Fellowship of Fear

“One of your agents…!”

“Ho-ho, I thought you would be surprised.” Delvaux chuckled expansively, as if he’d just given Gideon a surprise present. “Well, not one of mine, personally, but yes, an NSD agent. He was with Bureau Four. Do you know what that is?”

“I’m afraid I can’t keep the bureaus straight. Is that counterespionage?”

“No, no,” said Delvaux. “That’s the Second Bureau. Bureau Four… Do you mind if I get some more coffee?” Without waiting for Gideon’s answer, he beamed at him and went waddling cheerfully to the cafeteria line, cup in hand.

Gideon’s mind was back in a confused whirl. Ferret-face was on their side… his side, rather… yet he had been stalking Gideon, had glared at him with crushing hatred, had nearly killed him. Now he was dead, murdered, and Delvaux didn’t seem disturbed in the least. Quite the opposite.

Delvaux returned to the table with a brimming cup, sat down, and hunched forward. “Now. Bureau Four. Bureau Four is the part of NSD we don’t talk about. They are our internal watchdogs, our secret police. They ferret out—I understand you referred to him as Ferret-face; very perceptive—they ferret out security risks within NSD. They also sometimes… entrap nationals of NATO countries whom they believe to be collaborating with the Communists.”

“Monsieur Delvaux, I get the impression that you don’t hold Bureau Four in high regard.”

“I hate them. They are like the SS. They go where they want; they do what they want. They are responsible only to their own director. Wherever they go, their wishes outrank the orders of the highest field officer.” The sparkle had left his eyes. He sipped his coffee quietly.

“Can you tell me why he was… What was his name? I can’t keep calling him Ferret-face.”

“Joseph Monkes.”

“And was I correct in assuming he was an American who had spent a lot of time in Germany?” It hardly mattered, but Gideon couldn’t resist asking.

“Yes, he had been in Europe since 1959. And yes, he had lived in Germany almost all that time. One of your linguistic deductions, I believe? Very clever.” At Gideon’s surprised expression, he smiled and added, “I spent an hour talking with John Lau last   j, night.”

“Joe Monkes,” Gideon said. The name fit, somehow. “Can you tell me why he was following me?”

“I can indeed.” Delvaux dropped his chin and looked up at Gideon from under bushy, tousled white eyebrows. “Now, you must look at this with a sense of humor, a certain detachment.” Gideon, who had been trying to think of who it was that Delvaux looked like, suddenly remembered: Grumpy of the Seven Dwarfs—but a sly, jolly Grumpy.

“I’ll try,” he said with a smile. “I’m about ready for a laugh.”

“Bien. He was following you because he thought you were working for the KGB.” He held up his hand when Gideon opened his mouth. “And why, you will ask, would he think you were a spy? Because, I will reply”—here his eyes literally twinkled—“because he knew that the KGB’s source was someone from USOC, and he very cleverly determined that you were the only one who had been, or would be, at the critical bases— Rhein- Main, Sigonella, and Torrejon—all at approximately the critical times.”

Delvaux waited happily for this to sink in and continued, “But, you will say, it was not the Russians who arranged for me to go there; it was NSD itself, in the person of the estimable Mr. Marks. So why, you will say, did Mr. Monkes not know of this? And I, I will answer—”

“—the need-to-know principle.”

“Exactly! Bravo! Will you not admit the adventure has its humorous side?”

Gideon smiled crookedly. “I can see a certain element of farce in it, yes.” Then he shook his head and laughed. “That’s really incredible, you know.”

“I agree.” Delvaux laughed too. “We used you as bait—forgive me, an unfortunate expression—as an enticement to draw out our quarry. But the Russians would not be drawn out, and neither would the USOC source —who still remains a mystery, by the way. The only ones who—‘bit,” I believe you say?… were our own people in Bureau Four.“ He shook his head. ”One for the books, one for the books.“ He sighed with great contentment. ”And now I have some more to share with you.“

Gideon was suddenly famished, and excused himself to get some breakfast. He came back with a huge plateful of overcooked but nonetheless appetizing scrambled eggs, with bacon, sausages, fried potatoes, biscuits, juice, and coffee, and sat down opposite Delvaux, who had refilled his own cup.

Delvaux looked at the heaped tray with a mixture of admiration and disgust. “Formidable. We Europeans cannot eat a breakfast like that. Except the English, of course.” His grimace summed up his opinion of English cuisine. “Now, where was I?”

“Before you go on, I have a question. I wasn’t the only USOC’r at Sigonella and Torrejon—”

Delvaux nodded. “Eric Bozzini. John Lau told me.”

“So why did Monkes think it had to be me? Why not Eric?”

“I don’t think he knew about him. Your schedule was arranged in advance. On paper. Eric Bozzini’s was not.” He smiled. “Incidentally, I myself suspect Mr. Bozzini no more than I do you. You, he, and others may have been at the same bases. It is very easy to travel around Europe today. But let us return to the, ah, misunderstanding between you and Mr. Monkes.”

While Gideon addressed his meal, Delvaux carried the conversation single-handedly for several minutes. As the chief of a major regional office, he explained, he was in charge of all NSD functions in Germany, except for those of Bureau Four. That bureau’s activities were kept secret from his through strict application of need-to-know logic, of which he approved… in principle.

Naturally, the possibility of such a mix-up as had occurred had always been considered, and had in fact happened before on a smaller scale—agents of one bureau beginning to compile dossiers on agents of another, for