Guillaume de Matarese. Who were the others? Where did they go? Who are they now?" "There's a quicker way of finding out than going to Corsica. If the Matarese is even a whisper in Washington, there's one person who can track it down. He's the one I was going to call anyway. I wanted my life straightened out." "Who is he?" "Robert Winthrop," said Bray.
"The creator of Consular Operations." The Russian nodded. "A good man who had no stomach for what he built." "The Cons Op you're referring to isn't the one he began. He's still the only man I've heard of who can call up to the White House and see the President in twenty minutes. Very little goes on that he doesn't know about. Or can't find out about." Scofield glanced over at the fire, remem- bering. "It's strange. In a way, he's responsible for everything I am, and he doesn't approve of me. But I think he'll listen."
The nearest telephone booth was three miles down the highway beyond the dirt road to the cabin. It was ten past eight when Bray stepped in, shielding his eyes from the glare of the morning sun, and pulled the glass door shut. He had found Winthrop's private number in his attach6 case; he had not called it in years. He dialed, hoping it was still the same.
It was. The cultivated voice on the line brought back many memories.
Possibilities missed, many others taken.
"Scofield! Where are you?" "I'm afraid I can't tell you that. Please try to understand." "I understand you're in a great deal of trouble, and nothing will be served by running away. Congdon called. The man killed in the hotel was shot with a Russian gun...." "I know. The Russian who killed him saved my life. That man was sent by Congdon; so were the other two. They were my execution team. From Prague, Marseilles and Amsterdam." "Oh, my God. The elder statesman was silent for a moment and Bray did not interrupt that silence. "Do you know what you're saying?" asked Winthrop.
"Yes, sir. You know me well enough to know I wouldn't say it unless I were sure. I'm not mistaken. I spoke to the man from Prague before he died." "He confirmed itT' "In oblique words, yes. But then, that's how those cables are sent; the words are always oblique." Again there was a moment of silence before the old man spoke. "I can't believe it, Bray. For a reason you couldn't know. Congdon came to see me a week ago. He was concerned how you'd take retirement. He had the usual worries: a highly knowledgeable agent terminated against his will with too much time on his hands, perhaps too much to drink. He's a cold fellow, that Congdon, and I'm afraid he angered me. After all you've been through to have so little trust.... I rather sardonically mentioned what you've just described-not that I ever dreamed he would consider such a thing, just that I was appalled at his attitude. So I can't believe it. Don't you see?
He'd know I'd recognize it. He wouldn't take that risk." "Then someone gave him the order, sir. That's what we have to talk about.
Those three men knew where to find me, and there was only one way they could've learned. It was a KGB drop and they were Cons Op personnel. Moscow gave it to Congdon; he relayed it." "Congdon reached the Soviets? That's not plausible. Even if he tried, why would they cooperate? Why would they reveal a drop?" "Their own man was part of the negotiation; they wanted him killed. He was trying to contact me. We'd exchanged cables." "Taleniekov?" It was Scofield's moment to pause. He answered quietly. "Yes, sir." "A white contact?" "Yes. I misread it, but that's what it was. I'm convinced now." "You... and Taleniekov? Extraordinary...
"The circumstances are extraordinary. Do you remember an organization from the forties that went by the name of the Matarese?..."
They agreed to meet at nine o'clock that evening, a mile north of the Missouri Avenue exit of Rock Creek Park on the eastern side. There was an indented stretch of pavement off the road where automobiles could park and strollers could enter the various paths that overlooked a scenic ravine.
Winthrop intended to cancel the day's appointments and concentrate on leaming whatever there was to learn about Bray's astonishing-if fragmentary-information.
"He'll convene the Forty Committee, if he has to," said Scofield to Taleniekov on the way back to the cabin.