Free Night Chills by Dean Koontz Page B

Klinger said. “I only know what I need to know. Like the backgrounds of the people who work there, the layout of the buildings, and the nature of the surrounding countryside. I don’t need to know about your work.”
    “It has to do with subliminals.”
    Stiffening as if he had sensed stealthy movement behind him, some of the brandy-inspired color seeping from his face, Klinger said, “I believe you’ve signed a secrecy pledge like everyone else at Brockert.”
    “Yes, I have.”
    “You just now violated it.”
    “I am aware of that.”
     
“Are you aware of the penalty?”
    “Yes. But I’ll never suffer it.”
    “You’re sure of yourself, aren’t you?”
    “Damned sure,” Salsbury said.
    “It makes no difference, you know, that I’m a general in the United States Army or that Leonard is a loyal and trusted citizen. You’ve still broken the pledge. Maybe they can’t put you away for treason when you’ve only talked to the likes of us—but they can at least give you eighteen months for declassifying information without the authority to do so.”
    Salsbury glanced at Dawson.
    Leaning forward in his chair, Dawson patted the general’s knee. “Let Ogden finish.”
    Klinger said, “This could be a setup.”
    “A what?”
    “A setup. A trap.”
    “To get you?” Dawson asked.
    “Could be.”
    “Why would I want to set you up?” Dawson asked. He seemed genuinely hurt by the suggestion.
    In spite of the fact, Salsbury thought, that he has probably set up and destroyed hundreds of men over the last thirty years.
    Klinger seemed to be thinking the same thing, although he shrugged and pretended that he had no answer to Dawson’s question.
    “That’s not the way I operate,” Dawson said, either unable or unwilling to conceal his bruised pride. “You know me better than that. My whole career, my whole life, is based on Christian principles.”
    “I don’t know anyone well enough to risk a charge of treason,” the general said gruffly.
    Feigning exasperation—it was a bit too obvious to be real—Dawson said, “Old friend, we’ve made a great deal of money together. But all of it amounts to pocket change when compared to the money we can make if we cooperate with Ogden. There is literally unlimited wealth here—for all of us.” He watched the general for a moment, and when he could get no reaction he said, “Ernst, I have never misled you. Never. Not once.”
    Unconvinced, Klinger said, “All you ever did before was pay me for advice—”
    “For your influence.”
    “For my advice,” Klinger insisted. “And even if I did sell my influence—which I didn’t—that’s a long way from treason.”
    They stared at each other.
    Salsbury felt as if he were not in the room with them, as if he were watching them from the eyepiece of a mile-long telescope.
    With less of an edge to his voice than there had been a minute ago, Klinger finally said, “Leonard, I suppose you realize that I could be setting you up.”
    “Of course.”
    “I could agree to hear your man out, listen to everything he has to say—only to get evidence against you and him.”
    “String us along.”
    “Give you enough rope to hang yourselves,” Klinger said. “I only warn you because you’re a friend. I like you. I don’t want to see you in trouble.”
    Dawson settled back in his chair. “Well, I’ve an offer to make you, and I need your cooperation. So I’ll just have to take that risk, won’t I?”
    “That’s your choice.”
    Smiling, apparently pleased with the general, Dawson raised his brandy glass and silently proposed a toast.
    Grinning broadly, Klinger raised his own glass.
    What in the hell is going on here? Salsbury wondered.
    When he had sniffed and sipped his brandy, Dawson looked at Salsbury for the first time in several minutes and said, “You may proceed, Ogden.”
    Suddenly, Salsbury grasped the underlying purpose of the conversation to which he had just listened. In the unlikely event that