that, sir?" "Vasili Taleniekov disappeared two days ago." "Disappeared?" "Yes, Mr. Congdon. Think about it. Taleniekov learned that he was to be officially retired, mounted a simple but effective cover, and disappeared." "Scofield's been terminated...." Congdon spoke softly, as much to himself as into the telephone.
"Exactly," agreed the Secretary of State. "The parallel is our immediate concern. Two retired specialists now bent on doing what they could not do-or pursue-of- ficially. Kill each other. They have contacts everywhere, men who are loyal to them for any number of reasons. Their personal vendetta could create untold problems for both governments during these precious months of conciliation. This cannot happen.
The director of Cons Op frowned; there was something wrong in the secretary's conclusions. "I spoke with Scofield myself three nights ago. He didn't appear consumed with anger or revenge or anything like that. He was a tired field agent who'd lived... abnormally... for a long time. For years. He told me he just wanted to fade away, and I believed him. I discussed Scofield with Robert Winthrop, by the way, and he felt the same way about him. He said-" "Winthrop knows nothing," interrupted the Secretary of State with unexpected harshness. "Robert Winthrop is a brilliant man, but he's never understood the meaning of confrontation except in its most rarefied forms.
Bear in mind, Mr. Congdon, Scofield killed that intelligence officer from Brussels." "Perhaps there were circumstances we're not aware of." "Really?" Again the Secretary of State paused, and when he spoke, the meaning behind his words was unmistakable. "If there are such circumstances, I submit we have a far more potentially dangerous situation than any personal feud might engender. Scofield and Taleniekov know more about the field operations of both intelligence services than any two men alive. They must not be permitted to make contact. Either as enemies intent on killing one another, or for those circumstances we know nothing about.
Do I make myself clear, Mr. Congdon? As director of Consular Operations, it is your responsibility. How you execute that responsibility is no concern of mine. You may have a man beyond salvage. That's for you to decide." Daniel Congdon remained motionless as he heard the click on the other end of the line. In all his years of service he had never received such an ill-disguised if oblique order. The language could be debated, not the command. He replaced the phone in its cradle and reached for another on the left side of his desk. He pressed a button and dialed three digits.
"Internal Security," said a male voice.
"This is Undersecretary Congdon. Pick up Brandon Scofield. You have the information. Bring him in at once." "One minute, sir," replied the man politely. "I think a level-two surveillance entry on Scofield came in a couple of days ago. Let me'check the computer. All the data's there." "A couple of days ago?" "Yes, sir. It's on the screen now. Scofield checked out of his hotel at approximately eleven P.m. on the sixteenth." "The sixteenth? Today's the nineteenth." "Yes, sir. There was no time lapse as far as the entry was concerned. The management informed us within the hour." "Where is he?" "He left two forwarding addresses, but no dates. A sister's residence in Minneapolis and a hotel in Charlotte Amalie, St. Thomas, U.S. Virgin Islands." "Have they been verified?" "As to accuracy, yes sir. A sister does live in Minneapolis and the hotel in St. Thomas is holding a prepaid reservation for Scofield effective the seventeenth. The money was wired from Washington." "Then he's there." "Not as of noon today, sir. A routine call was made; he hasn't arrived." "What about the sister?" interrupted Congdon.
"Again a routine call. She confirmed the fact that Scofield called her and said he'd stop by, but he didn't say when. She added that it wasn't unusual; it was normal for him to be casual about visits. She expected him sometime during the week." The director of Cons Op felt the urge to get up again, but he suppressed it. "Are you telling me you don't really know where he is?" "Well, Mr. Congdon, an S-level-two operates on reports received, not continuous visual contact. We'll shift to level-one right away.
Minneapolis won't be any problem; the Virgin Islands could be, though." "'Why?" "We have no reliable sources there, sir. Nobody does." Daniel Congdon got up from his chair. "Let me try to understand you. You say Scofield's on a level-two surveillance, yet my instructions were clear; his whereabouts were to