Bedmar, Ruy Sanchez’s old boss and a member of the Consistory, to the papal council. It’s a cinch he’s going to affirm Urban’s legitimacy. And he’s going to have to do it in front of the entirety of Europe. And everyone will know that he couldn’t do so without Fernando’s support.”
Nasi shook his head. “Philip can’t afford to have that happen, and does not want to go to war with his own brother. So we must anticipate that Philip will attempt to derail the council, and that he might even try to sabotage it.”
Mike nodded. “And Ruy-although he will be an excellent security chief-should not have to wear the second hat of overseeing and planning the intelligence and counterintelligence activities both before and during the council. I’m sure Ruy is quite good at chess, but-”
Nasi nodded. “But it’s not his game of preference, or his greatest skill. This job is for Miro. But we can’t simply appoint him right away.”
Mike nodded back. “Yeah, I see the problem. Miro’s still pretty much an unknown quantity to our people in Grantville, and is a total stranger to the rest of the USE. So our people will have to get used to him, first.”
Ed opened the whiskey. “It’s a pain in the neck, but yes. And then there’s the appearance-false-of nepotism if we appoint him: he comes to our attention through Francisco and then who replaces that selfsame outgoing spymaster? Why, his very own golden boy. It’s not how it happened, but it’s how it will appear.”
Mike shrugged. “Look, let’s not make a problem where none might exist. Miro’s now got a business to run, right? Just before I left Magdeburg, I think you mentioned something about him and Tom Stone going into business together.”
Ed nodded. “Yup. Building some balloons in both Venice and Grantville. And some related chemical processes, I think.”
“Well,” said Stearns with a shrug, “Let Miro tend the Grantville end of that garden for half a year or so. By handling purchasing and negotiation up in the USE, he’ll naturally have contact with all the regional power-players through legitimate commerce. It will also get rid of any suspicions that his performance in the Mediterranean was solely because he had a huge home court advantage. Meanwhile, Ed, if any of your intel people feel that they just have to spend some time sniffing Estuban’s ass before they let him into their pack, they’ll have ample opportunity to get a nose-full while Miro oversees the case files on who’s coming to the council. He’ll be working up the operational planning on the intelligence at night, running his own business by day. And if he can handle all that, we’ll know he’s good for the long haul as our intel chief, and our people will have adopted him.”
Nasi nodded as vigorously as Ed had ever seen. “It’s a good plan. Simple and effective. If we help groom his contacts properly-make sure he is invited to the right parties, participates in the right negotiations-he could be present at Urban’s upcoming papal council for completely legitimate reasons. It would be the perfect cover.”
Mike Stearns leaned back. “That’s what I’m thinking. And it gives Gustav Adolf absolute plausible deniability if anything goes wrong with Miro’s operations. In fact, with the exception of a few of the folks under Sharon and back in Grantville, no one even needs to know Estuban is handling this for us.”
Ed Piazza plunked his bottle down on the tent’s small field table. “Mike,” he said, “you are starting to sound like the people you always hated most, up-time.”
Mike started. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, think about where terms like ‘plausible deniability’ come from; you hated those institutions and the entirety of the intelligence apparatus.”
Mike shook his head. “No, Ed. I didn’t hate the institutions; I hated what they became.”
“Not to rain-or maybe piss-on your parade, Mike, but isn’t that just a bit facile?” Ed cocked his head. “I seem to recall you asserting-convincingly-that because of what intelligence agencies are tasked to do, and therefore, how they must recruit and structure themselves, that they have innate tendencies to become exactly what you hated. As you said, ‘honestly, can you whelp a tiger and then hope it grows up to be a vegetarian?’ Doesn’t that worry you about what we’re doing now?”
Mike looked at the hard packed earth between his feet. “It worries me every damned hour of every damned day. But do you have any better ideas?”
Piazza shrugged. “Not a one. Other than maybe we should all sit in a flower-power circle, passing around a jug, and singing ‘We shall overcome.’”
“Huh. You’ve heard me massacre a few tunes, Ed, so you’ll be pleased to know that I’m going to take a pass on the singing. But if you happen to have a jug with you…” Stearns eyed the up-time whiskey meaningfully.
Nasi smiled as Ed filled the shot glasses and pushed them to their respective destinations. “Actually, there was one last reason to come out and visit you here, Mike.”
“Which was?”
Nasi lifted his shot glass. “To do this.”
Stearns looked at his own glass before taking it up. “Yeah. Seems like old times.”
Ed Piazza, raising the whiskey, reflected that, with Stearns soon to go into battle in the vicinity of Zwenkau, and Nasi heading off to Prague to help Morris Roth forestall one of the most infamous pogroms in history, it was all too possible that this time might be the last time they all lifted a glass of cheer together. Indeed, fate had been improbably kind to them, thus far.
Ed Piazza did not share this thought, but instead, joined them in sipping the whiskey in silence, as old friends often do when they reflect on the uncertainty and peril of coming days.
