"Like our removing Moreau's name from Harry Latham's list, the one we sent to you?"
There's a distinct similarity."
"Then we're even. What can you tell me?"
"First, I can openly tell you that the request comes from a former G-Two specialist who operated in the Berlin sectors during the bad times. His name is Witkowski, Colonel Stanley Witkowski-"
"Currently chief of security, Paris embassy," Talbot interrupted.
"You know him?"
"Only by reputation. He's a man so bright that he could have been right behind you for my job if he'd gotten the recognition he deserved. But he couldn't; he worked in the silent zone."
"Right now he's apparently working as a conduit for Harry Latham, who won't risk reaching Langley himself."
"The AA-Zero computers?"
"Apparently.. .. Latham wanted a sub-rosa route to you but he doesn't know you. Remember, you became the DCI with the new administration, almost two years after Harry went deep. So knowing Witkowski from the old days, he used him; and since I've known the colonel from those same days, he decided to use me as the sub rosa."
"Logical," said Talbot, nodding his head.
"Maybe logical, Knox, but later, when I can come clean, you'll see it's so ironic, you may even forgive me."
"What's the sub rosa?"
"There's a man, a German doctor, who may have enormous influence in the Nazi movement, or, conversely, may be a man with a conscience who's turned against them. We have to learn everything we can about him, and you people are the kings of the hill in that department."
"So I'm told," agreed the DCI.
"What's his name?"
"Kroeger, Gerhardt Kroeger. But there's a catch and it's a big one.
"Do tell."
"You've got to go underground with this, and I 'mean deep. His name can't be circulated within the Agency."
"The AA-Zero computers again?"
"The straight answer to that is yes, but there could also be others beyond the computers. Can you do it?"
"I think so. When I took this job, the job you should have taken, I insisted on bringing along my secretary of twenty years. She's quick and bright to the point that I don't have to finish sentences.
She's also British; that apparently gives her a certain authority over us colonials.. .. Kroeger, Gerhardt, medicine man, the works.
She'll go down to the vaults herself and bring up everything there is."
"Thank you."
"You're welcome. I'll call you when I've got the papers. We'll have a few drinks at my place."
"Fine, I appreciate it."
"There's something else neither of us has said, isn't there, Wesley?"
"The witch-hunts, naturally. Harry's list is getting out of control."
"I said the very same thing to myself only moments before your call. Have you heard the latest from the U.K.?"
"The outcry in Parliament, yes. Even the insidious comparisons to what's happening here. I suppose it couldn't be avoided. Sua culpa, Secretary Bollinger, and I hope he knows it."
"Then you haven't heard. We get this stuff before you, I suppose."
4 ZWhat are you talking about?"
"A man named Mosedale, very high up in the Foreign' Office."
"What about him?"
"Faced with various alternatives, he confessed. He's been working for the Brotherhood for the past five years. He was on Harry's list, and he claims there are hundreds, perhaps thousands, like him everywhere."
"Oh, my God. Gasoline tanks on the fires. Everywhere."
erhardt Kroeger walked out to the transportation platform at Orly Airport carrying two pieces of luggage, a medical bag, and a medium-size nylon suitcase, both carry-ons. He veered to the left and proceeded down the long concrete walkway until he saw the area designated as PETITE CARGAISON, small cargo. He scanned the constantly moving traffic, then centered in on the few vehicles parked at the curb in front of the huge sliding metal doors through which pre cleared cases and cartons of merchandise were wheeled on dollies to those waiting for them. He saw what he hoped to see, a gray van with white lettering on the side. ENTREP&S AVIGNON, the Avignon Warehouses, a massive market depot where over a hundred distributors kept their consumer goods prior to delivering them to retail stores throughout Paris. And somewhere within that mazelike complex were the quarters of the Blitzkrieger, the elite assassins of the Brotherhood. The doctor approached a man in a red and white rugby shirt leaning against the side of the vehicle. As he had been ordered to do.
"Has- the Malasol arrived, monsieur?" he asked.
"The best caviar from Iranian waters," replied the muscular man in the rugby shirt, flipping away a cigarette and staring at Kroeger.
"Is it really better than the Russian?" continued Gerhardt.