the eldest son became pasha. The pasha is dead. Long live the pasha. The new pasha of Ksar es Souk is Sidi el Ferruch,” the Disciple went on. “Twenty-five years old. Educated in Switzerland and Germany. A product of this century.”
“What about him?” East Europe asked impatiently. “Can he do us any good?”
It was time for Donovan to interrupt.
“He already has,” he said. “He smuggled—with el Glaoui’s permission—Grunier out of Morocco. Charley feels that he could be very useful when we invade North Africa. So do I. But there is, to reiterate, more than one school of thought on the question.”
“You’re thinking about causing a native rebellion, then?” The previously skeptical Italian Disciple was now fascinated.
“The Army’s weighing the pros and cons,” Donovan said, not wanting to get into a lengthy discussion of that now. “It’s something for the back burner. A rebellion could quickly get out of hand, but simply ensuring that Thami el Glaoui’s Berbers stay out of the fight seems worth whatever effort it would take. I’ll let you know what’s decided.”
The Near East Disciple was used to concluding lectures when he wished to conclude them, and not before. He was also, Donovan decided, not immune to the romance of his first venture into international intrigue.
“With an eye to using el Ferruch in the future, and for other reasons,” the Disciple said, “we decided not to bring Eric Fulmar out when we brought Grunier out.”
East Europe took the bait. “Who is Eric Fulmar?” It was the first he had heard about this operation.
“Still another interesting character,” the Near East Disciple said. “His father is the Fulmar of Fulmar Elektrische Gesellschaft, and his mother is Monica Carlisle, the actress.”
Now that Charley had the other Disciples’ rapt attention, Donovan knew that silencing him was going to be damned near impossible.
“I didn’t know she was even married. Or was that old,” C. Holdsworth Martin, Jr., said.
“Very likely to make sure that her dark secret—a son that old—did not become public knowledge,” the Near East Disciple went on, “she sent him to school in Switzerland. Where Sidi el Ferruch, conveniently for us, was also a student.”
“This is off the wall, Charley,” Martin said. “But where in Switzerland? What school?”
“Bull’s-eye, Holdsworth,” the Near East Disciple said. “La Rosey. Where your boy was.”
C. Holdsworth Martin snorted. “I’ll be damned,” he said.
“And then el Ferruch and Fulmar went to Germany—to Phillip’s University in Marburg an der Lahn—for college. Where they apparently took honors in Smuggling 101. The pair of them have made a fortune smuggling gold, jewels, currency, and fine art out of France—not to mention the hundred thousand we paid them to get Grunier out. Fulmar now has over a hundred thousand in the Park and Fifty-seventh Street branch of the First National City Bank. And I wouldn’t be at all surprised if there was more money in Switzerland.”
“This Fulmar chap was supposed to come out with Grunier?” Italy asked, and when the Near East Disciple nodded, asked: “Then why didn’t we bring him out?”
“That was part of the deal,” the Disciple said, relishing his role as spymaster.
He has a surprising talent to be a sonofabitch, Donovan thought, but so long as it’s in a good cause . . .
“He thought we were going to bring him out,” the Disciple went on. “The Germans were breathing down his neck. They knew about the smuggling, and the son of a prominent Nazi industrialist should be in uniform, preferably with the Waffen SS in Russia. Since he knew that it was a bit below the salt to have made himself rich by helping the French move their assets out from under the benevolent control of the Thousand-Year Reich, he really wanted to get himself out of Morocco. It made him very cooperative.”
“If we said we would bring him out, then why didn’t we?” Italy continued, his sense of fair play offended.
“It wasn’t nice, Henry,” Donovan said. “But it was considered necessary. It gave Sidi el Ferruch a choice. He could turn Fulmar in, and cover himself with the Germans. Or he could continue to protect him, and leave the door open to us. And of course, when we’re talking about el Ferruch, we’re talking about Thami el Glaoui. For the moment, at least, he’s decided to leave the door open. Fulmar is in the pasha’s palace at Ksar es Souk.”
“And what does this Fulmar think of us for leaving him behind when we promised to get him out of Morocco?”
“I don’t suppose he thinks very