“Come on,” Jensen pressed. “I’ll take you to your car.”
“Where’s the fire?” Pryor asked amiably. “Why don’t we have that beer?”
The army officer came over.
“Well, counselor,” he said to Jensen, “aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?”
Jensen, decided Pryor, is not a slug. Now he looks like a trapped stoat.
“Mr. Pryor is a reporter from Stars arid Stripes,” said the stoat uneasily.
“Stripes, oh?” The captain nodded. “Glad to meet you, Mr. Pryor. My name is Verago. I’m a great fan of your comic page. What hot story brings you to Laconbury?”
“I was just asking about you. Didn’t expect army around here,” said Pryor. He peered at the crossed sword and pen on Verago’s lapels. “You’re a lawyer, aren’t you? Anything to do with the courtmartial?”
Verago beamed. “My friend, maybe we ought to have a long talk. Don’t you agree, counselor?”
Jensen’s mouth suddenly felt dry. He wondered how he would explain this to the general.
Karlsrahe
The new man had high cheekbones, thin lips, and a gold tooth. Herr Stamm was Unroh’s successor, and Pech’s new boss.
Pech didn’t know much about Stamm. There were rumors that he was one of Gehlen’s bunch, and that he had been closely linked with the Americans. Pech would dearly have liked to know where Bonn had dug him up from. When there was little gossip about a man, it was always a dangerous sign.
“Sit down, Pech,” invited Herr Stamm.
“Thank you, sir,” Pech said, respectfully.
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For a disconcerting moment, Herr Stamm studied him. It was like being X-rayed, and Pech, despite himself, shifted uneasily.
“As you know, I have taken over the department,” began Herr Stamm. “My predecessor will, of course, be sadly missed, and I regret having to come here under such tragic circumstances.”
Pech mutely agreed. What could he say to that? Best to keep silent.
“I have been fully briefed and I am conversant with all current activities,” Herr Stamm went on. “And of course with what you’re doing.”
Pech nodded. He felt strangely nervous.
“I have decided that you are to carry on, and that B-One will continue its operation,” announced Herr Stamm.
Pech relaxed. Just a little. “Thank you, sir,” he said.
“They trust you, and therefore I trust you,” said Herr Stamm. “What you are doing is of the most delicate nature, and the implications of what is involved I … well, I’m sure I don’t have to spell it out.”
“Indeed not,” said Pech. He was beginning to feel secure.
“You seem to have established a good working relationship with our allied counterparts. Both the Americans and the British appear satisfied that you can be relied on at this, er, extremely delicate moment in time.”
“I’m glad to hear that, sir,” said Pech. All was safe.
“You’re aware that it is best, under the circumstances, that as little as possible should be on paper.”
“Of course.”
“B-One is off the record, so to speak, and I don’t want your section to forget it.”
“I only report verbally. That is how it was with Herr Unruh,” said Pech piously, “and that is how it will be with you, Herr Stamm. Only verbally. Only you and me.”
“Good.”
Well, that’s it, thought Pech. Once again he had landed on his feet.
“And the less you tell me, the better,” added Herr Stamm. “About the girl or anything. Only what I need to know, you understand? The fewer who know anything about it, the better.”
“Do you think, sir, I should go to the courtmartial?” asked Pech.
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“In England? Certainly not. It’s a domestic matter for them. It has absolutely nothing to do with us. You follow?”
“Perfectly.”
Now that he felt more at ease, Pech glanced around the room. It was Unroh’s old office, but there were subtle changes. A signed photograph of Adenauer had appeared on the wall. A curious ornament on his desk, a bullet mounted upright on a slab of marble. Absurdly, Pech wondered if it was a bullet they had dug out of Stamm sometime. And there was Berlin’s coat of arms on the wall: the bear, his claws raised.
“One other thing,” added Herr Stamm, interrupting Pech’s observations.
“Yes?”
“The investigation into Herr Unrnh’s death has come up with nothing,” said Herr Stamm, and Pech’s heart beat a little faster. “I find it very unsatisfactory, and I intend to pursue the matter from our end. Is there anything you can think of? Some clue, some explanation?”
“I am afraid not,” apologised Pech. “I have thought about it, of course. It was a terrible shock, and when the investigation said it was … murder, well, I was stunned. And yet, I was relieved “
“Relieved?” snapped Herr Stamm. The gimlet eyes were X-raying him again. “What do you mean?”
