The Overseer (64 page)

Still rummaging through the refrigerator, Pierson popped his head out and said, “Just as long as she’s holding it on the way out.”

“We go at seven,” said O’Connell, his attention back on those around the table. “You’ve each got copies of the prints—that includes you, too,” he said over his shoulder to Pierson. O’Connell then looked at his watch. “Let’s say an hour. Familiarized and with specific options.” The group dispersed, and O’Connell made his way to the door, nodding to Sarah to join him. A minute later, they were outside.

“How are the ribs?” he asked.

“Stiff, but I’ll survive.”

“You’ve had worse.” He sat on the ledge of the porch. “You don’t have to do this, you know. You can monitor it from here.” Her silence sufficed as response. “It’s a motley crew,” he continued, “but worth every penny. They’ll get us in and out.”

“If we can find some nondiet soda,” answered Sarah. She sat.

“Ah, yes, Toby. Met him in Benghazi. Good lad. Couldn’t understand why he was roaming around a city that barely had enough electricity to boil water; then I found he’d met someone who was interested in a Mossad tracking system. A certain Colonel.” O’Connell squinted, trying to remember. “I think he made Toby a lieutenant. Might have been a major. Toby just liked the hat.”

Sarah laughed, then stopped.

“You can’t worry about him,” added the Irishman.

“It’s not our computer friend I’m worried about.”

“I know,” he answered. “They had a clear shot and they didn’t take it.” Sarah said nothing. “Chances are, Jaspers is still alive.”

“But for how long?” she asked.

“That’s why we’re going in quiet.” O’Connell paused. “Now, you don’t think I’d tell that lot in there about it, would I? You’ve got Toby. I’ll take care of the professor.”

Sarah smiled. “Alison was right. You’re a nice man, Gaelin. A very nice man.”   

 

The two academics had barely begun to talk when a woman appeared at the door.

“What?” Lundsdorf had barked, his irritation apparent.

“I’m sorry to disturb you—”

“Yes, yes. What is it?”

“Mr. Tieg has just arrived.”

Xander had seen the momentary look of surprise in the old man’s eyes, though Lundsdorf had been quick to recover. “Thank you, Ms. Palmerston. Tell him I will be with him presently.” Turning to Xander, he had added, “Nothing you need concern yourself with. In fact, some time alone might give you the opportunity to consider your … position.”

That had been nearly two hours ago. Since then, Xander had showered, shaved, and dressed, venturing out into the maze of hallways for a tour of the house. Not once, though, had he stopped thinking about Lundsdorf’s words, the enormity of their implication. “
I knew from the start, from those first days with your dissertation.”
Lundsdorf had spoken with absolute certainty.
“Here was the mind I had been waiting for. Here was the spirit to sustain the vision. It was simply a question of when to introduce you to it.
” Xander had stood in utter disbelief. “
You are the one to succeed me
.
You are the one who must take the reins.
” Even now, having been ushered into a small dining room to face a plate of poached halibut,
Xander
found it hard to summon an appetite, despite the gnawing pit in his stomach.

As if on cue, Lundsdorf entered, a second man just behind him at the door. “I see they have gotten something for you to eat. Splendid. I trust you are feeling up to it?”  

“Not much of an appetite, no.”

“Understandable,” Lundsdorf said as he sat across from Xander, “but you would do well to try a few mouthfuls. Recover your strength.” The second man remained by the door.

“I hear Votapek’s arrived,” said Xander. “Another unexpected guest?”

Lundsdorf smiled. “Try the hollandaise. It is really quite good.”

Xander stared at him. “Have you told them?”

“Told—ah, you mean about our conversation.”

“I’ll save you the trouble. I’ve considered the ‘position.’ I decline.”

For a moment, Lundsdorf said nothing; then, in his most comforting voice, he spoke. “What a strain this past week must have placed on you. I, too, was hesitant at first. But, as I said, in such matters, there is no choice. Such things demand more of us than perhaps we are able to see. In a less disoriented state, you will look on it quite differently.”

“I see. Read the manuscript and become a disciple?” Xander pushed the plate to the middle of the table. “You seem to forget. I
did
read it; and I
didn’t
convert. I’m sure, though, you can find someone equally
spirited
from within the ranks. Isn’t that what those schools are all about?”

“What you read was a piece of theory written over four hundred years ago. And we both know your mind and heart were not exactly in the right place to appreciate it. You read from the standpoint of uncertainty, from fear. It is not, to say the least, the best position to be in when passing judgment.”

“My judgment—”

“As to choosing from within the ranks,” he continued, “that was never a possibility. After Tempsten, we were forced to revise the curriculum,
concentrate
on the more immediate goals. We designed schools to produce soldiers, individuals who could carry out the tasks set before them.”

“Mindless automatons.”

“No, that would be unfair. Each of them recognizes the larger end, albeit on a somewhat rudimentary level. It will be another generation before we can produce the types of leaders from whom to choose an overseer. Even now, the new curriculum is showing remarkable results. The past eighteen hours are a testament to that.”

“Very reassuring.”

“
Xander
,” there was a fatherly tone to his voice, “you have
so much
to offer. Not just your mind but your compassion, your ability to make people better than they are, to force them to see their own excellence; I have seen it time and again with your students. It is remarkable. And it is
that
gift you will bring to the theory,
that
quality which will allow you to temper Eisenreich’s brutal side. The chance to take what is already in place and make
even
it better than it is.” Lundsdorf paused. “I am giving you the opportunity to improve on what
I
have created.”

Xander did not answer for a moment. “And you expect me to thank you.”

“To lead during the most crucial period in the entire process? Yes.”

