Landsiedel felt rebuffed; of course, he must have seen the file in Washington. But he persisted. "I meant to ask you a personal question, Major — not just a statistic. Have you ever been in love? Do you have a family? Is there anyone you want to go home to?" Stung by Dugan's bland serenity, Colonel Landsiedel blurted out (though he was not in the habit of blurting, on any occasion whatever) his essential question: "What I really mean is, do you ever stop playing a role, underneath all these different characters, Major? Is there a real Dugan underneath…?"
Dugan turned his eyes away from Landsiedel. Not even looking at him, he said, "That's not the way it seems to me. I'm myself, no matter where I go, no matter what I do. I act out those other people. On the outside, it may look as though I really change. Did I impress you that much — that way?"
"You did," said Landsiedel flatly.
There was another uncomfortable silence.
Dugan said, "I've done a lot of writing since I got back. First I had to explain to the Japanese just why I was repatriated. Those new police are efficient. They smelled something wrong and kept me for three days trying to find out who I really was."
"Why didn't you get word to General Coppersmith or to me?"
"Couldn't," said Dugan. "Some of the other returning prisoners might have been converted to Communism. It would have been a mess if they could follow my trail back. As it is, the Russians are going to have an awful time trying to figure out how many people got into Atomsk that night. There won't be anybody here in Japan who could set them straight."
Landsiedel thought that Dugan looked very tired. Dugan seemed to be playing the least possible degree of impersonation — his own legal self. Letting his head rest against the back of the chair, Dugan rolled his eyes toward Landsiedel and said:
"I'll take that second highball, after all."
While Landsiedel was mixing it at the tray on his desk, Dugan said, a little too casually, "When do I have to call on General Coppersmith?"