And suddenly it hit me: accident played little part in the deliberate progression of events since the day I met Grady. I was his pawn, an instrument played by the virtuoso in his compulsion to outflank and manipulate Abdul.

“…thought there was between us a deep sense of cohesion…”

It was to cultivate Abdul that Grady had come to Chatterton’s place.

“…relied on you to serve as my intervention with the young heir to Assama…”

To reach Abdul, Grady had brought me to New York, then steered me to Valerie and thence back to Abdul.

“…hoping you’d recognize a kindred spirit, an altruism we share…”

The dedication of the man was awesome, equaled only by the range of his espionage.

“…to work with me, shoulder to shoulder, pressing for the eventual good to spring from our agenda…”

It was a chilling discovery. I felt the resentment of the awakened dupe.

“…great responsibility, I know, going the extra mile to help Assama emerge from her cocoon and become a model of modernity, and to supply affordable housing for the world’s ill-housed masses…”

I won’t go along with this, I promised myself. I was always making promises to myself that I didn’t keep, but not this time.

“…a time for aggressive commitment. You can’t steal second with a foot on first…”

Certainly the operative if unconsciously motivated word of his sporty little apothegm was steal.

“…so, indeed, if I’m to be remembered at all, I’d like it to be as a humanitarian, a champion of the poor. Are you a Maoist?”

“Me? What made you think…?”

“It crossed my mind—perhaps your resistance derives from an ideological allegiance to the side of the Chinese imperialists. If you’d prefer their infiltration of Assama to ours…”

“That’s not the case.”

“Something of a more personal nature, then? A deep, eccentric antagonism to the accumulation of wealth? There are people like that, you know. Something born of a peculiar need to identify with an impecunious father, perhaps.”

The acquisition of money, which arguably festers and fouls all our dreams, I had already learned to appreciate. I’ve found that its disadvantages were invariably exaggerated. What wonders a monumental bank account could accomplish! I could buy my mother a magazine to publish nobody’s poems but hers. I could hire a troop of detectives to find my father. I could buy him tenure somewhere—hell, I could buy him a small but distinguished university. As for Valerie—the thought brought me up short. There are women whose desires run toward silks and jewels and the feathers and furs and hides of any number of birds and beasts, mostly the endangered ones. But Valerie… I hadn’t the least idea what she might want. She never asked for anything, never fancied anything more than clean sheets and a club sandwich.