way on to any
'So why is he in there with a cannon and leaping around like a vitamin pill endorsement?' said Mann. He put his hand-made English shoes, and their overshoes, into the middle of his paperwork, leaned back in the swivel chair and blew a smoke-ring at the ceiling.
I said, 'He wants the Bekuvs — you told me that — he's waiting for the Bekuvs.'
'Moscow won't give him a medal for this circus,' said Mann. 'This doesn't fit into the detente crap that the Russians are hard-selling Washington.'
I took off my leather overcoat and helped myself to one of Mann's cigarettes. 'If Hart wants the Bekuvs, then Moscow wants the Bekuvs,' I said.
'Naw,' said Mann. 'For all Moscow knows, we've milked the Bekuvs dry.'
'Not if the Bekuvs knew something so important that we'd be sure to act on it the moment we found out.'
Mann nodded reflectively. 'And something that Moscow would know we'd acted on, the moment we did it.' He got up and went to the window to stare at the Ilyushin jet. Then he looked to where the jumbo had reached the far end of the runway; it was now no more than a speck of aluminium, glinting in the winter daylight.
'How did Hart make contact?' I asked.
'Very cool. He teletyped Langley — Operations — told them that if everyone played along this end, he'd guarantee that there would be no public mention from the Moscow end.'
'Always the politician.'
'He knew that would appeal to the brass,' said Mann. 'A chance to brush a foul-up under the carpet… and by going through the teleprinter he knew that one of the copies would go to the director's office… no chance of us losing the offer between radiator and wall.'
Mann was still looking out of the window, watching the servicing of the Algerian jet, when there was a sudden roar from the distant jumbo and it came tottering down the runway at full power. It seemed very close before the nose lifted in rotation, and it screamed across our heads with enough noise to make the windows rattle. 'Flying dance-hall! ' said Mann, and turned back to the table that was strewn with his problems.
'Are we following the plane?' I asked.
To Algeria? So that Hart and the Bekuvs can line up with all those black-power refugees, hi-jackers and hop- heads from California and thumb their goddamned noses at us as the Aeroflot connection disappears into the sunset.'
'It was just a thought.'
'What's on your mind?'
I said, 'Suppose that what makes the Bekuvs important hasn't happened yet.'
'And it is going to happen. Is that what you mean?'
'If you were Bekuv, taking up our offer to let you defect, would you put a little insurance into the safe deposit?'
'Electronic secrets, you mean? Maser equipment?'
'Who knows what.'
'So where's the safe deposit?' said Mann.
'Somewhere south of In-Salah. Somewhere in the Sahara desert, for instance? Somewhere you couldn't find unless Bekuv himself — was along to help you.'
'Jesus Christ,' said Mann. He picked up a phone and dialled a three-digit number.
'You think I'm right?' I said.
'No,' said Mann, 'but I can't take a chance that you might be.' Into the phone he said, 'I'm going to need that airplane after all. In fact you'd better get me a ship that can get to Algiers a whole lot faster than that Ilyushin.'
A man came into the room. He had a federal marshal's buzzer tucked into his top pocket and a Smith and Wesson Heavy-Duty.44 sitting under his arm, in the sort of Cuban-hitch shoulder-holster that security men wear when they are not feeling shy. He gave a military salute and said, 'Miss Bancroft wants to see you, Major.'
'Show her in,' said Mann.
'Whatever you say, sir,' said the federal marshal, and withdrew.
Mann gave me the sort of smile you give to Jehovah's Witnesses before telling them to go away. I realized that he had Red Bancroft's report of my visit to the house. He said, 'Mrs Bekuv wants Miss Bancroft to go along with her.' He turned and saw through the frosted glass panel that someone was waiting outside the door. 'Come in, honey,' he called.
Red Bancroft wore a mustard-coloured jersey-knit dress, with a federal marshal's badge over the heart.
Mann said, 'We were just talking about it.'
'Gerry Hart is probably taking that plane to Moscow,' I said. I looked at her. 'Do you know what might happen to you in Moscow?'
Mann said, 'Are you sure Mrs Bekuv doesn't know you are in the C.I.A.?'
'I don't think so,' said Red Bancroft.
'That's like walking into a police station to ask the time just after you stole a million dollars,' I said. 'Not thinking so is not enough. And besides, what use would you be to us — you have no communications link, no network, not even a contact. You've no field training and you don't speak Russian — do you?'
She shook her head.'
I said, 'You could get the greatest breakthrough in the history of espionage, and how are you going to tell us?'
'I'd find a way,' she said. 'I've had field experience.'
'Look,' I said as kindly and as softly as I could manage. 'Moscow isn't Montreal, and the K.G.B. are not a freaky group of Marxist drop-outs. They won't give you a map of the city, and stamp welcome into your passport, just because Mrs Bekuv is crazy about you… They'll take you inside and rip your fingernails out… and that will be just for starters.'
'Now, take it easy,' said Mann.
Red Bancroft was angry. Her cheeks were flushed, and she bit into her lip to hold back a torrent of protests. Mann said, 'Well, it's my decision and I figure it's worth the risk.' Red Bancroft brightened. Mann said, 'What you tell Mrs Bekuv about your connection with the C.I.A. is entirely up to you. It's a delicate situation and I don't want to be a back-seat driver. But — and here's a big but, honey — if I tell you to get off that plane in Algiers, or any other place Hart might be taking it, I want you to move fast. And I don't want any arguments — you got it?'
'You can count on that,' she said.
'Now you get back to Mrs Bekuv,' said Mann. 'And if you've got any doubt about the way it's shaping-up, I want you out. Right?'
'Right,' she said. She picked up her handbag from the desk, and said, Thank you, sir.' To me she gave no more than a nod.
When she'd gone I said, 'Whose idea was that?'
'Hers,' said Mann. 'She's Psychological Directorate; you know what they are like.'
'She's over-confident,' I said. 'We put in an attractive lesbian to seduce Mrs Bekuv away from her husband, and away from her K.G.B. duties… but suppose in the course of the love affair, our girl falls in love. Suppose what we are seeing is Mrs Bekuv taking our girl back to Moscow as a big fat prize — and a way of getting herself and her husband off the hook.'
'Well, don't think that hasn't crossed my mind,' said Mann. He moved his feet off the blotter and swivelled his chair to watch me as I went to the window and looked at the hard grey sky.
'Don't sacrifice the girl in order to prove that the Psychological Directorate are stupid.'
'I wouldn't do that,' said Mann. He grabbed his nose and waggled it, as if trying to make it rattle. 'She's a damned good operative. If we ever get a woman running a division it will be Red Bancroft.'
'Not if she goes to Moscow it won't,' I said.
Mann pressed the button on his phone. 'Tell Miss Bancroft to take that goddamn marshal's badge off before she goes along the corridor to talk with the Russians,' he said into the phone. 'I'm going to see Hart.' He put the phone down. 'We're giving the Bekuvs to Hart now,' he told me. 'He's not dumb enough to let us take him, without Green wood getting it first — but you never know.' Mann sighed.
