don't like them, either, but ever since Jack Kennedy we're all expected to keep our supply of Havanas. Do you disapprove?" "No. As I recall, the Canadian supplier was one of President Kennedy's more accurate sources of information about Cuba." "Have you been around that long?" "I joined the National Security Agency when he was a senator.... Did you know that Scofield has recently begun to drink?" "I know nothing about the current Scofield, as you called him." "His file indicates previous use of alcohol, but no evidence of excess." "I would think not; it would interfere with his work." "It may be interfering now." "May be? It either is or it isn't. I don't think that's such a difficult thing to establish. If be's drinking a great deal, that's excess; it would have to interfere. I'm sorry to hear it, but I can't say I'm surprised." "Oh?" Congdon leaned forward in the chair. It was apparent that he thought he was about to be given the information he was seeking. "When you knew him as well as you did, were there signs of potential instability?" "None at all." "But you just said you weren't surprised." "I'm not. I wouldn't be surprised at any thinking man turning to alcohol after so many years of living so unnaturally. Scofield is--or was-a thinking man, and God knows he's lived unnaturally. If I'm surprised, it's only that it's taken so long to reach him, affect him. What got him through the nights?" "Men condition themselves. As you put it, he adapted. Extremely successfully." "But still unnaturally," maintained Winthrop. "What are you going to do with him?" "He's being recalled. I want him out of the field." "Good. Give him a desk and an attractive secretary and have him analyze theoretical problems. Isn't that the usual way?" Congdon hesitated before replying. "Mr. Winthrop, I think I want him separated from the State Department." The creator of Cons Op arched his eyebrows. "Really? Twenty-two years is insufficient for an adequate pension." "That's not a problem; generous settlements are made. It's common practice these days." "Then what does he do with his life? What is he? Fortyfive... six?" "Forty-six." "Hardly ready for one of these, is he?" said the statesman, fingering the wheel of his chair. "May I ask why you've come to that conclusion?" "I don't want him around personnel involved with covert activities.
According to our latest information, he's displayed hostile reactions to basic policy. He could be a negative influence." Winthrop smiled. "Someone must have pulled a beaut. Bray never did have much patience with fools." "I said basic policy, sir. Personalities are not the issue." "Personalities, Mr. Congdon, unfortunately are intrinsic to basic policy.
They form it. But that's probably beside the point... at this point. Why come to me? You've obviously made your decision. What can I add?" "Your judgment. How will be take it? Can he be trusted? He knows more about our operations, our contacts, our tactics, than any man in Europe." Winthrop's eyes became suddenly cold. "And what is your alternative, Mr.
Congdon?" he asked icily.
The new director flushed; he understood the implication. "Surveillance.
Controls. Telephone and mail intercepts. I'm being honest with you." "Are you?" Winthrop now glared at the man in front of him. "Or are you looking for a word from me-or a question-that you can use for another solution?" "I don't know what you mean." "I think you do. I've heard how it's done, incidentally, and it appalls me. Word is sent to Prague, or Berlin, or Marseilles that a man's no longer in sanction. He's finished, out. But he's restless, drinks a lot.
Contacts' names might be revealed by this man, whole networks exposed.
In essence, the word spreads: your lives are threatened. So it's agreed that another man, or perhaps two or three, get on planes from Prague or Berlin or Marseilles. They converge on Washington with but one objective: the silencing of that man who's finished. Everyone's more relaxed, and the American intelligence community-which has remained outside the incident-breathes easier. Yes, Mr. Congdon, it appalls me." The director of Cons Op remained motionless in the chair. His reply was delivered in a quiet monotone. "To the best of my knowledge, Mr.
Winthrop, that solution has been exaggerated far out of proportion to its practice. Again, I'll be completely honest with you. In fifteen years I've heard of it being exercised only twice, and in both... incidents... the agents out of sanction were beyond salvage. They had sold out