“Well,” Pech said boldly, “at least he was the victim of an assailant. I would have been most perturbed to think that Herr Unruh, a man who knew so many secrets, who had such a sensitive job, who knew all about B-One, should have found it necessary to commit suicide. I would have worried about what it was that made him do it. When people in our work commit suicide “
“You see it as reassuring that somebody found it necessary to murder him instead?” Herr Stamm asked coldly.
“At least it does not raise any personal question
“That’s all, Pech. Carry on.”
“Thank you, sir,” Pech said diffidently. “If I come up with anything about Herr Unrnh I mean I will of course let you know immediately.”
“I am sure you will.”
Pech closed the door with a feeling of relief. What really intrigued him was the bullet on the slab of marble.
174
South Ruislip
As Pech left his new chief’s office, over in England Ivanov called Laurie.
It didn’t worry him that he phoned her at South Ruislip and that the call went through the Third Air Force headquarters switchboard. The operator heard the pennies drop into the sleet, and he announced himself as “Gene.” He was calling from a phone booth, safe, secure, untraceable.
“You are coming to the ballet with me tonight,” he announced without further preliminaries when he was put through to Laurie. “The Kirov at Covent Garden. I happen to have two tickets.”
“You shouldn’t have gone to all the trouble,” said Laurie. Kincaid’s door was ajar, and the colonel was behind his desk, seemingly engrossed in a file he was reading.
“No trouble.” She could almost sense the grin. “A friend gave them to me.”
In the phone booth, Ivanov smiled. The thought of describing Sergei Grigorovich as a friend had its amusing aspects.
“Well,” said Laurie, “I m sorry. I can’t. Not tonight.”
Verago had called her, and they were meeting that evening.
“You have a date?” Ivanov didn’t attempt to disguise his disappointment.
“I’m seeing a friend.”
“My dear Laurie, if it is a woman friend, it is a shocking waste. And if it is a man friend, I am madly jealous,” he said, but his tone was light. “So either way you should change your plans.”
“Not possible,” said Laurie.
“It is a man then.”
“I’m sure you can find somebody else to take.”
Ivanov studied the mini parked on the other side of Mount Street, across from the phone booth. He hadn’t noticed it before, but idly, almost automatically, he wondered if it had been following him. Not that it bothered him. He enjoyed running the other side off its feet.
“Can’t you?” added Laurie.
“Listen,” said Ivanov. “I hear people are paying a fortune for Kirov tickets. I shall utilize the capitalist system. If I can’t take you, I will sell them on the black market for the highest sum I can get.”
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Laurie giggled. “Won’t your friend mind?”
“He won’t know,” said Ivanov. “Tell me, who is this date?”
“None of your business,” she replied coldly.
“If it is Captain Verago, you should introduce us,” Ivanov said, coolly casual.
At the other end, Laurie froze.
“Are you there?” he demanded.
“Yes.” Her mind was racing.
“Captain Verago sounds like a very interesting man. I’m sure we’d get on.”
“I have to hang up,” said Laurie. “Call me sometime.”
“Of course,” said Ivanov. “As a matter of fact, we must all get together. The three of us.” He could hear her intake of breath. “Perhaps a little party. Leave It to me. Au revoir.”
And he rang off.
He left the phone booth and started strolling toward South Audley Street, whistling gently. The mini didn’t follow. Pity, he thought. He would have enjoyed leading them a little chase.
Half an hour later, he kept his promise. He found two disconsolate American tourists hanging around the Covent Garden box office, vainly trying to get seats for that night’s performance of the Kirov.
Ivanov sold them his two tickets for a hundred pounds. He acted the part of a black-market scalper well and went straight to Dunhill’s to buy himself a box of capitalist cigars.
If he knew, Grigorovich would report him to the inspectorate, he was sure, and that made it all the more enjoyable.
After all, it wasn’t the only thing about Ivanov Central didn’t know.
London
In bed Laurie could be passionate, forward, unpredictable, and yet completely feminine. The first time they had made love, Verago had been carried away by her vehement desire and then amazed by her gentleness afterward. She was fierce and loving, lustful and soft.
In most things Laurie was full of contradictions, and it fascinated Verago. There was nothing shy about her, but she was very modest. She never flaunted her body, but in his arms, naked, she could be utterly abandoned.
