crumble the banks, should the Senate pursue. With exceptional rhetorical adroitness, the committee reported that they could not say with certainty that the nation was vulnerable to blackmail, because they had not been permitted to continue their investigations.
This was the background to the Deputy's feelings of petulance over loss of control of his organization as he heard the doors of the auditorium bang open. He rose to his feet as Diamond entered at a brisk pace, followed by Miss Swivven who carried several rip-sheets from the Fat Boy printout and the stack of photographs of members of the Munich Five.
In minimal recognition of Diamond's arrival, Starr lifted most of the weight off his butt, then settled back with a grunt. The Arab's response to Miss Swivven's arrival was to jump to his feet, grin, and bow in jerky imitation of European suavity. Very nice looking woman, he told himself. Very lush. Skin like snow. And most gifted in what, in English, is referred to as the knockers.
'Is the projectionist in the booth?' Diamond asked, sitting apart from the others.
'Yes, sir,' Starr drawled. 'You fixin' to see the film again?'
'I want you fools to see it again.'
The Deputy was not pleased to be grouped with a mere agent, and even less with an Arab, but he had learned to suffer in silence. It was his senior administrative skill.
'You never told us you wanted to see the film,' Starr said. 'I don't think the projectionist has rewound it yet.'
'Have him run it backward. It doesn't matter.'
Starr gave instructions through the intercom, and the wall lights dimmed.
'Starr?'
'Sir?'
'Put out the cigar.'
'Stop!' called Mr. Diamond, startling Miss Swivven, who had never heard him raise his voice before.
The girl on the screen froze, a blow-back douser dimming the image to prevent the frame from burning.
'See that girl. Starr?'
'Sure.'
'Can you tell me anything about her?'
Starr was confused by this seemingly arbitrary demand. He knew he was in trouble of some sort, and he fell back on his habit of taking cover behind his dumb, good-ol'-boy facade.
'Well... let's see. She's got a fair set of boobs, that's for sure. Taut little ass. A little skinny in the arms and waist for my taste but, like my ol' daddy used to say: the closer the bone, the sweeter the meat!' He forced a husky laugh in which he was joined by the Arab, who was anxious to prove he understood.
'Starr?' Diamond's voice was monotonic and dense. 'I want you to do something for me. For the next few hours, I want you to try very hard to stop being an ass. I don't want you to entertain me, and I don't want you to supplement your answers with folksy asides. There is nothing funny about what is going on here. True to the traditions of the CIA, you have screwed up, Starr. Do you understand that?'
There was silence as the Deputy considered objecting to this defamation, but thought better of it.
'Starr? Do you understand that?'
A sigh, then quietly, 'Yes, sir.'
The Deputy cleared his throat and spoke in his most authoritative voice. 'If there's anything the Agency can—'
'Starr? Do you recognize this girl?' Diamond asked.
Miss Swivven took the photograph from its folder and sidled down the aisle to Starr and the Arab.
Starr tilted the print to see it better in the dim light. 'Yes, sir.'
'Who is it?'
'It's the girl up there on the screen.'
'That's right. Her name is Hannah Stern. Her uncle was Asa Stern, organizer of the Munich Five. She was the third member of the commando team.'
'Third?' Starr asked. 'But... we were told there were only two of them on the plane.'
'Who told you that?'
'It was in the intelligence report we got from this fella here.'
'That is correct, Mr. Diamond,' the Arab put in. 'Our intelligence men...'
But Diamond had closed his eyes and was shaking his head slowly. 'Starr? Are you telling me that you based an operation on information provided by
'Well, we... Yes, sir.' Starr's voice was deflated. Put that way, it did seem a stupid thing to do. It was like having Italians do your political organization, or the British handle your industrial relations.
'It seems to me,' the Deputy injected, 'that if we have made an error based on faulty input from your Arab friends, they have to accept a goodly part of the responsibility.'
'You're wrong,' Diamond said. 'But I suppose you're used to that. They don't have to accept anything. They own the oil.'
The Arab representative smiled and nodded. 'You reflect exactly the thinking of my president and uncle, who has often said that—'
'All right.' Diamond rose. 'The three of you remain on tap. In less than an hour, I'll call for you. I have background data coming in now. It's still possible that I may be able to make up for your bungling.' He walked up the aisle, followed closely by Miss Swivven.
The Deputy cleared his throat to say something, then decided that the greater show of strength lay in silence. He fixed a long stare on Starr, glanced away from the Arab in dismissal, then left the theater.
'Well, buddy,' Starr said as he pushed himself out of the theater seat, 'we better get a bite to eat while the gettin's good. Looks like the shit has hit the fan.'
The Arab chuckled and nodded, as he tried to envision an ardent supporter of sports fouled with camel dung.
For a time, the empty theater was dominated by the frozen image of Hannah Stern, smiling down from the screen. When the projectionist started to run the film out, it jammed. An amoeba of brown, bubbly scab spread rapidly over the young lady and consumed her.
Etchebar
Hannah Stern sat at a cafe table under the arcade surrounding the central place of Tardets. She stared numbly into the lees of her coffee, thick and granular. Sunlight was dazzling on the white buildings of the square; the shadows under the arcade were black and chill. From within the cafe behind her came the voices of four old Basque men playing
For the last seven hours, Hannah Stern had alternated between clawing through nightmare reality and floating upon escapist fantasy, between confusion and vertigo. She was stunned by emotional shock, spiritually