Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Spy

bath.'

'Yeah, I know,' said Mann.

'And done a few other things under the table and in the bath,' said Dean. He let out a whoop of laughter and refilled the glasses. 'Cahors — black wine they call it here. Drink up!'

'We're squeezing a couple of Russkies,' said Mann. Again his tone of voice made it sound as if he'd stopped in the middle of a sentence.

'Defectors?' said Dean, helping himself to a slice of goat cheese, and pushing the plate nearer to me. 'Try the tiny round one, that's local,' he said.

'Defectors,' said Mann.

'I guess I always felt a bit too sorry for those kids that came over the wall, back in my time,' said Dean. 'They'd toy with their goddamn transistor radios, and admire their snazzy new clothes in front of a full-length mirror. And they'd come along each day, and I'd write down the sentry details or the factory output or whatever kind of crap they thought was worth reporting to us. Then, one day, they'd feel like eating Sunday lunch with Mom and Pop, and suddenly they'd realize there were going to be no more of those Sundays. They'd come over the wall; there would be no more nothing with any of their relatives, or their buddies, or their girls. And they would take it real bad.'

'Is that right,' said Mann.

'And I'd wonder whether it was worth it,' said Dean. 'They were going to get some lousy job in a plastics factory, not unlike the lousy job they had back with the commies. Maybe they would be stacking away a little more bread and listening to their pop groups — but should we have encouraged those kids? Well, I don't know.'

'That's the way you see it, is it?' said Mann.

'That's the way I see it,' said Dean.

'No wonder you were such a lousy field-man.'

'Now you know I was pretty good,' said Dean. 'You know I was.'

Mann didn't answer but I knew he'd signed a few reports that said that Dean had been very good indeed. One of them helped to earn Dean a medal.

'These defectors of ours,' said Mann, 'aren't sitting on sentry-duty timetables, or plastic toilet-seat outputs. This one could slice some balls in Washington, D.C.' Mann moved his hand to indicate me. 'My friend here has been heard to express the opinion that it will carve a hole in the hierarchy at Langley, Virginia.'

'You don't mean that someone as high as C.I.A. Special Projects might be involved?'

They don't call it Special Projects any more,' Mann told him. 'But apart from that, you catch the exact nuance of my colleague's stated belief.'

'Jesus,' said Dean.

The kettle boiled and Dean poured the water on to the coffee. He put milk into a saucepan and lit a flame under it. Without turning round he said, 'I'm really glad, Mickey. Really pleased.'

'What are you talking about?' said Mann.

'This could give you a Class A station, Mickey. Paris maybe. Romp home with this between your teeth, and you'll never look back. Hell, you could get a Division even.'

Dean sat down and watched the coffee dripping through the paper filter. He looked up and smiled at Mann. It was difficult to understand what was going on between the two men. I wondered if Dean guessed the purpose of our visit, and if he thought Mann was going to turn the investigation into a witch hunt through the C.I.A., with the ultimate aim of securing a high position in it.

'These two commie defectors are stalling,' said Mann.

'There is always that initial inertia,' said Dean. 'In the good ones, anyway. It is only the hustlers who come in talking.'

'Your name cropped up,' said Mann.

Dean watched the milk as it started to bubble and then poured it into a jug. 'I drink it black, like the French do,' he explained. 'But I guess you foreigners might like milk in your coffee. My name what?' He poured coffee into the thick, brown coffee-cups of the sort they use in restaurants because they are so difficult to break. 'Your name was given in connection with the 1924 Society. Your name was offered to us by one of the Russkie defectors. They say you are working for Moscow.'

'Common enough trick,' said Dean. He drank some of the strong coffee. 'Enough people know me as a one- time C.I.A. agent. I guess the story of the foul-up that night in Berlin must be on K.G.B. file.'

'It's probably a standard part of their instruction course,' said Mann bitterly.

'Perhaps it is,' said Dean. He laughed and stroked his beard. 'Well, there you are then.'

'No, there you are,' said Mann.

'Do you mean this is on the level, Mickey?'

'That's what I mean, Hank.'

'Working for Moscow.. you guys must be out of your minds.'

'You haven't asked me what the 1924 Society is,' said Mann.

'I haven't asked you what it is, because I know what it is,' said Dean. 'In the early 'fifties I did a 150-page report on the 1924 Society. And don't tell me you didn't read up my file before you came here. I know you better than that.'

It was Mann's turn to look disconcerted. 'No mention of it in your file now,' he said.

'Well, what a coincidence,' said Dean sarcastically. 'It's been mislaid just about the time your Russkies fingered me. Now maybe you'll get your mind back into working condition again.'

'You mean because someone raided your file, we should write you off as innocent?' Mann asked incredulously.

'Right,' said Dean.

Mann dabbed a finger through the tobacco smoke. 'You've been too long with the birds and the bees, St Francis. When we find there's a chapter missing from someone's personal file, the subject is the prime suspect. Is it all coming back to you now?'

Hank Dean poured himself a large glass of 'black' wine but changed his mind about drinking it. In a gesture that Sigmund Freud would have appreciated, he pushed it far across the table, out of arms' reach.

'You're wrong,' said Dean. 'You're both making a big mistake. It would be crazy for a man in my position to get involved in any such caper. I'm on French political file… probably on local police-records even. I'd have to be crazy to do it…' his voice tailed away disconsolately. 'But you don't scare me. You go away and dig up some evidence. Until then, I'll sit here drinking plonk and eating truffles.'

'Not a chance, Hank,' said Mann. 'Make it easy on your self. Let's do a deal, while we still need a deal. Play hard to get, and I'll harass you until you weep.'

'For instance?' said Dean.

Tell him,' Mann said.

'Your pension has already stopped,' I said. 'You'll get no cheque this month, unless Major Mann signs a chit for the financial director. The money from the insurance will go on for a few weeks but eventually the insurance company will have a medical report from one of our doctors. He'll certify that your injury is no longer twenty-five per cent debilitating. As you remember, there is no award if the injury is less than twenty-five per cent debilitating.'

'What is this guy,' roared Dean. 'Some kind of speak-your-weight machine?'

'Do you want me to continue?' I asked.

'Go ahead, go ahead,' said Dean.

'The State Department have given us permission to declare your passport void, and make this known to the French authorities in any way we choose. That is to say, we can either tell them that it is invalid, or request them to hold you for using false or forged travel documents.'

'What are you talking about? My passport is real, issued by the State Department only two years back.'

'If the State Department say a U.S. passport is forged, Mr Dean, I don't think you can hope that the French will argue with them.'

'So you'll try to get me Stateside?'

'What did you imagine would happen?' Mann asked him. Dean swivelled to face Mann, his eyes dilated and his teeth bared. He was like some kind of wild animal trapped in a cave, while two hunters prodded him with long