cares if you get a parking ticket,- Rostov said impatiently.
Good morning. My name's Ed Rodgers. A h, yes. Just a moment, please ... Your report has just been typed, Mr. Rodgers. And here's the bill. You're very efficient. Hassan said, 'It is a written report.' Thank you very much. Goodbye, Mr. Rodgers. 'He's not very chatty, is her, said Tyrin. Rostov said, 'Good agents never are. You might bear that in mind. Yes, sir.' Hassan said, 'Damn. Now we won't know the answers to his questions.' 'Makes no difference,' Rostov told him. 'Ifs just occurred to me.' He smiled. 'We know the questions. All we have to do is ask the same questions ourselves and we get the answers he got. Listen, he's on the street again. Go around the block, Tyrin, let's try to spot him.' The van moved off, but before it had completed a circuit of the block the street noises faded agam Can I help you, sir? 'He's gone into a shop,' Hassan said. Rostov looked at Hassan. When he forgot about his pride, the Arab was as thrilled as a schoolboy ab ut all thi'e van, the bugs, the tailing. Maybe he would Teep his mouth shut, if only so that he could continue to play spies with the Russians. I need a new shirt. 'Oh, nol' said Tyrin. I can see that, sir. What is it? Coffee. It should have been sponged right away, sir. It will be very difficult to get the stain out now. Did you want a similar shirt? Yes PWn white nylon, button cuffs, collar size fourteen and a halt. Here we are. This one is thirty-two and sixpence. Thafs fine. Tyrin said, 'III bet he charges it to expenses.' Thank you. Would you like to put it on now, perhaps? Yes, please. The fitting room is fust through here.
Footsteps, then a brief silence. Would you like a bag tor the old one, sir? Perhaps you'd throw It away for nze. That button cost two thousand rublesl' Tyrin said. Certainly, x1r. 'Mat's it,' Hassan said. 'We won't get any more nm' 'Two thousand rublest' Tyrin said again. Rostov said, 'I think we got our money's worth.' 'Where are we heading?' Tyrin asked. 'Back to the Embassy,' Rostov told him- 'I want to stretch my legs. I can't feel the left one at all. Damn, but weve done a good morning's work.' As Tyrin drove west, Hassan said thoughtfully, 'Ve need to find out where the Coparelli is right now.' IpMe squirrels can do that,' Rostov said. s6squirreiarg 'Desk workers in Moscow Center. They sit on their behinds all day, never doing anything more risky than crossing Granovsky Street in the rush hour, and get paid more than agents in the field.' Rostov decided to use the opportunity to further Hassan's education. 'Remember, an agent should never spend time . acquiring information that is public knowledge. Anything in books, reports and files can be found by the squirrels. Since a squirrel is cheaper to run than an agent- not because of salaries but because of support work-the Committee always prefers a squirrel to do a given job of work if he can. Always use the squirrels. Nobody win think yoWre being lazy.' Hassan smiled nonchalantly, an echo of his old, languid self. 'Dickstein doeset work that way.' 'Me Israelis have a completely different approach. Beside% I suspect Dickstein isn!t a team man.' 'How long will the squirrels take to get us the Coparelws locationr' 'Maybe a day. ru put in the inquiry as soon as we get to the Embassy.' Tyrm spoke over his shoulder. 'Can you put through a fast requisition at the same time?' 'What do you need?' 'Six more shirt buttons.' 64six?*0 'If theyre like the last lot, five wOn!t work.'
Hassan laughed. 'Is this Communist efficiency?' 'There's nothing wrong with Communist efficiency,' Ros. tov told him. 'It's Russian efficiency we suffer from.' The van entered Embassy Row and was waved on by the duty policeman. Hassan asked, 'What do we do when we've located the Cpparelli?' 'Obviously,' said Rostov, 'we put a man aboard.'
