Fellowship of Fear

“Who is it?” Gideon asked.

“Don’t know. Or at least that’s what my contact tells me. Apparently the Russians refer to him only by code name. But I guess there’s no doubt about him being from USOC.”

“John, let me get this straight. Are you telling me that someone on the USOC faculty is a Russian spy?”

“Well, an American traitor. It amounts to the same thing. Whatever they’re looking for, a USOC’r gets it and passes it on to them.”

“You mean Marks doesn’t have any leads? I mean, it doesn’t sound that difficult. If they know the bases the stuff is gotten from, and when it’s needed, all they have to do is find out which USOC person has been at all the right bases at the right times, and it has to be him.”

“Very good; you’re starting to think like a cop. The problem is that this has been going on for a long time, a year or more. At least ten bases have been involved. We still haven’t figured out what the first seven were—never broke the codes. Then the codes changed or something—this is out of my line, remember—but we were still only able to figure out the last three the Russians needed: Rhein-Main, Sigonella, and Torrejon. Now only Torrejon is left. If they get what they need there…” John had been leaning forward with his elbows on the table. He sat back and moved his glass in slow circles on the table. “… if they get what they need there, then they’ll have everything they need… for whatever purpose they need it. And nobody on our side knows what that is. Or who the leak is. Hey, Doc, you haven’t touched your beer.”

Gideon thought he saw where the discussion was leading, and it made him uncomfortable. “I don’t really want it. What I’d really like is to take a walk in the rain. How about it? You have a raincoat, and that monster umbrella of yours will cover us both.”

“Out in that rain? Brr… But okay, you’ve had it tough; I’ll humor you.”

After the stuffiness of the restaurant, the moist, cool air renewed Gideon’s strength. Even the sound of the rain hissing on the paving stones was refreshing. They walked a block to the river, each in his own thoughts, and found themselves at the foot of the Alte Brucke, the oldest of Heidelberg’s three bridges across the Neckar. For a while they stood looking at the twin towers that marked the entrance, each one topped by a “German helmet” that gleamed wetly.

“There’s a cell in one of those towers, did you know?” Gideon said.

“Fascinating,” said John.

“Yes, the left one. Or maybe the right, I’m not sure. There was a pope imprisoned there in the thirteenth or fourteenth century. Or the twelfth. Maybe it was a bishop, not a pope.” He paused. “I think I better go back to the guidebook.”

They walked across most of the deserted bridge in silence. Then Gideon finally said what was on his mind. “As far as the last two bases go—Rhein-Main, Sigonella—there is one person from USOC who was at both.”

“Yes,” said John, “you. You landed at Rhein-Main from the States.”

“Yes. Does Marks suspect me?” He stopped walking suddenly, struck with a thought that should have been obvious. John continued on for a step, and the soft rain fell on Gideon’s face. He hurried to catch up.

“No, he couldn’t,” he said, answering his own question. “Marks is the one who sent me to Sigonella.”

“That’s right. Anyway, Marks isn’t involved in this part of it. His job is to flush out the KGB agent. Finding the USOC’r, the traitor, that’s Bureau Four’s responsibility. And they and Marks don’t share their information.”

“The need-to-know principle in action. That’s really insane, isn’t it?”

“No, to tell the truth, I think it makes sense. You couldn’t do ordinary police work—the kind I do—that way… separate investigations, completely separate systems. But espionage is a different thing. It took us a long time to figure out that you can’t let even your own agents in on other agents’ secrets—”

“Come on, John, really—”

“No, it’s true. That’s why the British have MI-5 and MI-6. The Russians have their separate departments too, but they keep changing the names. Even the U.S., for that matter, has the FBI and the CIA. A Russian spy in Texas, that’s FBI business; the same spy goes over the border to Mexico, it’s the CIA’s affair.”

“All right, I buy it… I don’t, really… but if Marks doesn’t tell this Bureau Four the reason I was in Sigonella, won’t they suspect me?”

“Marks has told them. They do communicate when they have to. They’re on the same side, you know. They just don’t do it any more than they absolutely must.”

At the far end of the bridge, they turned left along the path that followed the bank of the Neckar. The rain had subsided to a mist; Gideon stepped away from John’s umbrella to enjoy the feel of it moistening his face and collecting in his hair.

“You’re crazy,” John said. “You really enjoy getting wet, don’t you? You’re going to catch one hell of a cold.”

“You don’t—”

“You don’t catch colds from the rain. I knew you were going to say that.” John was slightly annoyed. “Colds are caused by getting wet and tired,” he went on. “Goddamit, just because you’re a professor doesn’t mean you know everything about everything. Why the hell do you want to take chances? You just came out of the damn hospital.”

John’s tone was exactly that of an anxious mother scolding a five-year-old who had gone into the rain without galoshes. He was not so much angry as worried, Gideon realized with a stab of guilt.

Gideon moved back under the umbrella’s shelter. “You’re right,” he said.

“It’s stupid to take chances.”

“You’re right,” Gideon said again.