have one." Bray got into the back seat of the car and faced the man who was responsible for his life. Winthrop had grown old, but in the dim light his eyes were still electric, stiff fiHed with concern. They shook hands, the elder statesman prolonging the grip.
"I've thought about you often," he said softly, his eyes searching Scofield's, then noting the bandages and wincing. "I have mixed feelings, but I don't think I have to tell you that." "No, sir, you don't." "So many things changed, didn't they, Bray? The ideals, the opportunities to do so much for so many. We were crusaders, really. At the beginning." The old man released Scofield's hand and smiled. "Do you remember? You came up with a processing plan that was to be crosscoHateralized with lend-lease. Debts in occupied territories for multiple immigration. A brilliant concept in economic diplomacy, I've always said that. Human lives for monies that were never going to be repaid anyway." "It would have been rejected." "Probably, but in the arena of world opinion it would have pushed the Soviets to the wall. I recall your words. You said 'if we're supposed to be a capitalistic government, don't walk away from it Use it, define it.
American citizens paid for half the Russian Army. Stress the psychological obligation. Get something, get people.' Those were your words." "That was a graduate student expounding on naive theoretical geopolitics." "There's often a great deal of truth in such naivete. You know, I ran still see that graduate student. I wonder about him-" "There's no time now, sir," interrupted Scofield. "Taleniekov's waiting.
Incidentally, we checked the area; ifs clear." The old man's eyes blinked. "Did you think it would be otherwise?" "I was worried about a tap on your phone." "No need for that," said Winthrop. "Such devices have to be listed somewhere, recorded somewhere. I wouldn't care to be the person who did such a thing. Too many private conversations take place on my telephone.
It's my best protection." "Did you learn anything?" "About the Matarese? No und yes. No, in the sense that even the most rarefied intelligence data contained no mention of it whatsoever, hasn't for the past forty-three years. The President assured me of this and I trust him. He was appalled; he leapt at the possibility and put men on the alert. He was furious, and frightened, I think." "What's the 'yes'T' The old man chose his words carefully. "It's obscure but it's there.
Before I decided to call the President I reached five men who for years--decades-have been involved in the most sensitive areas of intelligence and diplomacy. Of the five, three remembered the Matarese and were shocked. They offered to do whatever they could to help, the spectre of the Matarese's return was quite terrifying to them.... Yet the other two-men, who if anything, are far more knowledgeable than their colleagues -claimed never to have heard of it. Their reactions made no sense; they had to have heard of it. Just as I had-my information minimal but certainly not forgotten. When I said as much, when I pressed them, both behaved rather strangely, and considering our past associations, not without insult. Each treated me as though I were some kind of senile patrician, given to senile fantasies.
Really, it was astonishing." "Who were they?" "Again, odd...." A flash of light in the distance; Scofield's eyes were drawn to it. And another... and another. Matches were being struck in rapid succession.
Taleniekov.
The KGB man was cupping matches and lighting one after another furiously.
It was a warning. Taleniekov was warning hirr that something had happened-was happening. Suddenly the distant flame was constant, but broken by a hand held in front of the flame-in rapid sequences, more light, less light. Basic Morse. Dots and dashes.
Three dots repeated twice. S. A long spill, repeated once. A single dash.
T.
S. T.
"What's the matter?" asked Winthrop.
"Just a second," replied Scofield.
Three dots, broken, then followed by a dash. The letters S and T were being repeated. S. T.
Surveillance. Terminal.
The flame moved to the left, toward the road bordering the woods of the parking area, and was extinguished. The Soviet agent was repositioning himself. Bray turned back to the old man.
"How certain are you about your telephone?" "Very. It's never been tapped I have ways of knowing." "They may not be extensive enough." Scofield touched the window button; the glass rolled down and he called to the chatiffeur standing in front of the limousine. "Stan, come here!" The driver did so.