

“Then everyone knows wrong,” Reed said, allowing some asperity to creep into his voice. “Terrified witnesses, who may not themselves have committed any crime, are persuaded to testify and promised the Witness Protection Program. I think we ought not to leap to conclusions without more evidence.”

“If we get more evidence in time, that’s all very well. Meanwhile, I think we better take certain precautions against this man.”

“Laurence,” Reed said with more patience than he felt, “you yourself mentioned him to Kate and arranged for Kate to meet him. What has brought about this sudden suspicion and accusations?”

“I know, I know. The fact is, I didn’t think the man would test out. I didn’t for a moment suppose he was Kate’s father. I thought she’d hand over her blood sample and then we’d go after the impostor. And it happened my wife or maybe my daughter was discussing Edith Wharton, and the whole comparison seemed amusing at the time. If you intend to tell me I should have known better, I won’t be able to deny it.”

“Meaning,” Reed said, “you thought you would get a chance to make fun of Kate and show her up.”

“I can hardly stop you from saying what you want in her defense,” Laurence said coldly. “After all, she is your wife. But she certainly doesn’t show much respect for her origins.”

“Kate needs no defense, mine or anyone else’s. You behaved like a cad, and now you want to hunt down her father—and he is her father—to make up for your silly indiscretion. It’s hardly a worthy motive, Laurence.”

“Since you have no wish to protect my sister, and since she is too much of a fool to defend herself against a criminal, I feel my actions are quite justified. Good afternoon.” And Laurence hung up. Reed told himself that he had not handled that conversation very well, and that he would have to do something to make sure that Laurence continued to tell him the results of his, Laurence’s, investigation.

He said as much to Kate that evening.

“Your father was in the Witness Protection Program; that’s what Laurence’s sleuth uncovered,” he announced to her in conclusion.

“What?”

“The Witness Protection Program.”

“You mean there really is such a thing? I thought it was just something they’d made up for TV cop shows.”

“Really, Kate. It’s not a good idea to lose one’s grip on reality. There is such a program, and then there are TV shows.”

“Don’t be so sure, Reed. We live in a postmodern age, which freely translated means it is no longer possible, let alone easy, to tell the difference between reality and simulated reality.”

“I see. Like that
Wag the Dog
movie, where they managed to convince everyone there was a war on when it was only a simulated war.”

“That’s the idea. Could you tell photographs of a tornado from a tornado created on a computer? No, you couldn’t. I believe in the dinosaurs in movies, but I don’t think they’re part of a government program or of reality. When it comes to anything more recent than dinosaurs, I’m far from sure.”

“If we can postpone this discussion of post-modernism, frightening as it is, let me assure you that there is indeed a Witness Protection Program, and I’m willing to believe Jay was in it. What we have to discover is why.”

“I only hope if Laurence finds out, he’ll tell us.”

“I was quite rude to him today; he is a maddening person. But I shall have to throw myself on his mercy in the hope that he’ll keep me informed.”

“If I know Laurence,” Kate said, “his desire to gloat and to prove his clout means he’ll tell you. But it never hurts to get on his good side with flattery and bullshit if you want something from him. I haven’t wanted anything in years, but recollections of childhood dramas can be summoned up.”

Reed did phone and apologize to Laurence for his unfortunate remarks, to which Laurence, with a stab at affability, responded that he did not blame Reed for being troubled by this dreadful situation. Reed managed to end the call without responding with the irritation he felt.

The next day Kate telephoned Reed’s office. This was unusual in itself; he could not remember the last time she had called him at his office; any plans for the day were usually confirmed before they parted in the morning.

“Clara has called in some alarm, and so has the superintendent,” Kate said on the phone. “Two men, well-dressed, turned up saying they had orders or a warrant or anyway the right to search our apartment. Clara, whom we now salute as a prize among cleaning women, not that we didn’t know it before, refused to let them in. I like to think that Banny standing beside Clara also had its effect. They had come upstairs with the doorman, who didn’t want to let them in either, but agreed to take them this far. The men apparently were quite good with their demands, but our defenders held firm. Then started the questions: had there been an older man around—they described Jay, or I think they were describing Jay. They quizzed Clara and the doorman, and the other man in the lobby, and finally the doorman called the superintendent, who asked them to leave. What strikes me as sinister here, Reed, is that these men had enough presence and authority to avoid a quick refusal. Do you think one of us should go home?”

“I take it they are gone.”

“So the superintendent said, and I thanked him and kept insisting that such people should never be let in under any circumstances. If they come when we are home, then we will go down to the lobby to meet them. Does that sound about right?”

“Of course. The question is, who were they and what did they want?”

“I assume they wanted Jay.”

“Very likely, but not certain. They may have been studying the layout, so to speak. Casing the joint.”

“Whatever for? Anyway, they kept asking the doorman, the superintendent, Clara, even Banny for all I know, if there had been any sign of a man around our apartment, visiting us, staying with us, anything. They were all able to assure him that there was no such person. I got the impression the men were convinced by these sturdy denials.”