176
She sat up in bed, the sheet drawn up over her breasts, smoking a cigarette. She glowed, and it made him happy that she too had enjoyed it so much.
“Some places I know, they could lock us up now,” Verago said contentedly.
Laurie’s eyebrows shot up.
“Be warned, kid. It’s illegal to fuck in a dozen states, and as for shacking up, that’s a crime all over the country.”
“Such as?” Laurie was amused.
“Florida, Massachusetts, Georgia, Wisconsin, oh, lots ‘ said Verago. “Even Washington, D.C. You name it.”
She turned toward him, and to his pleasure, the sheet slipped.
“Sometimes you talk crap, Tony Verago,” she declared. “You know what?”
“It’s on the statute books,” he protested.
“Oh, come on,” said Laurie. “You trying to tell me that every time somebody screws somebody in Washington they get put in the slammer?”
“Of course not. But they can, if they get caught. If somebody makes something of it….”
Laurie stubbed out her cigarette. “Well,” she said, “since we’re going to jail we might as well make it worthwhile.”
Half an hour later the phone rang. Groggy with sleep, Laurie reached for it.
“Hello?” she said. The bedside alarm clock pointed to just after midnight.
She listened for a moment, frowned slightly.
“It’s for you,” she said, puzzled. “New York.” She handed him the receiver, and he sat up.
“Yes?” he said.
“Tony,” came Lou Conn’s voice. “It’s me. Glad I caught you.”
Laurie was watching his face. He gave her a quick nod, but his attention was on the call.
“What’s the news, Lou?” he asked.
There was a short pause. Then: “Bad, Tony. I’m sorry.”
“She won’t play?”
“She’s dead,” said Lou, three thousand miles away. Verago felt cold. “Dead? Mrs. Tower?” Laurie’s eyes widened. “What do you mean? What’s happened?”
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“I called her apartment, but I couldn’t get any reply,” said Lou. “So I went around, but it was all closed up. The janitor told me. She took an overdose of pills. Two days ago. She was dead when he found her.”
Verago sat very still.
‘Tony, are you there?”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry. I guess that shoots a hole in your case.”
“Are you sure it’s it’s suicide?” asked Verago.
“No question,” said Lou. “I checked with the police. I saw the autopsy report. She just swallowed a bottleful of barbiturates. She had been drinking too. She was a lush, Tony. That’s all there is to it.”
“Jesus,” said Verago.
“Maybe separation hit her harder than you thought. Maybe the news about the courtmartial
…”
“But how the hell did she know?” Verago asked quickly. ‘The FBI had been around,” said Lou. “They also questioned the janitor. Getting background information for the military. I guess they told her.”
“The FBI,” repeated Verago, more to himself.
Laurie lit another cigarette.
“Did you say something?” asked Lou.
“No,” said Verago. “Did you find out anything else?” “Nothing. I figure none of this helps you. I’m sorry. I guess it will make things tougher now. They’ll use the wife’s death, won’t they?”
“You bet.”
“Well,” said Lou, “if I can do anything this end … Iet me know. Anytime.”
“I win, Lou,” replied Verago. “And listen, friend, thanks for trying. I appreciate it.”
“I wish it could have done some good,” said Lou. “So long, Tony.”
Slowly Verago put the phone down. He looked at Laurie. “I hope you didn’t mind,” he said absentmindedly. “I gave him your number. In case I was here….”
He lapsed into silence.
‘Yower’s wife. She’s dead,” he said at last.
Laurie nodded. “So I gathered.”
‘There goes my mitigation.” “But will the trial go on, if she’s dead?” asked Laurie. “Sure. It doesn’t alter anything. She was alive when he committed adultery. In fact, it makes things worse. Morally he’s going to be tried for murder.”
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“But that’s that’s nonsense. Didn’t she kill herself?”
“That’s exactly it,” said Verago. “Nobody’s going to say it, but in that courtroom, it’ll be his fault. He abandoned his wife, committed adultery, and drove her to suicide. It’s a gift.”
He lay back on the bed and stared up at the ceiling.
“How the hell do you defend a guy for moral murder?” he asked.
Laurie offered him a cigarette but he shook his head.
“Didn’t he say something about the FBI?” she asked.
“Oh, yes,” said Verago with a little grim smile. “They’re in on the act too. I guess suddenly adultery’s become a federal crime.”