“And what you want as well.”
“You’re mistaken. I thought I made myself clear the other night. But though my timing was apparently bad, under no circumstances do I want him to die.”
“You made your speech to force him.”
“And Paul thinks I made it to stop him.” I couldn’t help smiling. “I am, it seems, everyone’s enemy.”
“Paul has told me everything. How you and he and Stokharin all decided, without consulting us, that John should die.”
I was astonished at Paul’s boldness. Could he really be moving so swiftly? How else explain such a prodigious lie? I told her quickly, urgently what I felt, what I had said to Paul and he to me. She heard me to the end without expressing either belief or disbelief. When I’d finished she turned away from me and went to the window where, through yellow glass, the city rose upon the band of horizon.
“It’s too late,” she said, evenly. “I hadn’t expected this. Perhaps you’re telling me the truth ... if you are, you’ve made a terrible mistake.” She turned about suddenly, with a precision which was almost military. “He’s going to do it.”
The awful words fell like a weight upon a scale. I felt blindly for a chair and sat down, all strength gone. “Stop him,” I said, all that I could say. “Stop him.”
“It’s too late for that.” She took pity on me. “I think you’re telling me the truth. Gene.” She came over to where I was sitting and looked down at me gently. “I’m sorry I accused you. I should have realized Paul was lying.”
“You can stop him.”