The eagles depressed Gideon, as did the rest of the giant complex. Despite the bright USAREUR banner over the gate, the architecture of the huge structures proclaimed them relics of Hitler’s Germany, and the vast, cobblestoned interior courtyard conjured up maleficent platoons of gray-jacketed, goose-stepping Wehrmacht soldiers. Fortunately, the paperwork went faster than he had expected. By 11:30 he had his identity card, his military European driver’s license, and his travel orders for Sicily. He was also very hungry and knew that at least part of his black mood came from having forgotten to breakfast.
The cafeteria was a relief, dowdy and American, with its noisy young GIs and the friendly smell of grilling hamburgers. Gideon got a cheeseburger, french fries, and a strawberry milkshake, the most American lunch he could think of. Then, as a fitting end to the meal, he had coffee and apple pie.
Much restored, he brought a second cup of coffee to his table and began to go over his interview with Marks and Delvaux the day before. At the time, he had been too tired to think of many questions, but he had plenty today.
If they didn’t know what the Russians were looking for or why they were looking for it, what made them think anybody was looking for anything at all? And why did they think that whatever it was would turn up at the particular bases to which he was assigned, as opposed to the hundreds of others in Europe? Or was that what his surprise schedule was all about? Had Dr. Rufus assigned him to “sensitive” bases on instructions from NSD? Could Dr. Rufus be an agent himself? It didn’t seem likely.
And, above all, why
Maybe, but improbable. But then, was any of it probable? He had already put his questions about the schedule to Dr. Rufus and learned nothing except that they made the chancellor nervous (unless that was the way he always was).
When he finally finished at USAREUR, he went across the street to USOC Administration and headed for the faculty library to do some class preparation. He was still mulling over his questions when he passed a door that read, “Office of the Registrar, D. Swinnerton.” On the spur of the moment, he went in. Although he didn’t expect her to tell him anything voluntarily, she might unwittingly give something away if he were discreet. It was pretty unlikely, but really, where was the fun in being in the spy business if you couldn’t play-act at it a little?
At the back of a room in which four or five clerks sat working was a space separated from the rest by glass partitions. Gideon walked over to it.
“Mrs. Swinnerton?”
A plump, round-faced woman of fifty looked up from her desk and smiled sweetly. “Why, hello, Dr. Oliver.”
Quick work. He’d never met her, but she knew him by sight. Interesting. “I didn’t know you knew me,” he said with a smooth smile.
“Certainly. Everyone does, from when Dr. Rufus introduced you at the dinner.”
So much for his first coup. “Oh,” he said. “Well, I just wanted to meet you, since we’ll probably be in contact quite a bit.” Clumsy. Not what he’d had in mind as an opening.
“Thank you, it’s certainly nice of you to come in and say hello. Not many do.” Behind her grandmotherly smile, she looked a little puzzled.
“Uh, you’ve certainly got a good reputation with the faculty,” he said. “I understand your rosters are just about always accurate and on time.” Oh, that was even more brilliant, the suave, inconspicuous way he’d slipped that in. The next time he did some sleuthing on his own, he’d take some time beforehand to figure out what to say.
Mrs. Swinnerton was looking more confused. “Thank you,” she said again.
“Oh, and I was thinking,” Gideon said, “what if I’m teaching at some base and I have a problem with a roster and it’s not during working hours? How do I get in touch with you?”
The smile had disappeared now. Her expression was puzzlement and nothing else. “What kind of problem? Why couldn’t it wait for the next day?”
“Well, if a roster was incomplete, say…”
“But what’s the hurry? You could call us the next day. Besides, the simplest thing would be to tell the education office on the base. Let them tell us. That’s their job.”
“Ah, I see, yes. Yes, that would be the thing to do.” Gideon .vas perspiring with embarrassment. “Well, thank you so much. It’s a pleasure to know you, Mrs. Swinnerton. Got to get to the library now. Good-bye.”
He turned and dashed for the door, having arrived at two conclusions: 1) Mrs. Swinnerton was no NSD agent —or she was a very good one, and 2) it was just possible that espionage was not his metier.
At 4:30 he sat alone in the library, coffee cup in hand, browsing through a pile of anthropology texts. Dr. Rufus and Bruce Danzig came in together, deep in conversation, poured themselves some coffee, and joined him. Danzig blew on his coffee and sipped it, shifting it from cheek to cheek with quick little mouth movements, like a chipmunk eating a nut. Dr. Rufus drank heartily and said “ah.”
“Ah,” he said, “I’m glad to see you’ve discovered our library. Very proud of it. Bruce has done quite a job, wouldn’t you say?” Even in the quiet library, Dr. Rufus didn’t speak; he orated.
“Yes, quite good,” Gideon said. “I’m just catching up on this year’s papers.”
“Did you want to check something out?” Danzig asked without interest.
“Thanks, not this time. These Sicilian lectures are just a basic overview of hominid phylogeny. I think I can get by with my notes.”
“As you wish,” said Danzig. He chewed up another mouthful of coffee.
“Now, now, now, now,” said Dr. Rufus, “some of our students are pretty sharp cookies, after all. Don’t you think you ought to have some resources at hand? No charge, you know, and it will make Bruce here very happy.”
Danzig didn’t appear much concerned, but Gideon didn’t want to offend Dr. Rufus, so he said it might be a good
