Now that the moment was upon him, he felt almost at ease as he lifted the phone. "Yes, Sir?" He was pleased at the steadiness of his voice.
He didn't know the voice that answered him. It belonged to the shadows. The voice of one of the faceless men who directed the affairs of the world as if it were a play. He listened patiently to it express displeasure. At the proper moment he responded.
"I was not to know of the girl's previous connection to Number Six." He said carefully. "But I believe it will be to our advantage."
He listened to the voice and felt small under it. A threat was made. But he didn't tremble.
"The mountains are serving their purpose. The girl can not cross them, nor can she hide for long." He said, still steady.
The voice again, harsh in his ear, accusing. He answered it. "I am confident she will return to make the assassination attempt." That should please them.
The unpleasant voice was asking why the girl wanted to kill him. He hesitated, suddenly realizing he wasn't certain of her motive, then replied too hastily. "Lashing out against authority, I would assume."
He ran a finger along his bottom lip, doubting his own assessment. The girl resented his treatment of her to be sure. But vengeance is born of deeper wounds.
A question was being asked and he realized with panic he had allowed his mind to wonder. He caught just enough of it to respond.
"I propose to have her apprehended and interrogated." he said suddenly feeling vulnerable. "There has been an obvious attempt to obfuscate the girl's true past. I intend to..."
He was cut off sharply by a rebuke. He'd forgotten his place. They were not to be challenged. And yet they had been in error. Unless of course it was his loyalty that was being tested? In which case he had already failed. His face felt hot and he feared he may have flushed. They would see that. Unthinking, he put his head down. This might be interpreted as an attempt to conceal his feelings. Frustration threatened to cause his body to stiffen, his voice to shake. He could ill afford either. He gathered himself as one might gather the reins of a frightened horse.
"No, Sir." he said in a soothing tone. "I would never presume to shift blame to The Village. But there are inconstancy that must be accounted for" He rushed forward dangerously. "If I am permitted to continue my work I am confident I shall settle the matter."
The voice was brutal with indignation. He had been too bold. His throat tightened as tension rose within him. The clench in his belly returned and with it that icy fist. Sweat beaded on his brow, but he dare not move even to wipe it away. As the voice tore at him his eyes lifted to the screen. Number Six was going to the window now. The man was choosing this moment to make his move.
There was an expectant silence on the other end of the line which he was meant to fill with his contrition. He watched Number Six open the window and step defiantly out onto the balcony.
Number Two set his jaw. He would not grovel. The card he was about to play was of great value. He had concealed it from The Supervisor for this very moment. He ignored the tremor he heard in his own voice as he spoke into the phone.
"I believe Number Seven's father is either a former associate or friend of Number Six." he said.
There was a long, heavy silence that bore down on him. He'd dared to suggest The Village had missed something of this magnitude. His own blood pounded in his ears so loudly he almost didn't hear the reply. It was a question hurled at him with angry contempt. Did he think them fools? He nearly collapsed under the ensuing accusations. He was acting on instinct, alone. It left him with no way to assuage their wrath. He must challenge it.
"I do not presume to over step my authority." he said, his voice was on the edge of breaking, " But I fully intend to discover the truth of this matter."
He hadn't quailed, it gave him an odd sense of exhilaration fighting up stream against panic. He felt almost dizzy as he waited now, for their retribution. On the screen Number Six dropped off the balcony. It was of no concern. There were watches every where. The man was a secure as if he were locked in an iron box.
Then voice from the shadow world came at him again, demanding an explanation he could not give. One he would not even attempt. His hand ached and he realized he was gripping the phone hard enough to crush it.
Loosening his hold on the instrument, he settled himself back into the depths of the chair. He was like a man facing certain death, who upon excepting his fate, finds unexpected peace. He said, "If my suspicions prove incorrect, I will resign."
Again there was a long pause full of foreboding silence. They were no doubt speaking amongst themselves. This time he felt no fear of it for he knew he had already won.