“Jesus! I don’t believe it.”
“There’s more. Besides the VIPs, splinter groups from various international security agencies are said to be involved. Do you think you could check it out for me?”
“I don’t know. I’ll try.”
“I would suggest you do it discreetly. If the organization really exists, they won’t be too thrilled to have anyone nosing around.”
“I’ll get back to you, Ben.”
“Thanks. Let’s order lunch.”
The spaghetti carbonara was superb.
Alfred Shuttleworth was skeptical about Ben Cohn’s theory. Reporters are always looking for sensational angles, Shuttleworth thought. He liked Ben Cohn, but Shuttleworth had no idea how to go about tracking down a probably mythical organization. If it really did exist, it would be in some government computer. He himself had no access to the computers. But I know someone who does, Alfred Shuttleworth remembered. I’ll give him a call.
Alfred Shuttleworth was on his second martini when Pete Connors walked into the bar.
“Sorry I’m late,” Connors said. “A minor problem at the pickle factory.”
Peter Connors ordered a straight Scotch, and Shuttleworth ordered another martini.
The two men had met because Connors’s girl friend and Shuttleworth’s wife worked for the same company and had become friends. Connors and Shuttleworth were complete opposites; one was involved in deadly games of espionage, and the other functioned as a desk-bound bureaucrat. It was this dissimilarity that made them enjoy each other’s company, and from time to time they exchanged useful information. When Shuttleworth had first met him, Pete Connors had been an amusing and interesting companion. Somewhere along the line, something had soured him. He had become a bitter reactionary.
Shuttleworth took a sip of his martini. “Pete—I need a favor. Could you look up something for me in the CIA computer? It may not be in there, but I promised a friend I’d try.”
Connors smiled inwardly. The poor schmuck probably wants to find out if someone is banging his wife. “Sure. I owe you a few. Who do you want to know about?”
“It’s not a who, it’s a what. And it probably doesn’t even exist. It’s an organization called Patriots for Freedom. Have you heard of it?”
Pete Connors carefully set down his drink. “I can’t say that I have, Al. What’s the name of your friend?”
“Ben Cohn. He’s a reporter for the Post.”
The following morning, Ben Cohn made a decision. He said to Akiko, “I either have the story of the century, or I have nothing. It’s time I found out.”
“Thank God!” Akiko exclaimed. “Arthur’s going to be very happy.”
Ben Cohn reached Mary Ashley at her office. “Good morning, Ambassador. Ben Cohn. Remember me?”
“Yes, Mr. Cohn. Have you written that story yet?”
“That’s what I’m calling you about, Ambassador. I went to Junction City and picked up some information that I think will interest you.”
“What kind of information?”
“I’d rather not discuss it over the phone. I wonder if we could meet somewhere?”
“I have a ridiculously full schedule. Let me see…I have half an hour free on Friday morning. Would that be all right?”
Three days away. “I guess it can wait until then.”
“Do you want to come up to my office?”
“There’s a coffee shop downstairs in your building. Why don’t we meet there?”
“All right. I’ll see you Friday.”
They said good-bye and hung up. A moment later there was a third click on the line.
There was no way to get directly in touch with the Controller. He had organized and financed the Patriots for Freedom, but he never attended Committee meetings, and he was completely anonymous. He was a telephone number—untraceable—(Connors had tried) and a recording that said, “You have sixty seconds in which to leave your message.” The number was to be used only in case of emergency. Connors stopped at a public telephone booth to make the call. He talked to the recording.
The message was received at six P.M.
In Buenos Aires it was eight P.M.
The Controller listened to the message twice, then dialed a number. He waited for three full minutes before Neusa Muñez’s voice came on.
“¿Sí”
The Controller said, “This is the man who made arrangements with you before about Angel. I have another contract for him. Can you get in touch with him right away?”