“I see.” Xander seemed to nod in agreement. “So crucial that you didn’t think it necessary to explain any of this to me beforehand? What were you afraid of—that I’d find implementing the theory lunatic even if I hadn’t stumbled onto it myself? Or am I talking in terms of
choice
again?”

“I was afraid of nothing. If you were thinking a bit more clearly, you would see that as well.”

“So when exactly were you planning to introduce me to the manuscript? You discovered my
extraordinary
gifts fifteen years ago. What took so long?”

“Actually, it was to have been four years ago.” Lundsdorf reached over and took a spear of asparagus. “When you first showed an interest. That article you wrote on the myth of Eisenreich was quite inventive, especially given your limited resources. But then Fiona fell ill. It was not the time. Understandably, you associated anything to do with Eisenreich with her. It was very difficult, I can assure you.”

Xander waited, then spoke. “I’m sorry Fiona’s death was such an inconvenience for you.”

Lundsdorf remained silent for a long moment. “I can understand—”

“No, you can’t.” There was no emotion in his voice. “Please don’t mention her again.”

Neither said a word. Xander was the first to break the silence. “So when did you intend to bring me into the fold?”

“A great irony, that.” Lundsdorf dipped his finger into the hollandaise and sampled the sauce. “No doubt Miss Trent told you about Arthur Pritchard.”

“Yes.”

“Unfortunately, I misjudged his curiosity, or perhaps, I should say, his ambition. He was not content with the role I had given him. Hence Miss Trent. He thought she could find him the manuscript, explain his future place. When she would not, he exposed her to us, no doubt thinking—given her past—that she would try to eliminate me, thus leaving him free to become overseer. Had she not arrived at your door, you and I would have sat down with the manuscript on your return from Milan. Fortuna, however, had other plans. In that regard, Signore Machiavelli might very well have been right.”

“A week before? That’s when you were going to tell me?”

“Oh, I might not have told you at all … but then Pescatore began to publish his articles, and it became imperative that you and I talk. I knew you would speak with him in Florence. He told me so himself. It seemed an appropriate moment.” He took another spear. “There would have been time.”

“Why kill Carlo?”

“Again with Pescatore.” Lundsdorf looked genuinely surprised by the remark. “Was he such a friend that you feel the need to press this point?”

“Just a man’s life,” answered Xander, “that’s all.”

“Oh, I see,” nodded Lundsdorf. “And the life you took was justified? The man on the train from Frankfurt?”

“If you can’t see the difference … I was protecting myself.”

“And
I
was protecting something far greater than one life. How easily you have taken on the role of moralist. I do not think it suits you.”

“Perhaps because it’s not in keeping with your usual company.”

The smile disappeared. Lundsdorf returned to the asparagus.

“And the same for Ganz and Clara?”

“By then, it was a matter of security, but yes. I needed to know what you had found. Mrs. Huber was … the most obvious choice. I knew you would send it to her. Her death was … a mistake. You might find some solace in knowing that the woman responsible is no longer capable of such things.”

“I don’t.”

“Pity.”

Xander waited before speaking. “So once again, everything had to be just right for me to
appreciate
the manuscript. So much for my ‘genius’ if you thought you had to hold my hand while I read it.”

“Not at all. I have known you for fifteen years, Xander. I have seen your mind develop, have helped to guide it in that development. You can be assured, I know
exactly
what it is that compels you.”

“You
always
thought you knew what I wanted.
That
was the problem.”

Lundsdorf pulled the rubber-banded Machiavelli from his pocket and placed it on the table. “I, too, have always been rather fond of our Italian friend. The tapes from last night only confirm what I have known all along. Even now, you are growing more and more intrigued—”

“I’ve formed my opinion of your ‘vision,’ whatever you think those tapes tell you, and no amount of intellectual jousting is going to change that.”

“Xander”—Lundsdorf again in gentler tone—“when the chaos has run its course, you will understand why the manuscript is our only hope for a future. You will embrace its promise of permanence.”

“Along with its promise of manipulation, brutality, hatred?”

“
Tame
the theory, Xander. Temper it. You alone can do this. We both know that men will never abandon their aggression, nor their penchant for hatred. If, on the other hand, we can find a way to direct those appetites to a
positive
end, then we must accept the responsibility to do so. You have spoken of choices—I agree. I am telling you that chaos is inevitable. The question arises: If we do not step in, then who? The military? It is, as you know, the most likely response. Foist chaos on a people and you have but limited time before they run to their generals for protection. Would you prefer that?” He paused. “Remember Cincinnatus. He had no love of power, no desire to rule, but Rome called him to serve, and he obeyed. Sadly, he abandoned his post too soon, and the generals returned.
You
will have the power, Xander, you
alone
to shape the process whereby we may tame the worst that is within us. Surely you can see the nobility in that.”

“In the same way that Votapek, Sedgewick, and Tieg do?” Xander watched as the warmth slipped from Lundsdorf’s eyes. “How foolish of me to think that it’s the promise of
power
that draws them, not their ‘nobility.’” Something suddenly struck him. “That’s why they’re here, isn’t it? That’s why the surprise visits. It’s time to see who’s in control.”

“I said that need not concern you.”

“Are they as eager for me to take the reins as you are?”

“It is of no consequence.”

Xander smiled. For the first time in days, he smiled. “You really think you can control all of this, don’t you? Me, Votapek, Tieg—the manuscript says it
must
be so, and therefore it
will
be so. One virtuous man to make the world right. One man to make a virtue of brutality and deception.”

“You are not thinking clearly.”

“Things have never been clearer.” Xander paused. “
Theory
—that’s all it is.” He picked up the Machiavelli. “All
this
is. All it can ever be.”