seemed to fascinate him the most。 “I remember her；” he said； tapping the picture。 “And her。 She wrote to me once； when I was prime minister。 Ruth was not pleased。 Oh； God；” he said； and passed his hand across his face。 “Ruth。” For a moment； I thought he was about to break down； but when he looked at me his eyes were dry。 “What happens next？ Is there a procedure in your line of work to deal with this sort of situation？”
Patterns of light were very clear in the window now。 I could see the headlamps of a car on a road。
“The client always has the last word about what goes in a book；” I said。 “Always。 But； obviously； in this case； given what happened—”
On the tape； my voice trails away； and then there is a loud clunk； as Lang leans forward and grabs my forearm。
“If you mean what happened to Mike； then let me tell you I was absolutely appalled by that。” His gaze was fixed unwaveringly on me； he was putting everything he had left within him into the task of convincing me； and I’ll freely confess； despite everything I’d discovered； he succeeded： to this day； I’m sure he was telling the truth。 “If you believe nothing else； you must please believe that his death had nothing to do with me； and I shall carry that image of Mike in the morgue until my own dying day。 I’m sure it was an accident。 But okay； let’s say； for the sake of argument； it wasn’t。” He tightened his grip on my arm。 “What was he thinking of； driving up to Boston to confront Emmett？ He’d been around politics long enough to know that you don’t do something like that； not when the stakes are this high。 You know；
in a way； he did kill himself。 It was a suicidal act。”
“That’s what worries me；” I said。
“You can’t seriously think；” said Lang； “that the same thing could happen to you？”
“It has crossed my mind。”
“You need have no fears on that score。 I can guarantee it。” I guess my disbelief must have been
obvious。 “Oh； come on； man！” he said urgently。 Again； the fingers clenched on my flesh。 “There are four policemen traveling on this plane with us right now！ What kind of people do you think we are？”
“Well； that’s just it；” I said。 “What kind of peopleare you？”
We were coming in low over the treetops。 The lights of the Gulfstream gleamed across dark waves of foliage。
I tried to pull my arm away。 “Excuse me；” I said。
Lang reluctantly let go of me and I fastened my seat belt。 He did the same。 He glanced out of the window at the terminal； then back at me； appalled； as we dipped gracefully onto the runway。
“My God； you’ve already told someone； haven’t you？”
I could feel myself turning scarlet。 “No；” I said。
“You have。”
“I haven’t。” On the tape I sound as feeble as a child caught red…handed。
He leaned forward again。 “Who have you told？”
Looking out at the dark forest beyond the perimeter of the airport； where anything could be lurking； it seemed like the only insurance policy I had。
“Richard Rycart；” I said。
That must have been a devastating blow to him。 He must have known then that it was the end of everything。 In my mind’s eye I see him still； like one those once grand but now condemned apartment blocks； moments after the demolition charges have been exploded： for a few seconds； the fa。ade remains bizarrely intact； before slowly beginning to slide。 That was Lang。 He gave me a long blank look and then subsided back into his seat。
The plane came to a halt in front of the terminal building。 The engines died。
AT THIS POINT； ATlong last； I did something smart。
As Lang sat contemplating his ruin； and as Amelia came hurrying down the aisle to discover what I’d said； I had the presence of mind to eject the disk from the minirecorder and slip it into my pocket。 In its place I inserted the blank。 Lang was too stunned to care and Amelia too fixated on him to notice。
“All right；” she said firmly； “that’s enough for tonight。” She lifted the empty glass from his unresisting hand and gave it to the steward。 “We need to get you home； Adam。 Ruth’s waiting at the gate。” She reached over and unfastened his seat belt and then removed his suit jacket from the back of his seat。 She held it out ready for him to slip into； and shook it slightly； like a matador with a cloak； but her voice was very tender。 “Adam？”
He rose； trancelike； to obey； gazing vacantly toward the cockpit as she guided his arms into the sleeves。 She glared at me over his shoulder； and mouthed； furiously and very distinctly； and with her customarily precise diction； “What the fuck are you doing？”
It was a good question。 What the fuckwas I doing？ At the front of the plane； the door had opened and three of the Special Branch men were disembarking。 A blast of cold air ran down the cabin。 Lang began to walk toward the exit； preceded by his fourth bodyguard； Amelia at his back。 I quickly stuffed my recorder and the photographs into my shoulder bag and followed them。 The pilot had come out of the cockpit to say good…bye and I saw Lang square his shoulders and advance to meet him； his hand outstretched。
