Authors: David Hagberg
Without Honor (14 page)
“None?” Janos chided.
She grinned. “Not one.”
As she began filling out the slips, Janos quickly
moved to the Bs, where he found Basulto's name in the second drawer. He glanced at Mary, who was still busy writing, then back at Basulto's card. There were only three reference files under his name. One was listed as Operation Sweep, another Operation Box Cars, and the last was Operation White Out. McGarvey had worried that there would be no references to Basulto in the files, or at least none under his own name. The alternate source would have been Roger Harris. After that it could have been anyone's guess. Only they had gotten lucky on the first try. Janos jotted down the three addresses and then as Mary came toward him he closed the drawer and tore off the paper for her. She gave him a half a dozen pink slips to date and sign. As he was signing them he was conscious that she was studying him. He looked up when he was finished.
moved to the Bs, where he found Basulto's name in the second drawer. He glanced at Mary, who was still busy writing, then back at Basulto's card. There were only three reference files under his name. One was listed as Operation Sweep, another Operation Box Cars, and the last was Operation White Out. McGarvey had worried that there would be no references to Basulto in the files, or at least none under his own name. The alternate source would have been Roger Harris. After that it could have been anyone's guess. Only they had gotten lucky on the first try. Janos jotted down the three addresses and then as Mary came toward him he closed the drawer and tore off the paper for her. She gave him a half a dozen pink slips to date and sign. As he was signing them he was conscious that she was studying him. He looked up when he was finished.
“How many more?” she asked.
“I don't know. A few more maybe.”
“I'll just get started with these.”
Janos pulled out a stopwatch, made a show of setting it to zero, then clicked the start button. “You're off, then,” he said, stepping around her and moving over to the next row.
McGarvey had been a surprise last night. Not so pleasant for Pat, though she had finally asked him to stay for dinner. The children loved him. He was Uncle Kirk, Daddy's best friend. Only five years ago when the witch-hunters had been in full stride, daddy hadn't done much to help his friend. His mother told him once that people do most things out of guilt. It was easy to see in others, but not so easy in yourself. Today part was guilt, but another part was ⦠what? Larceny? McGarvey's warning that Basulto could still be working for someone within the Company rang in his ears. In a way the old adrenaline felt good.
In ten minutes Janos had picked out a dozen more files, as the first of the runners came back. He set himself up at one of the tables, his briefcase unlocked and open beside him, his stopwatch beside him, a fresh tablet and several sharp pencils at the ready. Mary brought him the first of the jackets, and then a coffee, black, as he started to work.
The case histories themselves were contained in thick buff-colored envelopes with accordion bottoms and tie flaps. He opened the first of the Albright cases marked with its address and, in gray type, CONFIDENTIAL: OPERATION HAT RACK. All case files were the same. Just inside was a slip on which was marked the date of each withdrawal and the initials of the withdrawing officer. On the first page of the main body of the file was a summary of the jacket's contents: work sheets, budget items, justification data, authorization documents, planning and analysis, actual details of the operation, follow-up analysis, and references, if any, to other files. Hat Rack was an operation that had taken place in East Berlin in January of 1948. Albright, along with a half-dozen Americans and some British agents, were to organize as many cells as possible of unhappy East Germans who would be willing to conduct a rumor campaign of an impending Russian drive to round up petty criminals and low-ranking Nazis for work in the mines in Poland. The operation had apparently meant to stir up unrest in the Russian sector. There was a lot of that sort of thing going around in those days. The Russians to this day maintained it was just because of that kind of Western operation that they were forced into building the Berlin Wall.
During his reading Janos made a great fuss of making frequent references to the various files he carried in his briefcase. After half an hour, when the remainder of the jackets had been brought to him,
his files were intermingled with the ones from Archives. It would be no problem switching the contents of the Basulto jackets to three of his own.
his files were intermingled with the ones from Archives. It would be no problem switching the contents of the Basulto jackets to three of his own.
For a while he stayed away from the Basulto files. Twice he went to the card catalogs where he pretended to make reference to the files, and after a short time his paper shuffling and trips back and forth became so commonplace that not even Mary paid much attention to him.
At one point he sat back, stretched his legs under the table, and sighed deeply as if he were a man weary from his labors. Actually his chest had begun to feel tight, his mouth dry, and the old heartburn had returned. It was a part of the business. It burned out a lot of agents, but he had been weaned on such feelings.
