Then she must have seen me pushed into the cab.'

'Not necessarily. She could simply be living in the hope that you'd got clear in some way.'

'No one,' Upjohn said, 'saw him getting into the cab. I was there.'

'Her number?' This was Purdom.

'You'll get all that,' Ferris told him, 'if there's anything you can do.'

Purdom shut up again. I wished he wouldn't just sit in that bloody chair and brood. I could feel vibrations coming out of him that jarred the nerves and I tried the whole time to ignore the man because the truth couldn't be faced: he could have been called out here to replace me the minute the debriefing was over, and he'd seen what the opposition had already done to the shadow in the field, and didn't like it.

What would I do, then, if London sent instructions to pull me out of Barracuda'?

Go to ground.

Vanish and work from the dark, from the silence of the catacombs. A pox on them.

There is nothing worse, my friend, for the executive in the field than to be replaced, to be sent home crippled with his inadequacies, bringing nothing with him but the news of a lost cause and leaving behind him nothing but his bloodied tracks. Nothing worse, you understand, than professional ignominy, the irretrievable loss of face.

Correction, yes. There would be, at this phase of this particular mission, one thing worse.

'You said – ' Ferris, 'that Harvester repeated word for word a political diatribe you'd heard before, from Proctor.'

'Yes.'

I noticed Alvarez shift in his chair.

Ferris said quietly, 'How could you remember it word for word?'

'I – ' and left it. I didn't know.

'Could you repeat it now – ' Alvarez – 'word for word?'

'Yes.' Beginning to sweat because I remembered how Kim Harvester had looked when she'd gone through the same material on board the tug, stabbing at the peach stone with the knife, withdrawn, robotic.

Ferris looked at Upjohn. 'Tape?'

'Sure.' He got the recorder and waited with his finger on the button.

'When you're ready,' Ferris said.

It was frightening because I went straight into it without any hesitation, bringing it out at a measured pace, He's a statesman with a world view that we haven't seen since Nixon… half his face in shadow beside the brass hanging lamp… very much hope the Thatcher government realises what we've got in Mathieson Judd… the first stirring of the wind as the eye of the storm began moving across the town… his understanding of the internecine struggle for power inside the Kremlin… my voice distant-seeming, the words unnaturally paced, until it was finished and the voice stopped, and I looked up to see Alvarez watching me, leaning forward, intent.

'Finished?' Ferris.

'Yes.' The skin crawling.

Upjohn shut down the recorder. No one spoke so I said, 'What did I look like?'

Short silence and then Upjohn said, 'Bit switched off.'

'You were in an altered state of consciousness,' Alvarez said, 'somewhere between alpha and theta waves.'

I got the decanter and emptied it into the glass, only half full, took it at a gulp while Upjohn asked Alvarez where the tap was. 'That was where I picked it up,' I told Ferris. 'I got visuals with it.'

'Proctor.'

'Yes. But I mean it wasn't just that he'd told me that stuff viva voce. I wouldn't have remembered it word for word. I was picking it up from the background.'

'Just as he had, before.'

'Yes. The same subliminal source.'

'Again,' Alvarez asked, 'was there music playing?'

'No. Nothing in the background.'

Ferris was making notes. 'Is that all you've got in your mind about Mathieson Judd?'

'Yes.' Poured some more water and drank it.

'You don't know anything about the elections?'

'No.'

'You haven't followed the news.'

'Christ,' I said, 'I haven't had much time to read the papers.'

'So you have no ideas,' Alvarez said, 'about Senator Judd's chief competitor, Governor Anderson?'

'No.' The water was cool, and I savoured it. 'Except of course that he's trying to tell the voters that there's so much wrong with America after the Republican four-year term that the country needs taking apart and rebuilding,' the water cool in a dry mouth, a quietness in the room as deep as the quietness that snow brings, 'whereas Judd's theme is reassuring – the country's in good shape and all we need to do is consolidate the gains that have been made under the present administration,' the glass making a small musical sound when I put it back on the silver tray, the quietness settling.

'Go on,' someone said gently.

'So it's not a question of whether each argument is right or wrong, but a question of which message is the more likely to appeal to the nation. Obviously, Senator Judd's.'

And then after a long time I couldn't hear my voice any more and I saw Ferris leaning across the desk talking to the psychiatrist and Purdom watching me from his chair and Upjohn switching off the recorder. I'd been walking about, I think, and now I sat down.

Ferris was facing me suddenly. 'Do you know how long you spoke for?'

'No.'

'Nineteen minutes, with no interruption.'

I felt drained, emptied of something. Looking up at Ferris, not wanting to believe it. 'That bad?'

'Do you know what you were talking about?'

'Yes. Anderson's campaign theme. And Judd's.'

'There's nothing buried,' Alvarez said, 'you must understand. The material is quite near the surface,

an integral part of the conscious, even though it was ingested subliminally, by the subconscious.'

Ferris sat down again and got his pad. Off-handedly, not looking at me, 'Have you any more instructions?'

The nerves sent a tremor through the organism. In a moment, 'What instructions?'

Still not looking at me, busy writing, 'I mean is there anywhere you've got to go, anything you've got to do? It's only a thought, you don't need to worry about it.'

Time going by, while the skin chilled under the sweat and their faces watched me, not with their eyes, with their heads turned, listening.

Instructions.

After a long time, 'No. I don't think so. I don't know.' And then I was on my feet suddenly and looking down at Alvarez. 'How much stuff have I got in there, for God's sake? How much more?'

He said: 'We may never know.'

03:14.

Ferris made a final note on the debriefing pad and put it into his briefcase and looked at Alvarez. 'May I use the phone, Doctor?'

'By all means.'

'I need to call London.'

'I understand. The switch is just under the desk here.' At the door he said, 'I shan't be far away, if you need me.'

Did he expect me to go berserk or something?

Control, yes. Mea culpa.

Ferris went behind the carved redwood desk and picked up the phone and sat with it, elbows on the big green blotter, his eyes nowhere, thinking. Then he dialled.

I got up again, not wanting to go on sitting there waiting, moved about a little, took another look at those bloody elephants, God what a waste of a good tusk.

We may never know.

Like an echo in the mind. How big, then, was the worm in the apple, how healthy, how vigorous? As big as a snake? As a dragon?

'Miami,' Ferris said. 'Get me Board 3.'

Board 3 was for Barracuda.

8:15 in the fair city of Londinium, with the double-deckers jamming Piccadilly Circus and the taxis dodging through the gaps, their black tops bright with rain.

'Yes, good morning. I'm switching to scramble.'

I have no wish, not the slightest wish, to go to London, whatever they say, whatever they decide.

Purdom moved now, got out of his chair. He was like me, couldn't just sit still nursing his nerves. If you were to ask me for whom the bell tolled, I would tell you that it tolled for him too.