Chapter Nine
The don had bad a bad day. It had started at breakfast with the news that some of his People had been busted in the night. The police had stopped and searched a truck containing two thousand five hundred pairs of fur-Uned bedroom slippers and five kilos of adulterated heroin. The load, on its way from Canada to New York City, had been hit at Albany. The smack was confiscated and the driver and co-driver jailed. The stuff did not belong to the don. However, the team that did the run paid dues to him, and In return expected Protection. They would want him to get the men out of jail and get the heroin back. It was close to impossible. He might have been able to do it if the bust had Involved only the state police; but if only the state police had been involved, the bust would not have happened. And that was just the start. His eldest son had wired from Harvard for more money, having gambled away the whole of his next semester's allowance weeks before classes started. He bad spent the morning finding out why his chain of restaurants was losing money, and the afternoon explaining to his mistress why he could not take her to Europe this year. Finally his doctor told him he had gonorrhea, i n* He looked In the dressing-room mirror, adjusting his bow tie, and said to himself, 'What a shitty day.' It had turned out that the New York City police had been behind the bust: they had passed the tip to the state police in order to avoid trouble with the city Mafia. The city police could have Ignored the tip, of course: the fact that they did not was a sign that the tip had originated with someone important, perhaps the Drug Enforcement Agency of the Treasury Department. The don had assigned lawyers to the jailed drivers, sent people to visit their families and opened negotiations to buy back the heroin from the police. He put on his Jacket. He liked to change for dinner; he alWays had. He did not know what to do about his son Johnny. Why wasn't he home for the summer? College boys were supposed to come home for the summer. The don had thought of sending somebody to see Johnny; but then the boy would think his father was only worried about the money. It looked like he would have to go himself. Ile phone rang, and the don picked it up. 'Yes.' 'Gate here, sir. I got an Englishman asking for you, won't give his name.' 'So send him away,' said the don, still thinking about Johnny. 'He said to tell you hes a friend from Oxford University.' 'I don't know anybody ... wait a minute. What's he look Me?' 'Little guy with glasses, looks like a bum.' ''No kiddingl' The don's face broke into a smile. 'Bring him in-and put out the red carpetl-
It had been a year for seeing old friends and observing how they had changed; but Al Cortones appearance was the most startling yet The increase in weight which had just begun when he returned from Frankfurt seemed to have continued steadily through the years, and now he weighed at least two hundred and fifty pounds. There was a look of sensuality about his puffy face that bad been only hinted at in 1947 and totally absent during the war. And he was completely balcL Dickstein thought this was unusual among Italians. Dickstein could remember, as clearly as if it were yesterday, the 'occasion when he had put Cortone under an obligation. In those days he had been learning about the psychology of a cornered animal. When there is no longer any possibility of running away, you realize how fiercely you can fight. Landed in a strange country, separated from his unit, advancing across unknown terrain with his rifle in his hand, Dickstein had drawn on reserves of patience, cunning and ruthlessness he did not know he had. He had lain for half an hour in that thicket, watching the abandoned tank which he knew-without understanding how-was the bait in a trap. He had spotted the one sniper and was looking for another ISO TrUPLE
when the Americans came roaring up. That made it safe for Dickstein to shoot-if there were another sniper, he would fire at the obvious target, the Americans, rather than search the bushes for the source of the shot. So, with no thought for anything but his own survival, Dickstein had saved Al Cortone's life. Cortone had been even more new to the war than Dickstein, and learning just as fast. Thev were both streetwise kids applying old principles to new terrain. For a while they fought together, and cursed and laughed and talked about women together. When the island was taken, they had sneaked off during the buildup for the next push and visited Cortones Sicilian cousins. Those cousins were the focus of Dickstein's interest now. They had helped him once before, in 1948. There had been profit for them in that deal, so Dickstein had gone straight to them with the plan. This project was different: he wanted a favor and he could offer no percentage. Conw quently he had to go to Al and call in the twenty-four-yearold debt. He was not at all sure it would work. Cortone was rich now. The house was large--in England it would have been called a mansion-with beautiful grounds inside a high wall and guards at the gate. There were three cars in the RTavel drive, and Dickstein had lost count of the servants. A rich and comfortable middle-aged American might not be in a hurry to get involved in Mediterranean political shenanigans, even for the sake of a man who had saved his life. Cortone seemed very pleased to see him, which was a good start. They slapped each other on the back, just as they had on that November Sunday in 1947, and kept saying, 'How the hell, are you?' to each other. Cortone looked Dickstein up and down. 'You're the samel I lost all my hair and gained a hundred pounds, and you haven't even turned gray. What have you been up to?' 'I went to Israel. rm. sort of a farmer. You?' 'Doing business you know? Come on, let's eat and talk.' The meal was a strange affair. Mrs. Cortone sat at the foot of the table without speaking or being spoken to throughout. Two ill-mannered boys wolfed their food and left early with a roar of sports-car exhaust. Cortone ate large quantities of the heavy Italian food and drank several glasses of California red wine. But the most intriguing character was a Welldressed, shark-faced man who behaved sometimes like a friend, sometimes like an adviser and sometimes like a servant: once Cortone called him a counselor. No business was talked about during dinner Instead they told war ston Cortone told most of them. He also told the story of Dickstein!s 1948 coup against the Arabs: he had heard it from his cousins and had been as delighted as they. ne tale had become embroidered in the retelling. Dickstein decided that Cortone was genuinely
