talked for four minutes about economic policy, and then for a further two about their afternoon agenda. It was clear from the context that Sansom was heading back to the office directly after lunch, for a long afternoon’s work. The New York event was a fast hit-and-run, nothing more. Like a drive-by robbery.
The hotel people finished up and left and Sansom clicked off and the room went quiet. Canned air hissed in through vents and kept the temperature lower than I would have liked. For a moment we sipped water and coffee in silence. Then Elspeth Sansom opened the bidding. She asked, ‘Is there any news on the missing boy?’
I said, ‘A little. He skipped football practice, which apparently is rare.’
‘At USC?’ Sansom said. He had a good memory. I had mentioned USC only once, and in passing. ‘Yes, that’s rare.’
‘But then he called his coach and left a message.’
‘When?
‘Last night. Dinner time on the Coast.’
‘And?’
‘Apparently he’s with a woman.’
Elspeth said, ‘That’s OK, then.’
‘I would have preferred a live real-time conversation. Or a face to face meeting.’
‘A message isn’t good enough for you?’
‘I’m a suspicious person.’
‘So what do you need to talk about?’
I turned to Sansom and asked him, ‘Where were you in 1983?’
He paused, just a fraction of a beat, and something flickered behind his eyes. Not shock, I thought. Not surprise. Resignation, possibly. He said, ‘I was a captain in 1983.’
‘That’s not what I asked you. I asked where you were.’
‘I can’t tell you that.’
‘Were you in Berlin?’
‘I can’t tell you that.’
‘You told me you were spotless. You still stand by that?’
‘Completely.’
‘Is there anything your wife doesn’t know about you?’
‘Plenty of things. But nothing personal.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Positive.’
‘You ever heard the name Lila Hoth?’
‘I already told you I haven’t.’
‘You ever heard the name Svetlana Hoth?’
‘Never,’ Sansom said. I was watching his face. It was very composed. He looked a little uncomfortable, but apart from that he was communicating nothing.
I asked him, ‘Did you know about Susan Mark before this week?’
‘I already told you I didn’t.’
‘Did you win a medal in 1983?’
He didn’t answer. The room went quiet again. Then Leonid’s cell rang in my pocket. I felt a vibration and heard a loud electronic tune. I fumbled the phone out and looked at the small window on the front. A 212 number. The same number that was already in the call register. The Four Seasons hotel. Lila Hoth, presumably. I wondered whether Leonid was still missing, or whether he had gotten back and told his story and now Lila was calling me specifically.
I pressed random buttons until the ringing stopped and I put the phone back in my pocket. I looked at Sansom and said, ‘I’m sorry about that.’
He shrugged, as if apologies were unnecessary.
I asked, ‘Did you win a medal in 1983?’
He said, ‘Why is that important?’
‘You know what 600-8-22 is?’
‘An army regulation, probably. I don’t know all of them verbatim:
I said, ‘We figured all along that only a dumb person would expect HRC to have meaningful information about Delta operations. And I think we were largely right. But a little bit wrong, too. I think a really smart person might legitimately expect it, with a little lateral thinking.’
‘In what way?’
‘Suppose someone knew for sure that a Delta operation had taken place. Suppose they knew for sure it had succeeded.’
‘Then they wouldn’t need information, because they’ve already got it.’
‘Suppose they wanted to confirm the identity of the officer who led the operation?’
‘They couldn’t get that from HRC. Just not possible. Orders and deployment records and after-action reports are classified and retained at Fort Bragg under lock and key.’
‘But what happens to officers who lead successful missions?’
‘You tell me.’
‘They get medals,’I said. ‘The bigger the mission, the bigger the medal. And army regulation 600-8-22, section one, paragraph nine, subsection I), requires the Human Resources Command to maintain an accurate historical record of each and every award recommendation, and the resulting decision.’
‘Maybe so,’ Sansom said. ‘But if it was a Delta mission, all the details would be omitted. The citation would be redacted, the location would be redacted, and the meritorious conduct would not be described.’
I nodded. ‘All the record would show is a name, a date, and an award. Nothing else.’
‘Exactly.’
‘Which is all a smart person thinking laterally really needs, right? An award proves a mission succeeded, the lack of a citation proves it was a covert mission. Pick any random month, say early in 1983. How many medals were awarded?’
‘Thousands. Hundreds and hundreds of Good Conduct Medals alone.’
‘How many Silver Stars?’
‘Not so many.’
‘If any,’ I said. ‘Not much was happening early in 1983. How many DSMs were handed out? How many DSCs? I bet they were as rare as hens’ teeth early in 1983.’
Elspeth Sansom moved in her chair and looked at me and said, ‘I don’t understand.’
I turned towards her but Sansom raised a hand and cut me off. He answered for me. There were no secrets between them. No wariness. He said, ‘It’s a kind of back door. Direct information is completely unavailable, but indirect information is out there. If someone knew that a Delta mission had taken place and succeeded, and when, then whoever got the biggest unexplained medal that month probably led it. Wouldn’t work in wartime, because big medals would be too common. But in peacetime, when nothing else is going on, a big award would stick out like a sore thumb.’
‘We invaded Grenada in 1983,’ Elspeth said. ‘Delta was there.’
‘October,’ Sansom said. ‘Which would add some background noise later in the year. But the first nine months were pretty quiet’
Elspeth Sansom looked away. She didn’t know what her husband had been doing during the first nine months of 1983. Perhaps she never would. She said, ‘So who is asking?’
I said, ‘An old battleaxe called Svetlana Hoth, who claims to have been a Red Army political commissar. No real details, but she says she knew an American soldier named John in Berlin in 1983. She says he was very kind to her. And the only way that inquiring about it through Susan Mark makes any sense is if there was a mission involved and the guy named John led it and got a medal for it. The FBI found a note in Susan’s car. Someone had fed her the regulation and the section and the paragraph to tell her exactly where to look.’
Elspeth glanced at Sansom, involuntarily, with a question in her face that she knew would never be answered:
