seconds. Good God, can you imagine, they'd be flashed across television screens all over the country?"
"The accused are condemned before they've been heard," agreed the chief of the [email protected] Bureau.
"Wait a minute, Wesley-" Moreau interrupted himself.
"For such events to take place, the two assassins would need the cooperation of the neo-Nazi hierarchy, not so?"
"Yes. So?"
"Impossible! The Paris unit of the Blitzkrieger is in disgrace!
They're considered traitors and would receive no assistance from the hierarchy whatsoever because they're too dangerous to the Nazi movement. They're cut off, abandoned.. .. Who else over there knows about your two prisoners?"
"Well, we're damned shorthanded here, so I used the marines and a couple of Knox Talbot's men to pick them up at Andrews.
Also a CIA safe house in Virginia to keep them under wraps
"A CIA safe house? The penetrated CIA?"
"I didn't have much choice, Claude. We don't own any."
"I understand that. Still, those two men are major liabilities for the ncos."
"So you've said. And?"
"Check on those prisoners, Wesley, but give no advance notice that you're doing so."
4 "Why?"
"I'm not sure. Call it the instincts we both developed in
Istanbul."
"On my way," said Sorenson, disconnecting the line to
Paris and touching the speed-dial numbers for Cons-Op transportation.
"I need a car at my residence in half an hour."
Thirty-six minutes later, shaven and dressed, the director of Consular Operations instructed his driver to take him to the safe house in Virginia. Immediately upon receiving the order, the driver picked up the interceptor proof UHF radio phone to give the destination to the CIA dispatcher.
"Don't bother with that," said Sorenson from the backseat.
"It's too early for a reception committee."
"But it's standard procedure, sir."
"Have a heart, young fella, the sun's barely up."
"Yes, sir." The driver replaced the radio phone in its cradle, his expression con ve- ing his judgment that the old y man was a pretty nice guy for a bigshot. A half hour later they reached the winding country road cut but of the woods that led to the concrete gatehouse flanked by an electrified hurricane fence.
The gate remained closed as a voice came from a speaker built into the concrete below a thick, tinted bulletproof window outside the limousine's left rear door.
"Please identify yourself and state your business."
"Wesley Sorenson, director of Consular Operations," answered the head of Cons-Op, lowering the car's window, "and my business is max-classified."
"I recognize you, sir," said the blurred figure beyond the dark glass, "but you're not on the morning's roster."
"If you'll check the Permanent Entries log, you'll find my name."
"One moment, sir.. .. Driver, release the vehicle's trunk." There was an internal snap, followed by the glare of a roving searchlight at the rear of the limousine.
"Sorry, Mr. Director," continued the disembodied voice, "I should have checked, but the Permanents usually come later in the day."
"No need to apologize," said Sorenson.
"I probably should have called the DCI, but it's a little early for him too."
"Yes, sir.. .. Driver, you may leave the vehicle and close the trunk now." The driver did so, returned to his seat behind the wheel, and the heavy steel gate opened. A quarter of a mile beyond, they entered the circular drive that fronted the marble steps of the former Argentinean ambassador's estate. The limousine came to a stop as the large entrance door swung back and a heavyset, middleaged army major emerged in the early morning light, the shoulder patch on his beribboned uniform proclaiming a Ranger battalion. He walked rapidly down the steps and opened the door for Sorenson.
"Major James Duncan, Officer of the Watch, Mr. Director," he announced pleasantly.
"Good morning, sit."
"Good morning, Major," said the chief of Cons-Op, climbing out of the backseat.
"Sorry I didn't make it a point to call and tell you I'd be arriving so early."
"We're used to it, Mr. Sorenson."
"The front gate wasn't."
"I don't know why not. They had a bigger surprise at three o'clock this morning."
"Oh?" The veteran intelligence officer's antenna picked up a negative signal.
"An unannounced visitor?" he asked as they walked up the, steps to the open door.
"No, not really. His name was added to the Perm-Ent log around midnight. That list is pretty long and he didn't like the delay; the deep-c Agency types can be touchy. Hell, I suppose I would be, too, if I worked all day and was called out here during a night's sleep. I mean, this isn't exactly "Nam with an impending firefight."
"No, but there are always emergencies, aren't there?" observed Sorenson, knowing better than to probe further.
"Not many at that hour, sit,"