evidence, Major,' he said in a soft husky voice of the sort I've heard him use for his electioneering,'… what, in fact, everyone in this nation means by hard evidence, is something that can find a man guilty by due process of law.' He looked up from his shoe-lace and smiled at Mann.
There was no need to draw any diagrams; we all knew the way it was going to go. But Mann went through the motions. He said, 'We are at the preliminary stages of a complex and extremely delicate investigation, Senator. We don't have that kind of hard evidence which you define, but that doesn't mean that no such evidence exists. I'm now asking your assistance, so that we can get it, or eliminate Mr Hart from the investigation.'
Greenwood stared at Mann and said, 'Well, I thought I'd let you guys come on down here, so that I could get a close look at you. Well, now I've seen you, and I don't like what I see.' The two men were staring at each other. 'So beat it!' said Greenwood. 'And take the bag-man with you.' He looked away from Mann in order to indicate me.
Mann stood up without saying a word, and I did too.
Greenwood didn't get up. He said, 'You really thought that I'd throw Gerry Hart to your wolf-pack?'
Mann gave him a cold little smile, and said, 'Into the snow, you mean? Well, Senator, you just better make sure Gerry Hart doesn't toss you off the back of the troika when he wants to whip up the horses.'
'You heard me,' said Greenwood softly. 'Get out!'
He let us get as far as the door before speaking again. When he did, his voice and manner had all the charm that had been there before. 'Oh, Major Mann,' he said, and waited until Mann turned back to face him. 'Just in case you are thinking of filing some kind of a report that says I'm not co-operative, just let me tell you again that I only deal with you C.I. A. people if it's done in the proper way — through the Senate. So don't let me hear that you are making approaches to anyone working in my office, until you've cleared it with me through your office. Have you got that, Major?'
'Yes, Senator. You've made your position very clear.'
Mann was silent as we walked out to the car. For what seemed like hours, he drove aimlessly round the city: through the smart streets of Georgetown where Gerry Hart had his chic apartment, past the neat lawns of the White House — discoloured now by the winter frosts — and through the black ghettos and back along the Inner Loop Freeway.
When finally Mann spoke — apart from the muttered curses he'd used on other drivers — he said, 'Last week there was this Foreign Minister, from some little West African republic, lunched by the State Department… next day he took a ride down the freeway and was thrown out of a hamburger joint by some red-neck in Virginia.'
'Is that so,' I said politely. It was one of Washington's standard anecdotes, and like most of Washington's cliches it was usually true.
Mann's mind raced on. 'It's a court here in Washington. It's not a government, it's a court. Know what I mean?'
'No,' I said.
'Like a medieval palace — the President brings in his own people and sweeps out the previous ones. Some are elected men… others are outsiders… courtiers: jesters, acrobats, jugglers and story-tellers… plenty of storytellers.'
'Knights, knaves and Quixotes,' I added, 'chivalrous men and courtly ladies… well, it's one way of looking at it.'
The traffic came to a standstill and Mann cursed. One of the big government office blocks was emptying, and a great flood of secretaries washed through the stationary traffic.
'And what is Greenwood?' I asked him. 'Jester, joker, jack-in-the-green?'
'Court favourite,' said Mann. 'The ear of the king, and a whole army of people to back him up.' The traffic began moving again, pedestrians scattered and Mann hit the horn, accelerated suddenly and changed lanes with a reckless skill that made a truck-driver yell. 'Not only the people who owe him a favour, and the ones who want him to owe them one,' said Mann, 'but all those bastards who have an obsessional hatred of us. The C.I.A. has a lot of enemies, and no one is going to thank us for mobilizing them under Greenwood's flag.'
'But wouldn't you have done what Greenwood did?'
'What did he do?'
'Stalled us,' I said. 'He doesn't want us in there taking Hart to pieces, and spattering blood and shit all over everyone in Greenwood's office. My guess is he'll tow Gerry Hart slowly out into the middle of the ocean, and sink him out of sight of land.'
'Are you trying to cheer me up?' said Mann bitterly. 'If Hart is the kind of high-power K.G.B. agent we both are beginning to think he might be, he could transfer the whole operation by that time. And maybe even get clear himself.'
'You're going after Hart direct?'
'Not for the moment.'
'Are you going higher?' I asked him.
Mann chuckled. 'The President, you mean? Like in those movies where some white-haired old actor you thought was dead years ago, shakes us solemnly by the hand, and says this is the last reel, fellers, go and get lined up for the soft focus. Hah. No, nothing like that, but I can make a shiver run up and down Greenwood's spine.'
'How?'
'He's frightened of getting spattered with Gerry Hart's blood? I'll rub his nose in it.'
'How?'
'He won't co-operate? Well, I'll show him a few tricks. He's frightened of what his friends might say if he's seen co-operating with the C.I.A.?… Well, I'll scrawl C.I.A. on his garden wall, mister, and I'll send him a thank-you through every postal delivery. I'll make that bastard the talk of Washington, I'll make him the famous C.I.A. stoolie.'
'He won't like that,' I said.
Mann smiled, 'Wouldn't it be great if we could get him an official commendation.'
We seemed to be driving round in circles. I said, 'Are we staying the night here in Washington?'
Mann bit his lip. 'My wife is going crazy in that hotel… It's my wedding anniversary today. Maybe I should buy her some kind of gift.'
'Does that mean you're staying?'
'If you sec a candy store and somewhere I can park.'
They said it was the wettest winter in living memory but then they are always saying that. The sky had turned a dirty orange colour, and now the rain was heavy.
It was the sort of tropical shower that reminds you that Washington, D.C. is nearly as far south as Tunis. Mann switched the wipers on, and there was a breath of steam rising from the metal of the car. He tried to tune in to the news bulletin but the static and the high-tension wires blotted out the transmission. Nervously Mann shook a cigarette out of the packet and lit it, using only one hand. I offered to help him but he declined.
We were on South Capitol Street, heading for the Anacostia Freeway, with Major Mann still trying to decide whether to stay in town to start fabricating angst for Greenwood, when the car phone buzzed. I took it. It was the information room at Langley. 'Car hop,' said the voice.
'Cheer Leader,' I said, 'go ahead.'
'Message from Jonathan,' said the voice. 'Fabian attempted suicide at fourteen thirty hours today. He is not in danger. Repeat: he is not in danger, but he will be hospitalized for seven or ten days. Do you read that? Over.'
'Five by five, car hop.'
'Crazy bastard,' said Mann.
Langley said, 'Jonathan asks will he tell Ambrose.'
I looked at Mann. He bit his lip. I passed the phone to him.
Langley said, 'Did you read that, Cheer Leader?'
Mann said, 'Loud and clear, car hop. Tell nobody. Over and out.' He hung up the phone.
Mann glanced at me out of the corner of his eye. I turned to him. 'Yeah, well I'm sorry,' he said. 'It's need to know.'
'Oh sure,' I said angrily. 'Or is it, how much can you pry loose? Who the hell is Ambrose?'
Mann didn't answer.
'Those A codes personnel are from Operations,' I said. 'We've got someone else working on this investigation