“That was great；” said Lang vaguely； “as usual。 My favorite airline。” He shook the pilot’s hand； then leaned past him to greet the copilot and the waiting steward。 “Thanks。 Thanks so much。” He turned to us； still smiling his professional smile； but it faded fast； he looked stricken。 The last bodyguard was already halfway down the steps。 There was just Amelia； me； and the two secretaries waiting to follow him off the plane。 Standing in the lighted glass window of the terminal I could just make out the figure of Ruth。 She was too far away for me to judge her expression。 “Would you mind just hanging back a minute？” he said to Amelia。 “And you； too？” he added to me。 “I need to have a private word with my wife。”
“Is everything all right； Adam？” asked Amelia。 She had been with him too long； and I suppose she loved him too much； not to know that something was terribly wrong。
“It’ll be fine；” said Lang。 He touched her elbow lightly； then gave us all； including me and the plane crew； a slight bow。 “Thank you； ladies and gentlemen； and good night。”
He ducked through the door and paused at the top of the steps； glancing around； smoothing down his hair。 Amelia and I watched him from the interior of the plane。 He was just as he was when I first saw him—still； out of habit； searching for an audience with whom he could connect； even though the windy； floodlit concourse was deserted； apart from the waiting bodyguards； and a ground technician in overalls； working late； no doubt eager to get home。
Lang must also have seen Ruth waiting at the window； because he suddenly raised his hand in acknowledgment； then set off down the steps； gracefully； like a dancer。 He reached the tarmac and had gone about ten yards toward the terminal when the technician shouted out； “Adam！” and waved。 The voice was English； and Lang must have recognized the accent of a fellow countryman because he suddenly broke away from his bodyguards and strode toward the man； his hand held out。 And that is my final image of Lang： a man always with his hand held out。 It is burned into my retinas—his yearning shadow against the expanding ball of bright white fire that suddenly engulfed him； and then there was only the flying debris； the stinging grit； the glass； the furnace heat； and the underwater silence of the explosion。
SIXTEEN
If you are going to be the least bit upset not to see your name credited or not to be invited to the launch party then you are going to have a miserable time ghosting altogether。
Ghostwritin g
I SAW NOTHING MOREafter that initial flash of brilliant light； there was too much glass and blood in my eyes。 The force of the blast flung us all backward。 Amelia； I learned later； hit her head on the side of a seat and was knocked unconscious； while I lay across the aisle in darkness and silence for what could have been minutes or hours。 I felt no pain； except when one of the terrified secretaries trod on my hand with her high heel in her desperation to get out of the plane。 But I couldn’t see； and it was also to be several hours before I could hear properly。 Even today I get an occasional buzzing in my ears。 It cuts me off from the world； like radio interference。 Eventually； I was lifted away and given a wonderful shot of morphine that burst like warm fireworks in my brain。 Then I was airlifted by helicopter with all the other survivors to a hospital near Boston—an institution very close； it turned out； to the place where Emmett lived。
Did you ever do something secretly as a child that seemed really bad at the time； and for which you were sure you were going to be punished？ I remember breaking a precious old long…playing gramophone record of my father’s and putting it away in its sleeve again and saying nothing about it。 For days； I lived in a sweat of terror； convinced that retribution would arrive at any moment。 But nothing was ever said。 The next time I dared to look； the record had disappeared。 He must have found it and thrown it away。
I had similar feelings following the assassination of Adam Lang。 Throughout the next day or two； as I lay in my hospital room； my face bandaged； and with a policeman on guard in the corridor outside； I repeatedly ran over in my mind the events of the previous week； and it always seemed to me a certainty that I would never leave that place alive。 If you stop to think of it； there’s nowhere easier to dispose of someone than in a hospital； I should imagine it’s almost routine。 And who makes a better killer than a doctor？
But it turned out to be like the incident of my father’s broken record。 Nothing happened。 While I was still blinded； I was gently questioned by a Special Agent Murphy from the Boston office of the FBI about what I could remember。 The next afternoon； when the bandages were removed from my eyes； Murphy returned。 He looked like a muscular young priest in a fifties movie； and this time he was accompanied by a saturnine Englishman from the British Security Service； MI5；