Mary turned away as he pulled the first of Basulto's files to him and looked at the slip on the inside cover. The file had been signed out three times in 1959, seven times in 1960, three in 1961, and then once in 1964. It had not been signed out since then. The first times the withdrawing officer's initials were R.H.âprobably McGarvey's Roger Harris. Whoever had signed out the file in 1964, however, had signed his or her initials in a tiny, illegible scrawl. Impossible to make out.
Turning next to the contents, Janos pulled out the first page. For a long moment he simply stared at it uncomprehendingly. It was nothing. Just a page from an encyclopedia.
Euphrates
to
Euripides
. The first page should have been the summary. But this was nothing. Someone had tampered with the bloody file. Janos could feel the tightness building in his chest. McGarvey had warned him. He glanced up toward the counter. Mary was still talking with one of the clerks. He took the rest of the thick sheath of papers and documents out of the jacket and began
thumbing through them. They were nothing. It was almost too incredible for him to believe. Here in Archives! Basulto's fileâat least this oneâcontained nothing more than encyclopedia pages, telephone directory pages, and some blank papers. Nothing of any significance. No underlined messages. Nothing with a date such as a newspaper or magazine page.
Euphrates
to
Euripides
. The first page should have been the summary. But this was nothing. Someone had tampered with the bloody file. Janos could feel the tightness building in his chest. McGarvey had warned him. He glanced up toward the counter. Mary was still talking with one of the clerks. He took the rest of the thick sheath of papers and documents out of the jacket and began
thumbing through them. They were nothing. It was almost too incredible for him to believe. Here in Archives! Basulto's fileâat least this oneâcontained nothing more than encyclopedia pages, telephone directory pages, and some blank papers. Nothing of any significance. No underlined messages. Nothing with a date such as a newspaper or magazine page.
In 1964, this file was still up at Langley. Nothing had been moved down here yet. Almost anyone could have had access. But Christ, why? he asked himself.
Mary was looking at him. He forced himself to smile. Lean forward. Casually, Janos, he told himself. After a moment or two, Mary went back to her work.
He pulled the second Basulto file over, this one marked SECRET: OPERATION BOX CARS. Inside, the withdrawal slip showed some activity in the late fifties and early sixties with the last action coming on the same date in 1964. For a few terrible seconds Janos could not bring himself to look through the jacket. He knew what he was going to find, but he did not want it to be so. He could feel himself being drawn into McGarvey's operation against his will. He should have listened to Pat. She had known. She had seen it in Kirk's eyes.
He glanced again at the withdrawal slip, June 14, 1964. Then he thumbed through the main body of the file, which like the first contained nothing but book pages, telephone directory pages, some blank pages, a few ruled sheets, also blank. The third file, titled OPERATION: WHITE OUT, was the same.
Slowly he retied the jackets and stacked them with the others ready to be sent back. Someone had concealed Basulto's activities back in 1964, in anticipation that he would be under a drug investigation
twenty-three years later? Or, he asked himself, had the files been tampered with more recently than that and simply not been signed for?
twenty-three years later? Or, he asked himself, had the files been tampered with more recently than that and simply not been signed for?
Each question raised a dozen more. Each possibility admitted a thousand dark avenues down any one of which was some unknown danger.
I want you to pay real close attention. This Cuban we're talking about worked for the Company a long time ago. He might still be working for the Company.
For whom, Kirk? he wanted to ask. The back door was wide open, and no one was there covering it for him. The next time he was going to get more information before he went off half-cocked.
For the next half hour he made himself work through the remainder of the files he had requested, going through all the motions of checking them against the card catalog. When he was finished, he bundled up his own files and put them back in his briefcase along with his tablets and pencils. Mary came over from the counter.
“Well, how'd we do this time, Janos?” she asked. She did not seemed worried, nor did it seem to him that she could see he was upset.
“You were a little slow on 201,” he said casually. “But it was within limits. I'm not a hardass here, Mary.” He got up. His legs felt a little weak. It was from sitting in the car, and then here at the table.
She laughed. “Oh, I don't know about that.” She glanced at her watch. “Are we done here? Can I get these back to the roost?”
“Sure. You did a good job here, Mary, as usual. All of you did.” He locked his briefcase and hefted it.
