Strangers

realized it was the faint tremor of Parkinson's disease. He said, "Dr. Weiss, if you're seeking some form of absolution, then by all means let me provide it. Pablo knew the risks, and he accepted them. He was the captain of his own fate."
        "Did he understand the risks? That's what I've got to know."
        Christophson seemed surprised. "I warned him myself."
        "Warned him about who? About what?"
        "I don't know who or what. But considering the enormous effort expended to tamper with your memory, you must've seen something of tremendous importance. I warned Pablo that whoever had brainwashed you was no amateur and that if they realized the two of you were trying to break through the Azrael Block, they might come after not just you but him as well." Christophson's gray eyes searched her eyes for a moment, and then he sighed. "He did tell you about his conversation with me?"
        "He told me everything - except about your warning." Her eyes filled with tears again. "He didn't breathe a word of that."
        He withdrew one elegant but palsied hand from his pocket and gripped her arm reassuringly. "Doctor, now that you've told me this, I can't possibly lay any of the blame at your doorstep."
        "But I blame me," Ginger said in a voice thin with misery.
        "No. You can't blame yourself for any of it." Looking around again to make sure they were not under surveillance, Christophson opened the top two buttons of his overcoat, reached inside, plucked the display handkerchief from the breast pocket of his suit jacket, and gave it to Ginger. "Please stop punishing yourself. Our friend lived a full and fortunate life, Doctor. His death might've been violent, but it was relatively quick, which can be a blessing."
        Drying her eyes on the swatch of pale blue silk that he had given her, Ginger said, "He was a dear man."
        "He was," Christophson agreed. "And I'm beginning to understand why he took the risks he did for you. He said you were a very dear woman, and I see his judgment was as accurate and reliable as usual."
        She finished blotting her eyes. Her heart still felt pinched in a vise, but she began to believe there was a chance that guilt and grief would eventually give way to grief alone. "Thank you." As much to herself as to him, Ginger said, "What now? Where do I go from here?"
        "I'm in no position to help you," he said at once. "I've been out of the intelligence business for almost a decade, and I've no contacts any more. I've no idea who might be behind your memory block or why."
        "I wouldn't ask you to help me. I'm not risking any more innocent lives. I just thought you might have some idea how I can help myself."
        "Go to the police. It's their job to help."
        Ginger shook her head. "No. The police are slow, too slow. Most of them are overworked, and the rest are just bureaucrats in uniforms. My problem's too urgent to wait for them to solve it. Besides, I don't trust them. Suddenly I don't trust authorities of any kind. The tapes Pablo made of our sessions were gone when I took the police back to his apartment, so I didn't mention them. I spooked. I didn't tell the cops about my fugues or about how Pablo had been helping me. I just said we'd been friends, that I'd stopped by to have lunch and walked in on the killer. I let them think it was an ordinary burglary. Sheer paranoia. Didn't trust them. Still don't. So the cops are out."
        "Then find another hypnotist to regress you-"
        "No. I'm not risking any more innocent lives," she repeated.
        "I understand. But those are the only suggestions I have." He shoved both hands into the deep pockets of his overcoat. "I'm sorry."
        "No need to be," she said.
        He started to turn away, hesitated, sighed. "Doctor, I want you to understand me. I served in the war, the big war, with some distinction. Later, I was a good ambassador. As head of the CIA and as a senator, I made many difficult decisions, some that put me in personal danger. I never backed away from risk. But I'm an old man now. Seventy-six, and I feel older. Parkinson's. A bad heart. High blood pressure. I have a wife I love very much, and if anything happens to me, she'll be alone. I don't know how well she'd deal with being alone, Dr. Weiss."
        "Please, there's no need to justify yourself," Ginger said. She realized how completely and quickly their roles had reversed. In the