Charleston went from jovial to serious for a moment. “Don’t apologize, lad. One is supposed to take matters of classification seriously. That paper you wrote was an excellent bit of detective work. One of our problems, as someone doubtless told you, is that we take in so much information now that the real problem is making sense of it all. Not easy to wade through all the muck and find the gleaming nugget. For the first time in the business, your report was first-rate. What I didn’t know about was this thing the Judge called the Canary Trap. He said you could explain it better than he.” Charleston waved for another glass. A footman, or some sort of servant, came over with a tray. “You know who I am, of course.”
“Yes, Admiral. I saw you last July at the Agency. You were getting out of the executive elevator on the seventh floor when I was coming out of the DDI’s office, and somebody told me who you were.”
“Good. Now you know that all of this remains in the family. What the devil is this Canary Trap?”
“Well, you know about all the problems CIA has with leaks. When I was finishing off the first draft of the report, I came up with an idea to make each one unique.”
“They’ve been doing that for years,” Holmes noted. “All one must do is misplace a comma here and there. Easiest thing in the world. If the newspeople are foolish enough to print a photograph of the document, we can identify the leak.”
“Yes, sir, and the reporters who publish the leaks know that, too. They’ve learned not to show photographs of the documents they get from their sources, haven’t they?” Ryan answered. “What I came up with was a new twist on that. ‘Agents and Agencies’ has four sections. Each section has a summary paragraph. Each of those is written in a fairly dramatic fashion.”
“Yes, I noticed that,” Charleston said. “Didn’t read like a CIA document at all. More like one of ours. We use people to write our reports, you see, not computers. Do go on.”
“Each summary paragraph has six different versions, and the mixture of those paragraphs is unique to each numbered copy of the paper. There are over a thousand possible permutations, but only ninety-six numbered copies of the actual document. The reason the summary paragraphs are so — well, lurid, I guess — is to entice a reporter to quote them verbatim in the public media. If he quotes something from two or three of those paragraphs, we know which copy he saw and, therefore, who leaked it. They’ve got an even more refined version of the trap working now. You can do it by computer. You use a thesaurus program to shuffle through synonyms, and you can make every copy of the document totally unique.”
“Did they tell you if it worked?” Holmes asked.
“No, sir. I had nothing to do with the security side of the Agency.” And thank God for that.
“Oh, it worked.” Sir Basil paused for a moment. “That idea is bloody simple — and bloody brilliant! Then there was the substantive aspect of the paper. Did they tell you that your report agreed in nearly every detail with an investigation we ran last year?”
“No, sir, they didn’t. So far as I know, all the documents I worked with came from our own people.”
“Then you came up with it entirely on your own? Marvelous.”
“Did I goof up on anything?” Ryan asked the Admiral.
“You should have paid a bit more attention to that South African chap. That is more our patch, of course, and perhaps you didn’t have enough information to fiddle with. We’re giving him a very close look at the moment.”
Ryan finished off his glass and thought about that. There had been a good deal of information on Mr. Martens . . . What did I miss? He couldn’t ask that, not now. Bad form. But he could ask —
“Aren’t the South African people –”
“I’m afraid the cooperation they give us isn’t quite as good now as it once was, and Erik Martens is quite a valuable chap for them. One can hardly blame them, you know. He does have a way of procuring what their military need, and that rather limits the pressure his government are willing to put on him,” Holmes pointed out. “There is also the Israeli connection to be considered. They occasionally stray from the path, but we — SIS and CIA — have too many common interests to rock the boat severely.” Ryan nodded. The Israeli defense establishment had orders to generate as much income as possible, and this occasionally ran contrary to the wishes of Israel’s allies. I remember Martens’ connections, but I must have missed something important . . . what?
“Please don’t take this as criticism,” Charleston said. “For a first attempt your report was excellent. The CIA must have you back. It’s one of the few Agency reports that didn’t threaten to put me to sleep. If nothing else, perhaps you might teach their analysts how to write. Surely they asked if you wanted to stay on?”
“They asked, sir. I didn’t think it was a very good idea for me.”
“Think again,” Sir Basil suggested gently. “This Junior Varsity idea was a good one, like the Team-B program back in the seventies. We do it also — get some outside academics into the shop — to take a new look at all the data that cascades in the front door. Judge Moore, your new DCI, is a genuine breath of fresh air. Splendid chap. Knows the trade quite well, but he’s been away from it long enough to have some new ideas. You are one of them, Doctor Ryan. You belong in the business, lad.”
“I’m not so sure about that, sir. My degree’s history and –”
“So is mine,” Bill Holmes said. “One’s degree doesn’t matter. In the intelligence trade we look for the right sort of mind. You appear to have it. Ah, well, we can’t recruit you, can we? I would be rather disappointed if Arthur and James don’t try again. Do think about it.”
I have, Ryan didn’t say. He nodded thoughtfully, mulling over his own thoughts. But I like teaching history.
“The hero of the hour!” Another man joined the group.
“Good evening, Geoffrey,” Charleston said. “Doctor Ryan, this is Geoffrey Watkins of the Foreign Office.”
“Like David Ashley of the ‘Home Office’?” Ryan shook the man’s hand.
“Actually I spend much of my time right here,” Watkins said.
“Geoff’s the liaison officer between the Foreign Office and the Royal Family. He handles briefings, dabbles in protocol, and generally makes a nuisance of himself,” Holmes explained with a smile. “How long now, Geoff?”
Watkins frowned as he thought that over. “Just over four years, I think. Seems like only last week. Nothing like the glamour one might expect. Mainly I carry the dispatch box and try to hide in corners.” Ryan smiled. He could identify with that.
“Nonsense,” Charleston objected. “One of the best minds in the Office, else they wouldn’t have kept you here.”
Watkins made an embarrassed gesture. “It does keep me rather busy.”
“It must,” Holmes observed. “I haven’t seen you at the tennis club in months.”
“Doctor Ryan, the Palace staff have asked me to express their appreciation for what you have done.” He droned on for a few more seconds. Watkins was an inch under Ryan’s height and pushing forty. His neatly trimmed black hair was going gray at the sides, and his skin was pale in the way of people who rarely saw the sun. He looked like a diplomat. His smile was so perfect that he must have practiced it in front of a mirror. It was the sort of smile that could have meant anything. Or more likely, nothing. There was interest behind those blue eyes, though. As had happened many times in the past few weeks, this man was trying to decide what Dr. John Patrick Ryan was made of. The subject of the investigation was getting very tired of this, but there wasn’t much Jack could do about it.
“Geoff is something of an expert on the Northern Ireland situation,” Holmes said.
“No one’s an ‘expert,’ ” Watkins said with a shake of his head. “I was there at the beginning, back in 1969. I was in uniform then, a subaltern with — well, that hardly matters now, does it? How do you think we should handle the problem, Doctor Ryan?”
“People have been asking me that question for three weeks, Mr. Watkins. How the hell should I know?”
“Still looking for ideas, Geoff?” Holmes asked.
“The right idea is out there somewhere,” Watkins said, keeping his eyes on Ryan.
“I don’t have it,” Jack said. “And even if someone did, how would you know? I teach history, remember, I don’t make it.”