| is. Take my word for it, I’ve been there in the cold. You should be at that meeting.” “There’s not much I can do about it,” said Montrose in a caustic monotone. “Undersecretary Cranston made a decision. I’m sure he had his reasons.” “They’re famous. He’s concerned about your very personal involvement. He thinks you might fold.” “I resent that.” “So do I. What I resent even more is that, de facto, he’s eliminating any contributions you might make.” “How could I do that?” “It would depend on what was said in the calls to you. Were you able to tape any of them?” “No. The men who spoke to me-different men-said they had equipment that could detect such devices, and if they were activated, the consequences would be severe. However, every conversation was indelibly printed on my mind and in a notebook back in a safe in my house.” “Does Cranston have that notebook, or copies of the pages?” “No, I simply gave him summaries.” “He was satisfied with that?” “It’s what he asked for.” “He’s not only famous, he’s an idiot,” said Pryce. “I think he’s a very brilliant and caring man.” “He may be both, but he’s also an idiot. And how can you say that? He’s excluded you from an important conference that ultimately, directly affects your son.” “I’ll say it again,” replied the lieutenant colonel, “he had his reasons. Perhaps he’s right; how objective can I be?” “I’d say your control is outstanding. I can’t |
waist-high railing to the ceiling, was filled with panels of green Venetian blinds, a number drawn, once more creating shifting shadows. Through the open spaces one saw the scenic splendor of Lake Como, the mountains rising in the distance beyond the blue lake, the trees of the forest having been topped to afford the view. And, as if in counterpoint to the overwhelming natural beauty, there was a row of red telescopes spaced twenty feet apart, the most modern wide-lensed telescopes high technology had developed. All this was absorbed in a breathless few moments, then came the second shock. It was the figure of an old man seated in semidarkness in front of two drawn Venetian blinds. He was in a cushioned white wicker armchair-all the porch furniture was white wicker-and his attire ended once and for all Cameron’s expectations of Scofield’s unkempt friends. Don Silvio Togazzi was dressed in a pale yellow linen suit, white patent-leather shoes, and a blue paisley ascot, the combination undoubtedly custom-made at the most expensive emporium in the Via Condotti. The don may not have lived up to the current ideal of Gentlemen ’s Quarterly, but he certainly would have qualified if the magazine had been published in the late twenties or early thirties. “Forgive me, young people,” said the still ruggedly attractive old man, his tanned, leathery face lit with a smile below his flowing white hair. “But a long-ago injury to my spine has caught up with this ancient body. An injury |
