按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！
ted to have paid 10 million for the book； said that the finishing touches were now being put to the manuscript。 “This is going to be a world publishing event；” Mr。 Maddox toldThe New York Times in a telephone interview yesterday。 “Adam Lang will be giving the first full inside scoop by a leader on the West’s war on terror。”
I rose； folded the newspaper； and walked with dignity through the lobby； carefully stepping around the camera bags； the two…foot zoom lenses； and the handheld mikes in their woolly gray windproof prophylactics。 Between the members of the fourth estate； a cheerful； almost a party atmosphere prevailed； as might have existed among eighteenth…century gentlefolk off for a good day out at a hanging。
“The newsroom says the press conference in The Hague is now at ten o’clock Eastern；” someone shouted。
I passed unnoticed and went out onto the veranda； where I put a call through to my agent。 His assistant answered—Brad； or Brett； or Brat： I forget his name； Rick changed his staff almost as quickly as he changed his wives。
I asked to speak to Mr。 Ricardelli。
“He’s away from the office right now。”
“Where is he？”
“On a fishing trip。”
“Fishing？”
“He’ll be calling in occasionally to check his messages。”
“That’s nice。 Where is he？”
“The Bouma National Heritage Rainforest Park。”
“Christ。 Where’s that？”
“It was a spur…of…the…moment thing—”
“Where is it？”
Brad； or Brett； or Brat； hesitated。 “Fiji。”
THE MINIVAN TOOK MEup the hill out of Edgartown； past the bookshop and the little cinema and the whaling church。 When we reached the edge of town； we followed the signs left to West Tisbury rather than right to Vineyard Haven； which at least implied that I was being taken back to the house； rather than straight to the ferry to be deported for breaching the Official Secrets Act。 I sat behind the police driver； my suitcase on the seat beside me。 He was one of the younger ones； dressed in their standard non…uniform uniform of gray zippered jacket and black tie。 His eyes sought mine in the mirror and he observed that it was all a very bad business。 I replied briefly that it was； indeed； a bad business； and then pointedly stared out of the window to avoid having to talk。
We were quickly into the flat countryside。 A deserted cycle track ran beside the road。 Beyond it stretched the drab forest。 My frail body might be on Martha’s Vineyard but my mind was in the South Pacific。 I was thinking of Rick in Fiji and all the elaborate and humiliating ways I could fire him when he got back。 The rational part of me knew I would never do it—why shouldn’t he go fishing？—but the irrational was to the fore that morning。 I suppose I was afraid； and fear distorts one’s judgment even more than alcohol and exhaustion。 I felt duped； abandoned； aggrieved。
“After I’ve dropped you off； sir；” said the policeman； undeterred by my silence； “I’ve got to pick up Mr。 Kroll from the airport。 You can always tell it’s a bad business when the lawyers start turning up。” He broke off and leaned in close to the windscreen。 “Oh； fuck； here we go again。”
Up ahead it looked as though there had been a traffic accident。 The vivid blue lights of a couple of patrol cars flashed dramatically in the gloomy morning； illuminating the nearby trees like sheet lightning in a Wagner opera。 As we came closer I could see a dozen or more cars and vans pulled up on either side of the road。 People were standing around aimlessly； and I assumed； in that lazy way the brain sometimes assembles information； that they had been in a pileup。 But as the minivan slowed and indicated to turn left； the bystanders started grabbing things from beside the road and came running at us。 “Lang！ Lang！ Lang！” a woman shouted over a bullhorn。 “Liar！ Liar！ Liar！” Images of Lang in an orange jumpsuit； gripping prison bars with bloodied hands； danced in front of the windscreen。 “WANTED！ WAR CRIMINAL！ ADAM LANG！”
The Edgartown police had blocked the track down to the Rhinehart compound with traffic cones and quickly pulled them out of the way to let us through； but not before we’d come to a stop。 Demonstrators surrounded us； and a fusillade of thumps and kicks raked the side of the van。 I glimpsed a brilliant arc of white light illuminating a figure—a man； cowled like a monk。 He turned away from his interviewer to stare at us； and I recognized him dimly from somewhere。 But then he vanished behind a gauntlet of contorted faces； pounding hands； and dripping spit。
“They’re always the really violent bastards；” said my driver； “peace protesters。” He put his foot down； the rear tires slithered uselessly； then bit； and we shot forward into the silent woods。
AMELIA MET ME INthe passage。 She stared contemptuously at my single piece of luggage as only a woman could。
“Is that really everything？”
“I travel light。”
“Light？ I’d saygossamer 。” She sighed。 “Right。 Follow me。”
My suitcase was one of those ubiquitous pull…alongs； with an extendable handle and small wheels。 It made an industrious hum on the stone floor as I trailed after her down the passage and around to the back of the house。
“I tried to call you several times last night；” she said without turning round； “but you didn’t answer。”
Here it comes； I thought。
“I forgot to charge my mobile。”
“Oh？ What about the phone in your room？ I tried that as well。”
“I went out。”
“Until midnight？”
I winced behind her back。 “What did you want to tell me？”
“This。”
She stopped outside a door； opened it； and stood aside to let me go in。 The room was in darkness； but the heavy curtains didn’t quite meet in the middle； and there was just enough light for me to make out the shape of a double bed。 It smelled of stale clothes and old ladies’ soap。 She crossed the floor and briskly pulled back the curtains。
“You’ll be sleeping in here from now on。”
It was a plain room； with sliding glass doors that opened directly onto the lawn。 Apart from the bed； there was a desk with a gooseneck lamp； an armchair covered in something beige and thickly woven； and a wall…length closet with mirrored doors。 I could also see into a white…tiled en suite bathroom。 It was neat and functional； and dismal。
I tried to make a joke of it。 “So this is where you put the granny； is it？”
“No； this is where we put Mike McAra。”
She slid back one of the doors to the closet； revealing a few jackets and shirts on hangers。 “I’m afraid we haven’t had a chance to clear it yet； and his mother’s in a home for the elderly so she doesn’t have the space to store it。 But as you say yourself； you travel light。 And besides； it will only be for a few days； now that publication has been brought forward。”
I’ve never been particularly superstitious； but I do believe that certain places have an atmosphere； and from the moment I stepped into that room； I didn’t like it。 The thought of touching McAra’s clothes filled me with something close to panic。
“I alwa