country.
But he hardly had any choice. He’d built a clear $2.5-million profit into the VAX order alone and laid out a nonreturnable deposit of $250,000. If he didn’t supply and Rivera had to purchase elsewhere, it meant not only his losing almost three million. It meant the all-important word getting around among the other dealers: it meant losing his reputation and possible future customers. The considerations didn’t end there. Belac had to
Belac went three days after receiving the explanatory letter from Sweden.
A man of habit, which disastrously lulled the CIA watchers into carelessness, Belac began the evening as he normally did by going to the fixed-price restaurant in which he normally ate. But after half an hour, he left through its rear door for the waiting taxi that took him directly to the railway station, where he caught the Swiss-bound trans-European express with minutes to spare. He was fifteen minutes into the train journey before the CIA discovered that he had left the restaurant, but some days would pass before they would admit losing him completely.
Belac crossed the Swiss border on a valid German passport in the name of Hans Krebs. In the same name he booked into Zurich’s Baur au Lac Hotel. In the morning he flew to London.
Belac flew into the United States by a circuitous route, from London and through Toronto, so that he entered from Canada. It was on the last leg of the journey, into Seattle, that he took the big risk, booking the ticket in his real name of Pierre Rene Belac. But he went through passport and immigration control on the Krebs document, knowing passenger manifests are not compared against the passports of arriving passengers. There was not the slightest hindrance, and within forty-five minutes, his trail having been laid, he was waiting by the boarding gate of the last San Francisco flight of the day. Deciding not to press his luck, he traveled on the German name.
He changed back again to his real identity at San Francisco airport and used his own driver’s license to rent a Lincoln Continental from the Hertz office. He stopped in San Jose, parking the car in a shopping mall, and continued his journey by taxi, although not into San Francisco. In Milpitas he found a cheap motel, which, in comparison to his apartment in Brussels, was practically luxurious. At last he slept, exhausted by traveling for so long and drained by the nervous strain as well.
He woke in the morning feeling refreshed. From Brussels he’d carried the names of three consultants known within the arms trade to have responded to hi-tech inquiries in the past. With the first he got an answering machine. The second was John Herbeck, who came on to the line as soon as Belac explained his requirements to the secretary. After a few minutes’ conversation they arranged to meet for cocktails at the Mark Hopkins, on Nob Hill.
The consultant turned out to be a swarthy, deeply suntanned man with the tendency to laugh after speaking, as if he were nervous of his listener disagreeing with what he said.
Belac knew his business and was easily able to keep the conversation going about technology developments throughout Santa Clara Valley and the tightness of the industry compared to a few years ago. Then Belac mentioned the restrictive problems of COCOM.
Belac waited for the American to pick up the lead, and Herbeck took it.
“It’s a mine field,” Herbeck said, in clumsy cliche. “Commerce and Customs seem to change their minds day by day; it’s hell keeping abreast of it.”
“Which is why I need somebody here, on the spot,” Belac said. “In Europe it’s impossible for me to keep track.”
“A retainer, you mean?” Herbeck pounced.
“If we come to a satisfactory arrangement, then most certainly it would involve a retainer,” Belac said.
Spotting, thought Herbeck: what he enjoyed doing most. He said, “I’d like to get some idea of your activities.”
So would a lot of people, Belac thought. He smiled his sparse smile and said, “I think it’s best summed up as being a middle man between interested parties.”
“I see,” Herbeck said slowly, believing that he did. “What, specifically, would be my part in the operation?”
Belac shrugged. “Variable, I would imagine,” he said. “At the moment I would see myself contacting you if I had a tentative order, to get your advice on the most likely supplier and for guidance upon any export infringements.”
“Would you have me become involved in any negotiations?” the American asked.
“As I said, it might be variable. The normal way for my company is to deal direct.”
No illegality! Herbeck thought. If all he did was identify companies, he wasn’t breaking the law; if he set out the COCOM restrictions every time, he would actually be observing it. “What sort of retainer are we talking about here?”
“Something else I seek your advice about,” lured Belac. “What’s the normal scale?”
Don’t go too high but don’t go too low, either, Herbeck thought. He said, “Again it would depend on the work involved, but I would think something in the region of thirty-five thousand a year.”
The absurdity of paying anyone money like that! Belac kept any reaction from his face and said, “That would be quite acceptable. I would expect to meet your expenses as well.”
Happy days are here again, thought Herbeck. He said, “What more, then, can we talk about?”
“I can’t make a positive decision tonight, you understand,” Belac said. “You’re the first consultant with whom I’ve opened discussions. I have other appointments.”
“I understand,” Herbeck said, miserably. “Is there a number where I could reach you?”
“I’ll call you in a few days,” Belac said.
“I’ll be waiting,” the consultant assured him hopefully.
Belac left the Mark Hopkins and hailed a cab, bitterly regretting the money he was spending on taxis but knowing it was necessary. He paid the vehicle off in San Jose and went on foot through one of the mall entrances to check for any surveillance upon the car. He gave himself an hour, wandering in and out of stores, and finally decided he would have identified the watch had any been imposed.
He hailed a taxi and returned to his motel, ate watery scrambled eggs and drank gray coffee in the motel diner, and reflected, unamused, that the whole artificial performance could easily be an expensive waste of time.
Belac waited until ten the following morning before ringing Shepherd Industries. There was the briefest of pauses when he identified himself as a representative of Epetric before he was connected to Bernard Shepherd himself. Epetric was sending him from Sweden to resolve the problem of the VAX contract, Belac lied. Could they meet in two days’ time? Shepherd agreed, almost too quickly to have consulted a diary. Noon was convenient to both.
Shepherd’s immediate nerve-jangled reaction was to call Morrison’s San Francisco number, but he had a second thought. The connection to Stockholm was swift, as was the assurance from Epetric’s chairman that no executive of theirs was being sent to California.
The number must have been direct to Morrison’s desk, because the FBI man answered at once.
“It’s worked; he’s coming!” Shepherd announced. And you bastards can get off my back, he thought.
“When!” Morrison asked.
“We’ve arranged a meeting in two days’ time.”
Customs and FBI had their first planning meeting an hour later.
“Maximum airport watch, everywhere we can think of,” said Morrison, addressing the assembled agents. “Let’s not lose the son of a bitch this time.”
O’Farrell had coped so far with the screwing around in Washington but only just. Like so much else on this assignment, it hadn’t happened before. It had always been the same routine: satisfy himself, go in, complete the job, and get out. Clean, expert, no loose ends. Not like this. It was ridiculous for Petty to insist, as the man had insisted on O’Farrell’s second contact from the London embassy, that there was a problem assembling the
