Killing Time by Caleb Carr

on the lower level with me, I
could see that they were all concerned as to what shape their leader was in.
They relaxed again, however, when we all heard Tressalian call out:
    "It simply would not be
dinner without one of our rousing professional differences of opinion! Though
you'll find, Dr. Wolfe, that these discussions can become quite personal as the
evening wears on."
    Slow, heavy steps on the metal
staircase indicated that Tressalian was making his way down with the aid of his
crutches, and soon he appeared, his light blue eyes bearing no trace of the
agony that had filled them earlier. Behind him I could see Colonel Slayton,
ever on the alert for any sign of trouble, as well as Larissa, who looked only
more beautiful for having brought us through a hard-fought engagement with law
enforcement.
    "Well, gentlemen, whom are
we beating up on tonight?" Tressalian went on. It occurred to me that
once they saw that he had recovered from his bout of illness, none of the
others thought to ask the man how he felt, even though the attack that had
seized first his head and then his entire body had been savage. I took my cue
from their example, remembering Tarbell's statement that these episodes were
something of a regular occurrence and assuming, as I had when I'd first seen
him struggle out of his wheelchair, that help and sympathy were not things
Tressalian desired.
    "Oh, Malcolm, it's
absurd!" bellowed Fouché, who appeared from the galley. "Eli and
Jonah continue to maintain that their Florida escapade was worth the trouble it
brought!"
    As a general though still
good-natured uproar ensued, Larissa moved up close to me. "I'm sorry I
wasn't there to settle you in," she said quietly, her dark eyes gleaming
in the soft light even more than her silver hair. "Was everything all
right?"
    "Yes, perfectly," I
answered, again feeling very self-conscious in her presence. "Dr. Tarbell
did his best to help me get my bearings, though it was a tall order. But your
brother—is he—?"
    "Fine, now," she said,
even more quietly. "But we can talk about that later."
    The argument around the table
continued, eventually prompting Tressalian to hold up his hands: "Decorum,
gentlemen, please. Jonah, Eli—I think that for the foreseeable future we'll
have to ask you to confine your activities concerning the gambling issue to informational pursuits. No one faults your zeal—we all know the extent of the problem
and the false assumptions that underlie it. But there are far larger matters at
hand just now. Not to mention that we are being unspeakably rude to our guest,
who, unless I'm mistaken, understands only a fraction of what we're talking
about."
    I shook my head once with a
smile. "You are certainly not mistaken."
    "Then let's be seated while
Julien serves." Tressalian moved to the head of the table, directing me to
sit beside him. "We shall try to clarify the situation, Doctor, after
which you can see our ideas at work in Afghanistan." He leaned toward me,
the blue eyes alight. "And then you can decide if a life of brewing global
chaos holds any appeal..."
     
CHAPTER 14
     
    Fouché soon emerged from the
galley bearing great platters of simply but delicately prepared food: the kind
of diet, I immediately realized as I glanced at Tressalian, that would appeal
to a man with a severe neurological condition. This impression was confirmed
when I observed that he drank no alcohol.
    "Excuse me," I said as
I studied the man, "but did you say 'global chaos'?"
    "Oh, all in a good
cause," he rushed to reply. "Well—generally, at any rate. But to
understand that cause I'm afraid you'll first have to wrap your mind around the
philosophy we've all chosen to share."
    "I'm listening."
    Tressalian nodded. "Well,
then, where to start? Perhaps simple observation would be best. Did you enjoy
the sights along the coast?"
    I looked up suddenly: Was that why the ship had spent so long in those filthy waters? To make an
impression on me, just as Larissa had done