“That’s heavy artillery, Mr. Conklin,” commented the gray-haired director, sitting motionless, his voice flat, neutral.
“There were heavy reasons for pulling out the cannons.”
“So I gather. One of the sixteen-inchers reached me.”
“You’re damned right he did. Now, there’s the question of accountability. I want to know how that information surfaced and, most important, who got it.”
Both deputy directors began talking at once, as angrily as Alex, but they were stopped by the DCI, who touched their arms, a pipe in one hand, a lighter in the other. “Slow down and back up, Mr. Conklin,” said the director gently, lighting his pipe. “It’s obvious that you know my two associates, but you and I never met, have we?”
“No. I resigned four and a half years ago, and you were appointed a year after that.”
“Like many others—quite justifiably, I think—did you consider me a crony appointment?”
“You obviously were, but I had no trouble with that. You seemed qualified. As far as I could tell, you were an apolitical Annapolis admiral who ran naval intelligence and who just happened to work with an FMF marine colonel during the Vietnam war who became president. Others were passed over, but that happens. No sweat.”
“Thank you. But do you have any ‘sweat’ with my two deputy directors?”
“It’s history, but I can’t say either one of them was considered the best friend an agent in the field ever had. They were analysts, not field men.”
“Isn’t that a natural aversion, a conventional hostility?”
“Of course it is. They analyzed situations from thousands of miles away with computers we didn’t know who programmed and with data we hadn’t passed on. You’re damned right it’s a natural aversion. We dealt with human quotients; they didn’t. They dealt with little green letters on a computer screen and made decisions they frequently shouldn’t have made.”
“Because people like you had to be controlled,” interjected the deputy on the director’s right. “How many times, even today, do men and women like you lack the full picture? The total strategy and not just your part of it?”
“Then we should be given a fuller picture going in, or at least an overview so we can try to figure out what makes sense and what doesn’t.”
“Where does an overview stop, Alex?” asked the deputy on the DCI’s left. “At what point do we say, ‘We can’t reveal this . … for everyone’s benefit’?”
“I don’t know, you’re the analysts, I’m not. On a case-by-case basis, I suppose, but certainly with better communication than I ever got when I was in the field. … Wait a minute. I’m not the issue, you are.” Alex stared at the director. “Very smooth, sir, but I’m not buying a change of subject. I’m here to find out who got what and how. If you’d rather, I’ll take my credentials over to the White House or up to the Hill and watch a few heads roll. I want answers. I want to know what to do!”
“I wasn’t trying to change the subject, Mr. Conklin, only to divert it momentarily to make a point. You obviously objected to the methods and the compromises employed in the past by my colleagues, but did either of these men ever mislead you, lie to you?”
Alex looked briefly at the two deputy directors. “Only when they had to lie to me, which had nothing to do with field operations.”
“That’s a strange comment.”
“If they haven’t told you, they should have. … Five years ago I was an alcoholic—I’m still an alcoholic but I don’t drink anymore. I was riding out the time to my pension, so nobody told me anything and they damn well shouldn’t have.”
“For your enlightenment, all my colleagues said to me was that you had been ill, that you hadn’t been functioning at the level of your past accomplishments until the end of your service.”
Again Conklin studied both deputies, nodding to both as he spoke. “Thanks, Casset, and you, too, Valentino, but you didn’t have to do that. I was a drunk and it shouldn’t be a secret whether it’s me or anybody else. That’s the dumbest thing you can do around here.”
“From what we heard about Hong Kong, you did a hell of a job, Alex,” said the man named Casset softly. “We didn’t want to detract from that.”
“You’ve been a pain in the ass for longer than I care to remember,” added Valentino. “But we couldn’t let you hang out as an accident of booze.”
“Forget it. Let’s get back to Jason Bourne. That’s why I’m here, why you damn well had to see me.”
“That’s also why I momentarily sidetracked us, Mr. Conklin. You have professional differences with my deputies, but I gather you don’t question their integrity.”
“Others, yes. Not Casset or Val. As far as I was concerned, they did their jobs and I did mine; it was the system that was fouled up—it was buried in fog. But this isn’t, today isn’t. The rules are clear-cut and absolute, and since I wasn’t reached, they were broken and I was misled, in a very real sense, lied to. I repeat. How did it happen and who got the information?”
“That’s all I wanted to hear,” said the director, picking up the telephone on the table. “Please call Mr. DeSole down the hall and ask him to come to the conference room.” The DCI hung up and turned to Conklin. “I assume you’re aware of Steven DeSole.”
“DeSole the mute mole.” Alex nodded.
“I beg your pardon?”
“It’s an old joke around here,” explained Casset to the director. “Steve knows where the bodies are buried, but when the time comes he won’t even tell God unless He shows him a Four Zero clearance.”
“I assume that means the three of you, especially Mr. Conklin, consider Mr. DeSole a thorough professional.”
“I’ll answer that,” Alex said. “He’ll tell you anything you have to know but no more than that. Also, he won’t lie. He’ll keep his mouth shut, or tell you he can’t tell you, but he won’t lie to you.”
“That’s another thing I wanted to hear.” There was a brief knock on the door, and the DCI called out for the visitor to enter. A medium-sized, slightly overweight man with wide eyes magnified behind steel-rimmed glasses walked into the room, closing the door behind him. His casual second glance at the table revealed Alexander Conklin to him; he was obviously startled by the sight of the retired intelligence officer. Instantly, he changed his reaction to one of pleasant surprise, crossing to Conklin’s chair, his hand extended.
“Good to see you, old boy. It’s been two or three years now, hasn’t it?”
“More like four, Steve,” replied Alex, shaking hands. “How’s the analysts’ analyst and keeper of the keys?”
“Not much to analyze or to lock up these days. The White House is a sieve and the Congress isn’t much better. I should get half pay, but don’t tell anyone.”
“We still keep some things to ourselves, don’t we?” interrupted the DCI, smiling. “At least from past operations. Perhaps you earned double your pay then.”
“Oh, I suspect I did.” DeSole nodded his head humorously as he released Conklin’s hand. “However, the days of archive custodians and armed transfers to underground warehouses are over. Today it’s all computerized photo scans entered by machines from on high. I don’t get to go on those wonderful trips any longer with military escorts, pretending I’ll be deliciously attacked by Mata Hari. I haven’t had a briefcase chained to my wrist since I can’t remember when.”
“A lot safer that way,” said Alex.
“But very little I can tell my grandchildren about, old boy. … ‘What did you do as a big spy, Grandpa?’… ‘Actually, in my last years, a great many crossword puzzles, young man.’ ”
“Be careful, Mr. DeSole,” said the DCI, chuckling. “I shouldn’t care to put in a recommendation to cut your pay. … On the other hand, I couldn’t, because I don’t believe you for an instant.”
“Neither do I.” Conklin spoke quietly, angrily. “This is a setup,” he added, staring at the overweight analyst.
“That’s quite a statement, Alex,” countered DeSole. “Would you mind explaining it?”
“You know why I’m here, don’t you?”
“I didn’t know you were here.”
“Oh, I see. It just happened to be convenient for you to be ‘down the hall’ and ready to come in here.”
“My office is down the hall. Quite far down, I might add.”
Conklin looked at the DCI. “Again, very smooth, sir. Bring in three people you figure I’ve had no major run-ins with outside of the system itself, three men you’ve determined I basically trust, so I’ll believe whatever’s said.”
“That’s fundamentally accurate, Mr. Conklin, because what you’ll hear is the truth. Sit down, Mr. DeSole. … Perhaps at this end of the table so that our former colleague can study us as we explain to him. I understand it’s a technique favored by field officers.”