Fellowship of Fear

outright, of course, but we thought he might try to use you in some way. And so we sent you to Sigonella, and we watched you very carefully—”

“Yes, I understand all that. But why would they want to kill me? If he thought I was being used to trap him, all he had to do was ignore me—”

“Correct, and that is apparently what he did. But we—” here he paused to give his grandest Gallic shrug—“we, in our brilliance, not only fooled completely our own Mr. Monkes, but also the entire, mighty KGB. They have been under the impression that Dr. Gideon Oliver is in reality one of NSD’s most formidable and dangerous agents of counterespionage.” He began to reassemble the umbrella.

“By association, you mean? They found out that I had been in contact with you?”

“That’s the idea, yes. They made, it would seem, the same mistake that Mr. Monkes did. They discovered that you were assigned to go to Sigonella and Torrejon, and that you had already been at Rhein-Main—all at the critical times. They assumed—correctly, in the latter two cases—that these assignments were no mere coincidences. Their deduction?… That you must be an NSD agent sent to these bases in an effort to thwart them. I think we may also surmise that they found out you had been to our headquarters in Heidelberg—the building is watched, of course— and so such a conclusion on their part was really quite reasonable.”

After a moment Gideon said, “Monsieur Delvaux, does this sort of thing happen every day in your field? Or am I simply fortunate in having been involved in an extraordinarily… interesting adventure?”

Monsieur Delvaux laughed with real amusement. “I have been in intelligence for thirty-three years, and I have never—

“No, you can stop worrying. They are no longer interested in you. I guarantee it.”

“I value your guarantee highly, but it would certainly ease my mind if you could share with me the reason for your confidence.”

Delvaux smiled. “I enjoy you, do you know? Not all Americans have so nice a way with words, even in their own language. Here is what we’ve done. In the past twelve hours, we have sent four secret messages to our agents which make it extremely clear that you are no longer involved with us in any way, and that they are neither to communicate with you nor to accept any communication from you.”

“But it’s the KGB I have to worry about, isn’t it? What good does—” He stopped when Delvaux raised his hand.

“You see, the KGB works very hard at intercepting our messages, just as we do theirs. And we are well aware of certain of our own secret channels that are not quite as secret as they are supposed to be. The new directives concerning you have been routed through several of those rather leaky channels.”

“But how can you be positive they’ll be picked up by the Russians? It hardly seems certain.” He was beginning to understand the way John felt in their anthropological discussions. Every question he asked received an answer that left him maddeningly incredulous and thoroughly convinced at the same time.

“Oh no. We know. You see, we are rather good at intercepting their messages too. And twenty minutes before I called you this morning, I received word that the KGB has already sent out word that the… what was it? the super-duper agent?… is no longer a threat and is to be left in peace. They did not name you, of course, but there is no question that it is you. You are in no danger. Period.”

Gideon’s mind was .beginning to turn soggy. It seemed as if NSD had a more reliable communication interchange with the KGB than it did with its own Bureau Four. “But look,” he said. “If you can send out false messages for the sole purpose of being intercepted by them, what makes you think they can’t do the same thing? How do you know that this morning’s message about me is reliable?”

“Ah, we can be sure about that. When a message is encoded—”

This time it was Gideon who held up his hand. “Stop. I don’t want to know. I can’t process any more data. I believe you, I believe you.”

Delvaux laughed softly. “That’s fine.” He looked at his watch. “And now I must go. Is there anything else I can tell you?”

“Yes. Why were my socks stolen?”

“Ah, that is a funny one. We don’t have any idea. We know that Mr. Monkes was in your room several times looking for information he thought you’d stolen. But the socks, they make no sense whatever. As far as we can tell, the incident has no significance.”

“Could it have been the KGB?”

“That stole your socks? Hardly. Now, if they’d been American blue jeans… .”

They said good-bye at the terminal. Gideon shook hands with affection, and felt the grip returned.

“Where are you off to now?” Gideon asked.

“Now I go back to Holland, to Brunssum, to confer with Herr Embacher, the director general.”

“The head of NSD? This is as important as all that?”

Delvaux shrugged expressively but did not reply.

Gideon’s mood was one of reasonable satisfaction as he watched the bus leave. Delvaux had assured him that his personal safety was no longer at risk. The fact that he had received similar assurances two weeks before was of minor concern. More importantly, his scientist’s soul was content—or nearly so; Delvaux had fitted almost all of the missing pieces into place. Only a few annoying questions remained: Who was the spy on the USOC staff? What were the Russians really up to?

And somehow most perplexing and bothersome of all in its own niggling way: Why had someone stolen three pairs of his socks?

17

AS SOON AS HE saw the figure at the top of the stairs, Gideon knew there was something odd about him. A slight, dark young man of twenty with flashing black eyes, he looked distinctly out of place in the BOQ. He was