“Are you heading back to Langley?” she asked.
“Why?”
“I thought I'd buy you a drink at the club. Something I'd like to talk to you about.”
He looked guiltily down at the files. Had she found him out? She was sharp. Christ, she could have looked in each jacket before bringing them over to him. She could have seen what Basulto's contained. Now she wanted to find out from him why he hadn't said anything about it. And that was the least of it. At this moment there should have been a four-alarm fire beneath the tail of every man, woman, and child on this post. Or, she could be working for whoever was still running the Cuban.
“Janos?”
“Another time, Mary,” he blurted. Careful, Janos he cautioned himself. “I've really got to get back.”
Disappointment showed on her face. “How about later this week, then? I could drive up to your office. I'd really like to talk to you.”
“About what?”
“Maybe I'd like to apply for another position.”
“What?” he asked stupidly. He felt dense.
“At Langley. In computers.”
Then he understood, and he laughed in relief. “Sure,” he said. “Sure thing, Mary. But I've got to go now. Call me later this week. Better yet, next week. I need a ⦠I'm busy this week. Next week we'll talk.”
“Thanks,” Mary said.
In the front office, Lieutenant Guthrie had stepped out. Janos signed himself out, then headed north again, sweat making his shirt stick to his back. This time he had no stomach for music, Russian or otherwise. He could only think what a disappointment McGarvey had been. He was an old friend and yet he hadn't warned Janosâat least, he hadn't made his warning clear enough. Be careful, Janos, he could have said. I mean be really careful, Janos. I don't want you to get hurt. You are a good friend. I
want to protect you. Right now there could be a lot of trouble coming downâfor all of them. It was all right for Kirk, the man had resilience; he was like a rubber ball. When he was knocked down, he always seemed to come back up with just as much strength as before. But for Janos, who felt as if he were a man out on a very long, shaky, and dangerous limb, it wasn't all right.
want to protect you. Right now there could be a lot of trouble coming downâfor all of them. It was all right for Kirk, the man had resilience; he was like a rubber ball. When he was knocked down, he always seemed to come back up with just as much strength as before. But for Janos, who felt as if he were a man out on a very long, shaky, and dangerous limb, it wasn't all right.
Ten miles north of Charlottesville, he pulled off at a Mobil station, where from a pay phone near the men's room, he telephoned a number McGarvey had given him. It was answered on the second ring by a gruff male voice. “Yeah?”
Janos could hear a lot of talking and laughter in the background. It sounded like a bar.
“Is Mack Kirtland there?” he asked.
“Who's calling?” the man demanded.
“His mother,” Janos snapped. The man laughed. Janos glanced out at his car. The attendant was washing the windows.
“Hello, mother,” McGarvey came on the line.
“Three jackets. Nothing in any of them. Someone was there first.”
“Easy now,” McGarvey said soothingly. “You're calling from a secure phone?”
“Absolutely, Kirk. I swear it.” Trucks were rumbling by on the highway.
“Tell me what happened, then, Janos. Everything.”
Janos told him everything he had found and exactly how he had gone about it. He also share his speculation that the files could have been cleaned out at any time after the date in June 1964, and before the archives had been moved down to McGillis.
“But I'm mad, Kirk, that you didn't give me a better warning.”
“Nothing has happened yet, Janos,” McGarvey
said. “But if it's any consolation, I had no idea someone would have wiped out his files. There wasn't a thing?”
said. “But if it's any consolation, I had no idea someone would have wiped out his files. There wasn't a thing?”
“Nothing, Kirk. Now what happens?”
The line was silent for a second or so. When McGarvey came back his voice sounded strange. “Go home, Janos. Just go home, now, and forget about it.”
“What's going on?”
McGarvey hung up.
A dark blue Mercedes had come into the gas station, and two men got out as Janos hung up the telephone. He stood by the telephone for a moment or two as one of them came across from the island.
“Through with the telephone, sir?” the man said.
Janos looked at him. He was short, thin beneath a well-tailored blue pinstriped suit. But there was something about his eyes, something dark and cruel, something Janos had seen before.
The man suddenly had a large handgun in his right hand. It was an automatic, but it was silenced. In a fleeting. instant before he was shot and killed, Janos realized that he not only recognized the gun, he understood exactly what was happening. He never heard the shots that killed him.
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