Code to Zero Page 0,22

trooped out, but Pete Maxell stayed back. He had shaved and put on his regular business suit with a narrow Madison Avenue tie. Now his bad teeth and the red birthmark on his cheek were more noticeable, like broken windows in a new house. He was shy and unsociable, perhaps because of his appearance, and he was devoted to his few friends. Now he looked concerned as he said to Anthony: 'Aren't you taking a risk with Hobart?'

'He's an asshole.'

'He's your boss.'

'I can't let him close down an important surveillance operation.'

'But you lied to him. He could easily find out that Luke isn't a diplomat from Paris.'

Anthony shrugged. 'Then I'll tell him another story.'

Pete looked doubtful, but he nodded assent and moved to the door.

Anthony said: 'But you're right I'm sticking my neck all the way out If something goes wrong, Hobart won't miss a chance to chop my head off.'

'That's what I thought'

'Then we'd better make sure nothing goes wrong.'

Pete went out. Anthony watched the phone, making himself calm and patient Office politics infuriated him, but men such as Hobart were always around. After five minutes the phone rang and he picked it up. 'Carroll here.'

'You've been upsetting Carl Hobart again.' It was the wheezy voice of a man who has been smoking and drinking enthusiastically for most of a lifetime.

'Good morning, George,' said Anthony. George Cooperman was Deputy Chief of Operations and a wartime comrade of Anthony's. He was Hobart's immediate superior. 'Hobart should stay out of my way.'

'Get over here, you arrogant young prick,' George said amiably.

'Coming.' Anthony hung up. He opened his desk drawer and took out an envelope containing a thick sheaf of Xerox copies. Then he put on his'topcoat and walked to Gooperman's office, which was in P Building, next door.

Cooperman was a tall, gaunt man of fifty with a prematurely lined face. He had his feet on his desk. There was a giant coffee mug at his elbow and a cigarette in his mouth. He was reading the Moscow newspaper Pravdea he had majored in Russian literature at Princeton.

He threw down the paper. 'Why can't you be nice to. that fat fuck?' he growled. He spoke without removing the cigarette from the corner of his mouth. 'I know it's hard, but you could do it for my sake.'

Anthony sat down. 'It's his own fault. He should have realized by now that I only insult him if he speaks to me first'

'What's your excuse this time?'

Anthony tossed the envelope on to the desk. Cooperman picked it up and looked at the Xerox copies. 'Blueprints,' he said. 'Of a rocket, I guess. So what?'

"They're top secret. J took them from the surveillance subject He's a spy, George.'

'And you chose not to tell Hobart that'

'I want to follow this guy around until he reveals his whole network - then use his operation for disinformation. Hobart would hand the case over to the FBI, who would pick the guy up and throw him in jail, and his network would fade to black.'

'Hell, you're right about that Still, I need you at this meeting. I'm chairing it But you can let your team carry on the surveillance. If anything happens they can get you out of the conference room.'

'Thanks, George.'

'And listen. This morning you fucked Hobart up the ass in front of a room full of agents, didn't you?'

Tguess so.' .-.-

'Next time, try and do it gently, okay?' Cooperman pkked up Pravda again. Anthony got up to leave, taking the blueprints. Cooperman said: 'And make damn sure you run this surveillance right If you screw up on top of insulting your boss, I may not be able to protect you.'

Anthony went out

He did not return to his office right away. The row of condemned buildings that housed this part of the CIA filled a strip of land between Constitution Avenue and the mall with the reflecting pool. The motor entrances were on the street side, but Anthony went out through a back gate into the park.

He strolled along the avenue of English elms, breathing the cold fresh air, soothed by the ancient trees and the still water. There had been some bad moments this morning, but he had held it together, with a different set of lies for each party in the game.

He came to the end of the avenue and stood at the halfway point between the Lincoln Memorial and the Washington Monument This is all your fault, he thought, addressing the two great presidents. You