“I don’t know why they might have been getting an idea of the layout, in addition to finding out if Jay were with us or had been with us; that’s what I want to know, or at least to figure out. I’ll be done here in a while, and I’ll head home and talk to the men before their shift ends, just to satisfy myself about what questions were asked.”

“Good,” Kate said. “I’ll see you there then. Ought I to worry? I will worry in any case, but have I grounds for serious worry or only generalized anxiety?”

“Somewhere in between, I think. When will you be home?”

“I’ll try to make it by five. No doubt I shall listen with less than my usual patience and sympathy to whoever comes in my office hour.”

“Unlikely. The question is, really, why do these unofficial men want Jay, and how did they know to look for him at our house?”

“So many questions; so few answers.” Kate sighed and hung up.

“What I suspect,” Reed said later, when they were sitting with their drinks, “is that these chaps who didn’t get in here know that Jay has left the Witness Protection Program and want him now, before he can tell the authorities anything. Which leaves even more questions: what did he do? Why was he in the Witness Protection Program? Why did he leave it? What is it he could tell that would endanger our visitors and has them so frightened?”

“Reed, I know it sounds naive, foolish, and unbefitting my professional station in life, but what the hell
is
the Witness Protection Program? I do gather, I really do, that it consists of hiding people who have given information to the police or the FBI or someone for which they could be killed. But how often does that happen outside of television cop shows?”

“Since you had already uttered this same disbelief concerning the Witness Protection Program, I made use today of LexisNexis and found that someone had written about the program for the
New York Times Magazine
.
^*1
Here, I’ll leave it for you to read on your own. Just to note that the wife of the man being moved into the Witness Protection Program as described in this article agrees with your disbelief. When she realizes that she must abandon her life for another one utterly different, she says: ‘I couldn’t believe it was real. All that time I didn’t think that this type of organization really existed. I thought it was just in the movies.’ It was real enough. She and her husband, together with their three children, would begin a new life in a new place where they knew no one, would have different names, and be permitted to take virtually nothing of their past with them into their new existence. The woman who had thought this organization existed only in the movies would never see her parents and her siblings again.”

“Could they leave the program?”

“Yes. But at least by 1996 when this article was published, no one in the program had been murdered, but thirty who had left the program had been murdered.”

“So the odds are that Jay will be murdered.”

“The odds are that he is in danger; serious danger.”

Kate shook her head. “I can’t believe this is happening; the normal reaction under the circumstances, no doubt. One has to accept that Jay was either a criminal testifying against another criminal, or that at the least, he was involved with criminals, testified against them, and was thus in danger for his life and went into the Witness Protection Program. Does that seem a fair statement of the facts?”

“It does to me,” Reed said. “But we are talking about a program, or organization, which is hardly open about its operations or any facts about those taken into it. I don’t think it’s quite time to conclude that your father was a criminal; the most we can assume is that he was a witness, and that that puts him in danger.”

“That still leaves us with our own facts—that he shows up in our lives, establishes himself irrefutably, thanks to modern science, as my father, while leaving us to guess what his motive was.”

“For showing up? For leaving the program?”

“All of that. But why is connecting himself to me the advisable action for him to take at this time? How does it serve his, if not criminal, at least hardly legal or conventionally upright purposes?”

“My dear, I hardly know what to say. We can’t demand that he appear and explain himself. We certainly can’t demand to be told about him by the Witness Protection Program; I doubt even Laurence’s influence could accomplish that. I realize it’s no use asking you not to brood about it, because of course you can hardly help brooding about it.”

“Are you sure Laurence couldn’t find out more from the Witness Protection people?” Kate asked. “If there’s one thing we all know about the government and Washington bureaus and so forth, it’s that money and power—which are probably the same thing—can buy you any information or influence you want. After all, Nixon could get the FBI to go after people who openly opposed the Vietnam War.”

“I don’t know how far Laurence’s arm reaches. I could ask him; you could do your best to persuade him at least to set queries into motion. He has to feel some responsibility to you in all this, quite apart from his own fears and angers. But think, Kate. Do you really want to do that?”

“I don’t know what I really want to do. I hate the thought of encouraging Laurence against Jay, if you want to know the truth; at least I think I hate the thought. On the other hand, whatever nefarious practices Laurence had indulged in, they are, so to speak, accepted nefarious practices.”

“Kate, I’m not sure . . .”

“Remember when George W. Bush was elected president, or anyway, when he achieved the presidency? He had taken a lot of campaign money from the oil and the mining industries, and the first thing he did upon taking office was to reject his campaign promise to lower emissions standards, and to revoke Clinton’s attempt to reduce the amount of arsenic in our water. Don’t you think Laurence had a part in all that, or something very like it?”

“Do I take that to mean you don’t want to encourage Laurence in his pursuit of Jay or that you do? I don’t say I am entirely in accord with your judgments of Laurence; you are rather being carried away, if you’ll forgive my mentioning it. On the other hand, I do concur in your taking no action, at least for now, if that’s what you’ve decided. As you know, I’ll back you in whatever you decide to do, as long as it is not criminal. I’ve no desire to be swept off with you into the Witness Protection Program; our life here is certainly worth preserving, as I hope you agree.”