anti-Nazi resistance. But von Schiissler? Hardly. He knows what side his bread's buttered on. I don't think the man has any ideology. He'll do what he's told. As far as I can judge and I've met the man quite a few times; it's a small town here he has some sad, self-deluded notion of himself as the heir to the great Prussian nobility. He wants glory, no doubt about it. But he's not brave. He's a weak, vain man. Von Schiissler does what he's told. Just wants to retire to his castle with his ribbons. And write his memoirs, from what I hear. Christ."
"I see," Metcalfe said. He trusted Hilliard's judgment. A weak, vain man. Not a hero, not one who would do something brave or be a secret member of the anti-Nazi underground resistance. Not someone, it appeared, who could be turned. Of course, this was just one man's assessment, but if Hilliard was right, von Schiissler was not a good prospect for Corky's assignment. He's not brave. It was not the portrait of a potential double agent. Yet Corcoran had sent him here to size the German up as a potential asset. How could Corky have been so misguided? He had a source on the ground in Moscow, Amos Hilliard, who could have told him not to bother. Metcalfe was baffled.
"Look, I don't know what you're up to, but if you're interested in meeting the fellow face-to-face, I'm told he and his Russian ballerina girlfriend will be up at the dacha tonight."
His Russian ballerina girlfriend, Metcalfe thought. Lanal
"It's the center of the social whirl in the diplomatic enclave. Yep, it's just one goddamned continuous round of pleasure here in the happy valley."
"I'll be there," Metcalfe said, getting to his feet as Hilliard did the same. The diplomat came around from behind the desk, and Metcalfe extended his hand to shake. He was surprised when the small man instead gave him an embrace, a bear hug. Then at once he understood why when Amos Hilliard whispered in his ear: "Watch your back, you hear me? Do yourself and me a favor, Metcalfe. Don't ever come here again."
Chapter Fifteen
Metcalfe retrieved the key to his hotel room from the elderly woman, the dezhurnaya, who sat at a desk on his floor, watching all comings and goings. At the Metropole, as in every Soviet hotel, you picked up and dropped off your room key with the dezhurnaya, who was often as not an old woman, like this one, and who sat there at all times of day. At night she would doze, her head on a pillow on the desk. Presumably this archaic system was designed to make hotel guests feel safe, to make sure keys were only given out to the proper people, but the real reason, of course, was to keep a close watch on the guests for security reasons. Everything in Moscow was about security the security of the state.
His first thought when he unlocked the door was that the maid had still not been by to clean and make up the room. Which was strange, since it was late afternoon.
As his eyes adjusted to the dimness, his second thought and it was a realization that struck him like a blow to the solar plexus was that his room had been searched. Theoretically this should have come as no surprise; the Russians usually searched the hotel rooms of their foreign visitors. But it had been done crudely, obviously, ostentatiously. He had been meant to see the evidence of the search.
His room had been completely torn apart. His suitcase, which he had locked before leaving this morning, was open, the lock cut, its contents, hastily packed in Paris, strewn around the bed and floor. It was complete chaos, insanity!
The few suits he had carefully hung up in the closet had not just been tossed to the floor; they had been slit open, as if to check for concealed pockets. Leather belts were slit open, as were the soles of his shoes. Even the lining of his suitcase had been slashed open, without finesse. No care had been taken to conceal the search, which had been conducted with an aggressiveness that shocked him.
He raced across the room, lifted the leather Hermes case, and examined the brass fittings. Concealed in some of the hardware was an array of parts for a miniaturized radio transmitter, which could be assembled when needed. Most of them still seemed to be in place, as far as