identity get blurred, Mr Webb. Especially for one who has been through so much. '
'Who the hell are you?'
'A friend, be assured of that. And a friend cautions one he calls a friend. You've made outrageous accusations against some of our country's most dedicated servants - men who will never be permitted an unaccountable five million dollars - to this day unaccounted for. '
'Do you want to search me?'
'No more than I'd care to trace the labyrinthine ways your most accomplished wife buried the funds in a dozen European-'
'She's gone!' Did your dedicated men tell you that'
'You were described as being overwrought - "raving" was the word that was used and making astonishing accusations relative to your wife, yes. '
'Relative to- Goddamn you, she was taken from our house! Someone's holding her because they want me?
'Are you sure?
'Ask that dead fish McAllister. It's his scenario, right down to the note. And suddenly he's on the other side of the world!'
'A note?' asked the cultured voice.
'Very clear. Very specific. It's McAllister's story, and he let it happen!. You let it happen!'
'Perhaps you should examine the note further. '
'Why?'
'No matter. It may all become clearer to you with help, psychiatric help. '
' What?
'We want to do all we can for you, believe that. You've given so much - more than any man should - and your extraordinary contribution cannot be disregarded even if it comes to a court of law. We placed you in the situation and we will stand by you - even if it means bending the laws, coercing the courts. '
'What are you talking about? screamed David.
'A respected army doctor tragically killed his wife several years ago, it was in all the papers. The stress became too much. The stresses on you were tenfold. '
'1 don't believe this!'
'Let's put it another way, Mr Bourne. '
'I'm not Bourne!'
'All right, Mr Webb, I'll be frank with you. '
'That's a step up!'
'You're not a well man. You've gone through eight months of psychiatric therapy there's still a great deal of your own life you can't remember; you didn't even know your name. It's all in the medical records, meticulous records that make clear the advanced state of your mental illness, your compulsion for violence and your obsessive rejection of your own identity. In your torment you fantasize, you pretend to be people you are not; you seem to have a compulsion to be someone other than yourself. '
That's crazy and you know it! Lies!"
'Crazy is a harsh word, Mr Webb, and the lies are not mine. However, it's my job to protect our government from false vilification, unfounded accusations that could severely damage the country. '
'Such as?'
'Your secondary fantasy concerning an unknown organization you call Medusa. Now, I'm sure your wife will come back to you - if she can, Mr Webb. But if you persist with this fantasy, with this figment of your tortured mind that you call Medusa, we'll label you a paranoid schizophrenic, a pathological liar prone to uncontrollable violence and self-deception. If such a man claims his wife is missing, who knows where that pathological trip could lead? Do I make myself clear?
David closed his eyes, the sweat rolling down his face. 'Crystal clear,' he said quietly, hanging up the phone.
Paranoid... pathological. Bastards! He opened his eyes wanting to spend his rage by hurling himself against something, anything! Then he stopped and stood motionless as another thought struck him, the obvious thought. Morris Panov! Mo Panov would label the three monsters for what he knew they were. Incompetents and liars, manipulators and self-serving protectors of corrupt bureaucracies - and conceivably worse, far worse. He reached for the phone and, trembling, dialled the number that so often in the past had brought forth a calming, rational voice that provided a sense of worth when Webb felt there was very little of value left in him.
'David, how good to hear from you,' said Panov with genuine warmth.
'I'm afraid it's
'Who the hell are you?'
'A friend, be assured of that. And a friend cautions one he calls a friend. You've made outrageous accusations against some of our country's most dedicated servants - men who will never be permitted an unaccountable five million dollars - to this day unaccounted for. '
'Do you want to search me?'
'No more than I'd care to trace the labyrinthine ways your most accomplished wife buried the funds in a dozen European-'
'She's gone!' Did your dedicated men tell you that'
'You were described as being overwrought - "raving" was the word that was used and making astonishing accusations relative to your wife, yes. '
'Relative to- Goddamn you, she was taken from our house! Someone's holding her because they want me?
'Are you sure?
'Ask that dead fish McAllister. It's his scenario, right down to the note. And suddenly he's on the other side of the world!'
'A note?' asked the cultured voice.
'Very clear. Very specific. It's McAllister's story, and he let it happen!. You let it happen!'
'Perhaps you should examine the note further. '
'Why?'
'No matter. It may all become clearer to you with help, psychiatric help. '
' What?
'We want to do all we can for you, believe that. You've given so much - more than any man should - and your extraordinary contribution cannot be disregarded even if it comes to a court of law. We placed you in the situation and we will stand by you - even if it means bending the laws, coercing the courts. '
'What are you talking about? screamed David.
'A respected army doctor tragically killed his wife several years ago, it was in all the papers. The stress became too much. The stresses on you were tenfold. '
'1 don't believe this!'
'Let's put it another way, Mr Bourne. '
'I'm not Bourne!'
'All right, Mr Webb, I'll be frank with you. '
'That's a step up!'
'You're not a well man. You've gone through eight months of psychiatric therapy there's still a great deal of your own life you can't remember; you didn't even know your name. It's all in the medical records, meticulous records that make clear the advanced state of your mental illness, your compulsion for violence and your obsessive rejection of your own identity. In your torment you fantasize, you pretend to be people you are not; you seem to have a compulsion to be someone other than yourself. '
That's crazy and you know it! Lies!"
'Crazy is a harsh word, Mr Webb, and the lies are not mine. However, it's my job to protect our government from false vilification, unfounded accusations that could severely damage the country. '
'Such as?'
'Your secondary fantasy concerning an unknown organization you call Medusa. Now, I'm sure your wife will come back to you - if she can, Mr Webb. But if you persist with this fantasy, with this figment of your tortured mind that you call Medusa, we'll label you a paranoid schizophrenic, a pathological liar prone to uncontrollable violence and self-deception. If such a man claims his wife is missing, who knows where that pathological trip could lead? Do I make myself clear?
David closed his eyes, the sweat rolling down his face. 'Crystal clear,' he said quietly, hanging up the phone.
Paranoid... pathological. Bastards! He opened his eyes wanting to spend his rage by hurling himself against something, anything! Then he stopped and stood motionless as another thought struck him, the obvious thought. Morris Panov! Mo Panov would label the three monsters for what he knew they were. Incompetents and liars, manipulators and self-serving protectors of corrupt bureaucracies - and conceivably worse, far worse. He reached for the phone and, trembling, dialled the number that so often in the past had brought forth a calming, rational voice that provided a sense of worth when Webb felt there was very little of value left in him.
'David, how good to hear from you,' said Panov with genuine warmth.
'I'm afraid it's
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