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.”“I’m not getting a lot of guidance here,” Petty protested.“None of us are.”“I’m giving you my opinion,” Lambert said.“Not what I think you want to hear.Aren’t we trying to prevent everything going splat, right in our faces?”McCarthy grimaced.“Didn’t you ask him outright if he wanted to quit?”“A few times,” Lambert said.“I never got a full answer, on any occasion.First he’d say yes, then he’d say no.”“What did that signify?”“‘I’m not a quitter,’” Lambert quoted.“I don’t think it’s sufficient, any of it,” Erickson said.“So far we’ve lost nothing.We’ve been lucky.Let’s cut loose while we’re still ahead.”“That’s my feeling, too,” Petty said.McCarthy held out his glass to be replenished, and when Lambert returned with it, the Plans director said to the psychologist, “What decision would you make in our position?”Lambert stared down at the man for several moments.“It’s possible.” the psychologist said.“Possible but dangerous.On balance, you’re going to need a hell of a lot of luck.”“It’s always dangerous,” Sneider said.“I’ve got an idea,” McCarthy said.“A hell of an idea.”“We cut adrift from O’Farrell?” Sneider anticipated, for once wrongly.The Plans Director frowned at his deputy.“Christ, no!” he said.“Whatever made you think that?”TWENTY-FIVEJILL WASN’T there when he got back to Alexandria.Three or four days earlier, before the sessions with Lambert, it would have thrown him for a loop, because he’d telephoned from Fort Pearce hours ahead, telling her of his supposed return on the afternoon British Airways flight.As it was, he contained the reaction to mild surprise.Jill was conscientious and often worked late at the clinic; hours sometimes, although he didn’t think she would tonight because she knew he was getting back.He made a drink and wandered about the house, feeling its familiarity wrap comfortingly around him.He felt safe, secure.The impression reminded him of what Lambert had said, at one of their sessions; the first, he thought, although he wasn’t sure.The man had been right.Climbing under the bedcovers was just what he’d wanted to do; hide for a long time in the darkness, where no one could find him.Know he was there, even.He’d needed Lambert, needed the man more than he could calculate at this moment.Not that he could forget what had happened in London.It had been appalling and would always be with him.But Lambert had put it into perspective for him; he didn’t have any problem with the word “accident” anymore.Because that was what it had been: an appalling, ugly accident.But accidents happened.How had Lambert put it? The very fact that this was the first, ever, showed how careful he was, how professional.Something like that.It had been an incredible relief to be able to talk as he’d talked to Lambert.He knew the feeling was ridiculous, after so short a time, but he found it easy to think of Lambert as a friend, the way the man had asked him to.Think of me as a friend, someone you can call and talk about anything, anytime.O’Farrell wasn’t sure that he would.It was all right this time, because of the circumstances.He’d needed the man.But to want to talk through things again might make Lambert think he was sonic soft of goofball, one of those goofballs who kept regular weekly appointments with a shrink and couldn’t function without them.Then again, he might.It wasn’t something he had to decide right now.The tour inevitably ended in the den.The copied archive and the fading photograph that Jill had collected for him were still packaged, waiting to be refiled.He’d known the Agency kept tabs on him—it was a logical precaution—but he’d never guessed it was so complete.O’Farrell jerked his head up at a thought, gazing around the bookshelves and the furniture, at everything.Would the house be wired? With Jill out every day, the technical people would have had every opportunity to set a system up.O’Farrell started to move and then stopped, sitting back in his chair.He’d be wasting his time.The micro-technology now was so advanced that even an expert, like he was supposed to be, wouldn’t find anything.It was an eerie thought; unsettling.He didn’t bother with the files.The copied photograph was disappointing; his great-grandfather looked different, oddly, absurdly, more like the gunslingers he’d hunted than the lawman he had been.O’Farrell checked his watch.He’d been home for over an hour.Where was Jill? An emergency, perhaps? But why hadn’t she called, or had a secretary call?The clinic receptionist was a bouncy black girl named Annabelle who said hi and how was London and she wanted to go there someday.If there were an electronic monitor, Langley wasn’t going to be pleased, O’Farrell thought.Annabelle, confused, said Jill had left hours ago, around lunchtime, without saying where she was going.O’Farrell’s immediate thought was Chicago, and he was relieved that Ellen was in the apartment.Ellen was as surprised as the receptionist at the clinic; she’d spoken to her mother the previous evening but there’d been no arrangements for her to fly up.O’Farrell said there had to be some misunderstanding at his end and it was unimportant, carrying on the conversation that was necessary.Billy was fine and Patrick had promised to clear up the arrears and maintain both the alimony and child support in the future, so she didn’t think it was necessary to start any legal pressure at the moment
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