“Yes.”
“Tell me the number and the name.”
“Washington 547–9077. Joe Spellman.”
“Good girl. Now I’m going to wake you up and you won’t remember any of this. Wake up when I’ve counted from ten to one. Here we go … ten, nine, eight … you’re beginning to wake … seven, six … lighter and lighter … five, four … you’re waking up and you feel fine … three, two … open your eyes … one. Now you’re awake.” He paused as her eyes fluttered open. He smiled. “How do you feel, kid?”
She smiled. “Fine. What about the injection?”
“You’ve had it, sweetie.” He stood up. “I’ll see you tomorrow. A nurse is coming over to look after you. So sleep tight.”
“I’m glad you’re the doctor. That was really a lucky break for me.”
“See you tomorrow and sleep well.”
3
As the warning lights went on Boyd fastened his seat-belt. He wasn’t looking forward to his assignment in Washington. Liaison officer between the CIA and SIS was worse than any field operation. If you got on well with the CIA then London began to be suspicious that you were taking the easy way out. Keeping in with the Americans. If the CIA hinted that they weren’t happy with you London went through the motions of urging you to try harder. Probably going along with Langley’s criticisms but urging patience and forbearance. Both sides’ assessment of your usefulness was based on whether they thought you were helping them get away with more than they should. There were no winners in the Langley job. Just a question of losers, bad losers, or ineffectives. Somebody had once said that if CIA/ SIS liaison in Washington ended up with his guts hated by both organizations it was the nearest you could get to knowing that the job had been well done. There was only one consolation. Unless you really made a genuine hash of things there was automatic promotion when you returned to London.
Twenty minutes later he gathered up his hold-all from under the seat and joined the queue for the exit. At the bottom of the steps a man in a blue suit touched his arm. “Boyd?”
“Yes.”
“My name’s Schultz. Otto Schultz. Langley. I’ve told them to clear your bags straight through. I thought we could have a meal here at the airport and then I’ll take you home.”
“Thanks. Isn’t it a bit late to keep you working?”
Schultz smiled and reached for Boyd’s hold-all. “Not this particular night. Maybe you’d forgotten. It’s election day here and we’ll all be staying up for the results on the tube.”
“Of course. When I got my travel orders I noticed that I’d be arriving on the day but it had slipped my mind.”
Schultz smiled. “Let’s go and eat first. It’s not a bad restaurant.”
They chatted mild “shop” until the coffee was served, when Schultz said, “There’s nothing in our background stuff on you about a wife. Is there one?”
Boyd shook his head. “No. I’m afraid not. Not even a steady girl-friend.” He grinned. “But to save them the trouble of finding out, I’m not queer either.”
Schultz made no pretence of not being interested in Boyd’s statement but he smiled and said, “We’ll have to see if we can’t fix you up over here.” He waved to the waitress and signalled that he wanted his bill. “Meantime let’s go back to my place. We’re putting you up in the spare room for tonight and we’ll talk about something permanent tomorrow.”
Boyd was introduced to Patsy, Schultz’s wife, and four friends who had come round for election-night drinks.
By 10.30 local time it looked as if Kennedy was a landslide winner and Patsy turned to Boyd. “You must be tired, Jimmy. Don’t stand on ceremony. Just go off to bed as soon as you feel like it.”
Boyd looked at Schultz. “Are you going to stay on, Otto?”
“Yes. It matters to Langley who wins. And Kennedy’s only picked up what he could expect so far. The ball-game’s not over by a long way yet.”
By midnight it looked as if Schultz was wrong. Kennedy’s margin by then was over two million and the first returns from Los Angeles County looked as if California was falling to the Democrats. But by 3 A.M. it was certain that Nixon was going to take more states than Kennedy.
They were having breakfast when Schultz came back from the telephone. Their guests had left and Patsy was in bed. As Schultz slumped down at the table, reaching for the black coffee he said, “That was a call from the office. They just heard that the Secret Service team has moved into the Kennedy compound at Hyannisport. That means they already know that he’s won.”
“Does it matter to Langley who wins?”
“You bet it does. It matters a lot.”
“Who were they hoping for?”
Schultz shrugged. “Not the one we got.”
“Why not?”
The American leaned back in his chair until it creaked. “The Republicans are professionals. They want law and order maintained so that big business can get on with the job. Kennedy has got his support from the students, the blacks and the Southern States that Lyndon Johnson brought him. We’re never going to know where we are with Kennedy. He wants to look good and that isn’t what makes a good president so far as Langley’s concerned.”
“Does that influence your personal vote?”
Schultz laughed drily. “No way. I voted for Kennedy. When all the votes are in you’ll find that it was damn nearly fifty-fifty between him and Nixon. How about we get some sleep and I’ll take you in to the office late this afternoon.”
“I can carry on if you want.”
“Do you mean that?”
“Sure I do.”
Schultz nodded approvingly. “Fine. Let’s go. I’ll introduce you to a few people you’ll be working with apart from me.”
The snow started falling on the streets of Washington about mid-day and by the time the office-
