“Tell me what you got in Hartford.”
Nolan went carefully through the information he had gleaned from Maria Angelo and Siwecki. Harper fiddled with a cigar and a lighter.
“All this is down the drain now.”
“No, sir. We’ve still got Oakes to work on, and Dempsey. They have the same information.”
“But when you start stirring around at that level we’re going to be in real trouble. They’ll throw everything into the ring against us. You don’t murder three people in cold blood to cover up a few tax evasions.”
“Maybe it’s time to consult people outside the agency, sir.”
Harper put his head on one side, half-smiling as if he were listening to some new thought.
“Like who, Nolan?”
“The Vice-President-Elect?”
“Powell chose him. How do we know he’s not in the game on their side?”
“The Chief Justice?”
“OK. Go on.”
“The Congressional leaders of both parties?”
“Not yet appointed.”
“The incumbent President?”
“Any more?”
“The Chairman of the Joint Chiefs?”
“They have no standing in this. It’s political and constitutional. It’s going to come down to picking men, not offices. And one thing is for sure.” And he looked pointedly at Nolan. “There ain’t gonna be no medals and promotions out of this. Everybody’s going to hate our guts. The FBI won’t want to know. The politicians won’t want to know. Not even the Democrats. Whatever we do it will probably be the end of the CIA.”
Nolan was silent. Harper continued, “I think you’ve almost got enough to justify pressing the button for a full-scale investigation, but before I do that I want to discuss it with the Chief Justice and the present Speaker. If they want to draw in a couple of others I’ll consider it. But make no mistake—right at this moment it is possible that we are acting unconstitutionally—we are into a real Bay of Pigs situation with no chance of winning. And I stress that to you. Whatever happens we cannot win.” He thumped the table to emphasize each word. He sniffed irritably. “We’ve got fifty-six days left according to our original reckoning, but we can forget that. When we get what we need, if we get it, people other than us are going to have to deal with it. The fewer people who know what we’re doing, the easier it will be for those people to act. For that reason we shall go on, Nolan, as we are. It’s far from ideal but already I’m dreading a call from the media that I can’t turn away with a plausible denial. We can’t afford to extend this beyond the people who already know.”
“I’m going to need FBI help, sir. They’ll have stuff on file that would take me weeks to find out.”
“Officially you get no help from them but I’ve talked to O’Hara and they’ve given us a liaison man; he’s senior enough to get you what you want. But if he says ‘no’ it’s ‘no’ without argument. We’re only getting this co-operation on condition that eventually we inform them of what’s going on.”
“I’d better get back, sir. Can I keep the Cessna at Hartford?”
“OK. But keep me in touch, and for heaven’s sake tread carefully. If things start going wrong I want to know immediately. I don’t want to come in at the crash-landing when it’s too late.”
Harper bent down and picked up a package that had wax security seals. He passed it to Nolan.
“The transcripts of the stuff you photographed in Kleppe’s flat. Much moaning from the translation section. It’s Armenian shorthand and badly written at that. A combined effort by a girl at Amherst and an old lady in the Bronx. It makes interesting reading. We’ve put it on microfiche but that package has the only hard copy.”
CHAPTER 8
Kleppe had a strong feeling that there had been someone in his apartment but he could find no evidence. The security network was in operation, the nylon fibres around the door were in place, the plastic plugs in the two key-holes were untouched and the underfloor pressure meters were still at zero. He stood in the loft for half an hour, examining with a magnifying glass the slots in the brass screws that held the cover on the radio box. The micro-meters on the electricity supply were still at their settings. There was nothing.
He had been back two hours when he got the call from Washington. He carried out the standard procedure and walked to a public telephone on Second Avenue. He could sense the panic in the first few words. The KGB surveillance team at the UN were certain that his apartment was under permanent surveillance. They had recognized a CIA agent named Altieri. They had tailed him to a known CIA “safehouse” near Central Park. He had left the safe-house with a senior CIA man identified as Peter Francis Nolan, and had driven him to Floyd Bennett Field. A civilian clerk, who was operated by the KGB’s section at the Consulate General, had supplied the information that Nolan had been flown to the civil airport at Hartford. Two KGB men had been sent to Hartford to locate Nolan. And as of that minute, Kleppe’s operation was under the control of the KGB team at the UN. Yuri Katin was in command. Kleppe’s operation was top priority, but of equal priority was preventing its exposure. Kleppe could continue his operation but there would be no signals traffic to Moscow. All communication would be through Katin to Washington. They would rather abandon Kleppe’s operation than have it discovered. That was the prime consideration now, until the situation was under control. Kleppe was given strict instructions to inform nobody, not even Dempsey, of the new situation. He would carry on, as normally as possible.
He phoned Yuri Katin and arranged to meet him at Grand Central in half an hour. They walked in driving snow to a bar on 42nd
