Murder in the CIA by Margaret Truman Page B

that phrase and only repeat it to someone who says, ‘The fog is thick.’ ”
    “Yes.”
    “I’m going to count backwards from five to one. When I reach one, you’ll open your eyes and feel very good, very relaxed. Ready?”
    “Yes.”
    “Five—four—three—two—one.”
    She blinked open her eyes and a placid smile crossed her face.
    “Feel good?” Wayman asked.
    “Yes. I feel good.”
    “You look very relaxed, at peace,” Tolker said.
    “Who are you?” she asked.
    Tolker laughed. “You know who I am. I was introduced to you only a few minutes ago.”
    “Yes, I remember. You’re Dr. James.”
    “That’s right. I was wondering, Harriet, about the four people we’ve been discussing.”
    She looked at Wayman and frowned.
    “You know who I mean,” Tolker said, “the four people we’re concerned about. We want to know which ones we can trust and which ones we can’t trust.”
    “I don’t understand,” she said.
    “Of course you don’t,” Wayman said. He looked at Tolker and said, “Go ahead.”
    Tolker said to her, “Harriet, the fog is thick.”
    She closed her eyes, opened them, and blinked rapidly.
    “Did you hear me, Harriet? I said the fog is thick.”
    Her eyes continued to flutter. They rolled up in her head, and her arm began to tremble. She said in a halting, tentative voice, “There are … four people. Some of them are good and … two of them are bad. The bad ones are … Bill … and … Sally.”
    “Excellent,” Wayman said. He sat back and looked to Tolker for approval. Tolker returned to the desk and resumed his seat on its edge.
    Wayman said to Harriet, “That was very good, Harriet. You’re not in your relaxed state anymore. You can open your eyes now. You’ve done a very good job.”
    Tolker watched her come out of her hypnotic state. She shook her head and rubbed her eyes.
    “What do you remember?” Wayman asked her.
    “I remember … I was feeling very good. Is there something else I should remember,
Doctor
?” It was the same angry, scornful voice she’d used earlier.
    “No,” Wayman said. He stood and held out his hand toher. “Why don’t you wait in the other room. I won’t be long. I just want to talk to my colleague for a few moments.”
    She got up and ran her hands over the front of her dress. Tolker observed that she was attractive, a little overweight but with a frank sensuality she was used to displaying. She watched him, openly inviting him as she crossed the room, opened a door, and went out.
    “Impressed?” Wayman said. He’d gone to his chair behind the desk and lighted a cigarette.
    “Yes. She’s good. I’m not sure she’s a five, though.”
    “I test her that way,” said Wayman.
    “I’d have to look again. Her upgaze is, but the eye roll might not be.”
    “Does it really matter?” Wayman asked, not bothering to mask the amusement in his voice. “This search for the perfect five is probably folly, Jason.”
    “I don’t think so. How long have you been working with her?”
    Wayman shrugged. “Six months, eight months. She’s a prostitute, or was, a good one, highly paid.”
    “A call girl.”
    “That is more genteel. We came across her by accident. One of the contacts arranged for her to bring men to the safehouse. I watched a few of the sessions and realized that what I was seeing in
her
was far more interesting than the way the men were behaving under drugs. I mentioned it to the contact and the next time she was up, we were introduced. I started working with her the next day.”
    “She was that willing?”
    “She’s bright, enjoys the attention.”
    “And the money?”
    “We’re paying her fairly.”
    Tolker laughed. “Is this the first time she’s been put to the test?”
    It was Wayman’s turn to laugh. “For heaven’s sake, no. I’d started planting messages with her and testing the recall process within the first month. She’s never failed.”
    “I’ll have to see