Slowly and painstakingly he wrote down a list of the basic information he had accumulated about Walker and Debbie Shaw. He listed separately the loose ends of information that seemed to lead nowhere and finally he wrote out a column headed “What I want to know.” There was no entry under that column. He had no idea of where it was all going or what he wanted to know. He was just stumbling around in a strange, misty wood, bumping into a tree now and again. For the sake of routine he wrote—“Who and why?”
He knew what his next move had to be, but he hesitated about taking it. It could open it up so wide that the whole thing would get out of hand. But instinct and experience told him that it was already out of hand. Maybe phoning Schultz would cut it back to size.
Boyd had compared notes with Mercer at Special Branch Liaison. Their information was overlapping except for Randall’s details of the alleged CIA number which Boyd took down.
He checked in his own notebook for the CIA at Langley and reached for the phone.
He dialled carefully and when the Langley telephone operator replied he asked for extension 2971.
“Schultz.”
“Hi, Otto … Boyd … SIS.”
“Hi, Jimmy. Where are you?”
“I’m in London.”
“Are you coming over?”
“No. But I need some information, off the record.”
“Go ahead.”
“I’ve got two cases I’m investigating. Both concern people who could possibly have been used under hypnosis for intelligence work. One of them’s a girl. Her name’s Debbie Shaw. She was given a phone number to ring in Washington if she ever needed a doctor, and was told to ask for a Joe Spellman. The number was Washington 547–9077. Her boy-friend dialled this number and whoever replied said it was CIA Langley. When he asked for Joe Spellman he was put through to a man, and when he asked again for Joe Spellman they hung up. He dialled the number again and after some palaver with the White Plains operator she said there was no such number listed and it certainly wasn’t CIA Langley or the office on Pennsylvania Avenue. Could you do a check on that number for me?”
“Sure. Any chance it was a wrong number he dialled?”
“Could be, but I don’t think so.”
“I’ll see what I can ferret out.”
“Otto … can you keep this to yourself?”
“Sure. What’s bugging you?”
“I don’t know. Just a feeling in my bones.”
“OK. How’s the beautiful Katie?”
“Fine. You and yours OK?”
“They’re fine. I’ll come back to you.”
It was three days before Schultz called back and Boyd could hear the hesitation in his voice.
“Is that you, Jimmy?”
“Yes. It’s me, Otto.”
“That query you raised with me. How far d’you want to go with it?”
“I don’t understand.”
“Let’s say it’s kind of complex.”
“That means the number was for real.”
“It’s for real all right. But it’s not in my area.”
“Can you pass me on to whoever’s responsible?”
“There’s problems involved in doing that.”
“Like what?”
“Like trouble.”
“For you or for me?”
“Both of us, I guess.”
“I’m being dumb, Otto. I haven’t got the message.”
“Let me ask you a question. Are you going to carry on these investigations no matter what?”
“Of course.”
“What if you were told to lay off?”
“Nobody’s going to suggest that, Otto.”
“Don’t be too sure. The ice is very thin at this end. Maybe I should come over and talk with you. How about that?”
“That would be fine. Are you sure it’s necessary?”
“I’m sure all right. When can you fit me in?”
“As soon as you can make it.”
“Tomorrow?”
“Yes.”
“OK. I’ll be on Concorde. Can you meet me in?”
“I’ll be there.”
“See you.”
He stood watching as Schultz came through Immigration and Customs. He looked more like a farmer than a senior officer of the CIA. His family were farmers, or had been until oil came to Olney, when their five hundred acres, modest by Texan standards, became the next best thing to a goldmine. They still ran several hundred steers on the land but it was more from cussedness than necessity. Otto, the eldest of three sons, had practised as a lawyer in Austin for three years before he was lured into the CIA.
Then Schultz was waving to him as he came through the glass doors to the reception area.
“It’s good to see you, Jimmy.”
“Good to see you too. I’ve got the car outside.”
“Is it parked OK?”
“Yes. Why?”
“I’d like to have a talk with you here before we get on to an official basis.”
“Let’s have a meal in the restaurant.”
“Whatever you say.”
Despite his curiosity Boyd waited until they had got to the coffee before he got down to business.
“Tell me what all the song and dance is about, Otto.”
“This part’s just between you and me. Off the record completely. Not to be repeated, or I’ll swear I never said a word out of place.”
“Sounds grim.”
Schultz nodded. “Maybe you’ve hit the right word there, pal. Anyway let me give you the picture. I checked on your number. Very discreetly, and got nowhere. It didn’t exist. I dialled it myself and it didn’t answer or even ring. So I probed a bit deeper.” Schultz paused to light a cigar. “D’you ever meet a guy named Grabowski while you were over with us?”
“I remember the name but I’m not sure if I met him. It rings a bell. I’ve got an idea he was an observer down at Camp Peary when I was there on a visit.”
“That’s the guy. Well now, Grabowski is CIA and a senior man. About the
