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Then his arm swung up, and he shot Adam Lowiewski through the forehead. For an instant, the Pole remained on his feet. Then his knees buckled, and he fell forward against the table, sliding to the floor. MacLeod went around the table, behind Kato Sugihara and Farida Khouroglu and Heym ben-Hillel, and stood looking down at the man he had killed.
Kato responded to this with a gruesome double-take that gave his face the fleeting appearance of an ancient samurai war mask. "That wasn't included in any report we ever made," he said. "You're right: the leak comes from inside the Team. It must be Sir Neville, or Suzanne, or Heym ben-Hillel, or Adam Lowiewski, or Rudolf von Heldenfeld, or No! No, I can't believe it could be Farida!"
"Barida, I'll have all my data available for you before noon tomorrow: you can make up copies for all Team members." "Make mine on microfilm, for projection," von Heldenfeld said. "Mine, too," Sir Neville Lawton added. "Better make microfilm copies for everybody," Heym ben-Hillel suggested. "They're handier than type-script."
He thrust out his hand toward MacLeod. "Give me the pistol! He won't shoot himself; I'll do it for him!" "It would work, Dunc. Really, it would," Heym ben-Hillel urged. "No," Karen Hilquist contradicted. "If he left here, everybody would know what had happened, and we'd be accused of protecting him. If he kills himself, we can get things hushed up: dead traitors are good traitors.
Heym ben-Hillel was sitting oblivious to everything but his young colleague's words, a slice of the flesh of the unclean beast impaled on his fork and halfway to his mouth. "Yes! Certainly!" he exclaimed. "That would explain so many things I have wondered about: And of course, there are other forces at work which, in the course of nature, balance that effect " "But can the process be controlled?"
Heym ben-Hillel turned to the others: his eyes had the hurt and puzzled look of a dog that has been kicked for no reason. "But why did he do this?" he asked. "He just told you," MacLeod replied. "He's the great Adam Lowiewski. Checking math for a physics-research team is beneath his dignity. I suppose the Komintern offered him a professorship at Stalin University."
They'll shoot him, of course, and they'll probably transfer Nayland to the Mississippi Valley Flood Control Project, where he can't do any more damage. At least, we'll have him out of our hair." "If we have any hair left," Heym ben-Hillel gloomed. "You've got Nayland into trouble, but you haven't got us out of it." "What do you mean?" Suzanne Maillard demanded.
Adam Lowiewski was a scientist. Ergo Adam Lowiewski killed himself. Besides, a nervous collapse isn't instrumentally detectable." Heym ben-Hillel looked at MacLeod, his eyes troubled. "But, Dunc; have we the right to put him to death, either by his own hand or by an Army firing squad?" he asked. "Remember he is not only a traitor; he is one of the world's greatest mathematical minds.
And Heym ben-Hillel, the Israeli quantum and wave-mechanics man, his heaping dinner plate an affront to the Laws of Moses, his white hair a fluffy, tangled chaos, laughing at an impassively-delivered joke the English knight had made.
"After the spaceship is built, and the Moon is annexed to the Western Union, there will be publicity, and people will eulogize this species of an Iscariot!" Heym ben-Hillel, who had been staring at MacLeod in shocked unbelief, roused himself. "Well, why not? Isn't the creator of the Lowiewski function transformations and the rules of inverse probabilities worthy of eulogy?" He turned to MacLeod.
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