“One day, the United States government handed me the keys to the kingdom, allowed me to create an empire such as the world had never seen. Of course I would make it mine. But however big your coffers are, it’s not always easy to settle your accounts. I just needed you to acknowledge the truth about us two. I made you, Paul. I molded you from clay, the way God made man.”

“No.” The word came like a groan from deep within him.

Another step closer. “It’s time to be truthful with yourself,” he said gently. “There’s always been something between us. Something very close to love.”

Janson looked intently at him, mentally imposing Demarest’s features over the famous countenance of the legendary humanitarian, seeing the points of resemblance even on the recontoured visage. He shuddered.

“And a lot closer to hate,” Janson said at last.

Demarest’s eyes burned into him like glowing coals. “I made you, and nothing can ever change that. Accept it. Accept who you are. Once you do, things change. The nightmares will cease, Paul. Life gets a whole lot easier. Take it from me. I always sleep well at night. Imagine it—wouldn’t that be something, Paul?”

Janson took a deep breath, and suddenly felt able to focus once more. “I don’t want that.”

“What? You don’t want to leave the nightmares behind? Now you’re lying to yourself, Lieutenant.”

“I’m not your lieutenant. And I wouldn’t trade my nightmares for anything.”

“You never healed, because you wouldn’t let yourself heal.”

“Is this what you call healing? You sleep well because something inside you—call it a soul, call it what you like—is dead. Maybe something happened that snuffed it out one day, maybe you never had it, but it’s the thing that makes us human.”

Human? You mean weak. People always mix those two words up.”

“My nightmares are me,” Janson said, in a clear, steady voice. “I have to live with the things I’ve done on this earth. I don’t have to like them. I’ve done good and I’ve done bad. As for the bad—I don’t want to be reconciled with the bad. You tell me I can take that pain away? That pain is how I know who I am and who I’m not. That pain is how I know I’m not you.”

Suddenly Demarest lashed out, batting the gun out of Janson’s hand. It flew clattering to the marble floor.

Demarest looked almost mournful as he leveled his pistol. “I tried to reason with you. I tried to reach you. I’ve done so much to reach you, to bring you back in touch with your true self. All I wanted from you was an acknowledgment of the truth—the truth about us both.”