if he's around, will probably try to figure out which one of us caught the bullets."
"You're distastefully cavalier-"
"It's better than being the other way, Mr. Director," Latham interrupted.
"There's no time for that now."
"There'd better be time for an explanation. Then Harry is-he's the one who was killed?"
"Yes. I'm taking his place."
"You're doing what?"
"I just told you."
"For Christ's sake, why? I never cleared anything like this, I wouldn't!"
"I knew that. It's why I went around you and did it myself. If I make any progress, you can take the credit. If I don't, well, it won't matter, will it?"
"To hell with credit, I want to know what you think you're doing.
This an intolerable breach of field conduct, and you know it!"
"Not entirely, sir. We all have the leeway of on-scene decisions, you gave us that."
"Only in the event that proper channels of authority can't be reached in times of crisis. I'm here and you can reach me, whether I'm at the office, at home, on a golf course, or in a goddamned whorehouse-if I had any use for one! Why didn't you?"
"I just told you. You'd turn me down, and it'd be wrong because you aren't here, and there's no way I can make you understand because I don't really understand it myself, but I know I'm right.
And, if I may, sir, knowing something of your service record, I believe you've taken such unilateral actions yourself in the past."
"Cut the crap, Latham," said a weary, frustrated Sorenson.
"What've you got and how are you approaching it? Why are you playing Harry?"
Painfully, reluctantly, Drew described the last minutes of his brother's life, the uncharacteristic outbursts of emotion, the tears, the apparent confusion he had in differentiating between his cover and his real identity, and finally, his refusal to amplify on a name, a doctor, that he brought up several times with Karin de Vries and then with Drew himself.
"He mentioned him," explained Latham, "as if the man were some sort of secretive figure, to be either exposed or protected."
"A sinner and a saint?" Sorenson asked.
"Yes, I guess you could say that."
"It's the Stockholm syndrome, Drew. The captive identifies with the captor. His feelings are a mixed bag of resentment, yet he's still currying favor, until finally, he episodically imagines himself to be the one with power. Quite simply, Harry was burned out; he lived over the edge too long."
"I understand all that, Wcs, including the all-too-familiar Stockholm theory which covers too many bases for me, at least as it applies to Harry. His well-known cold rationality was still there.
This Dr. Gerhardt Kroeger, that's his name, was somehow important to my brother, sinner or saint notwithstanding. He knows what happened to Harry, maybe even how he got that list of names. It's possible this Kroeger is on our side and slipped them to him."
"I suppose anything's possible, and right now those names are a national catastrophe waiting to happen. At the moment, the Bureau is mounting a dozen covert operations to microscope everyone on the list over here."
"Things have gone that far already?"
"In the words of our ubiquitous Secretary of State, who has both ears of the President, if this administration 'can root out the Nazi influence in the country, the nation will be forever grateful." It's 'damn the torpedoes, full steam ahead."
"My God, that's scary."
"I agree, but I can also understand why it's happening. Harry Latham was considered the finest, most experienced undercover man in the Agency. It's not easy to dismiss his findings."
"Not was," corrected Drew.
"Is, Wcs. Harry's alive; he's got to remain alive until I can smoke out this Gerhardt Kroeger."
"If he's alive, he's got to reach the Agency, you damn fool!"
"He can't, because he knows, as I told you, that Langley is penetrated, as high up as the AA-Zero computers, and that's practically as close as you can get to Director Talbot."
"I relayed that information to Knox. He can't believe it. "
"He'd better, it's on the mark."
"He's working on it, I convinced him," said Sorenson.
"But your flying solo won't wash, young man. You do that, you become a rogue-agent no one will trust."
"My flying solo is restricted because I have a conduit to Langley."
"Not me. I won't compromise Consular Operations by going around the Agency. There's enough turf-sniping in this town as it is, and I admire Knox Talbot, I respect him. I will not be a party to it."
"I knew you wouldn't, so I found someone else. Remember Witkowski, Colonel Stanley Witkowski?"
"Certainly. G-Two Berlin. Met him a number of