Billion-Dollar Brain

by Len Deighton

  ‘It is dangerous,’ said Midwinter. ‘Between 1945 and 1950 the Reds expanded at the rate of sixty square miles per hour. Retreat brings the threat of war closer because finally we’re going to hit them, and I say the sooner the better.’

  I said, ‘I’m as keen on facts as you are, but facts are no substitute for intelligence. You think that the best way to contribute to a dangerous situation is to raise a private army out of your profits on cans of oil and beans, frozen orange juice and advertising, and to operate your own undeclared war against the Russians.’

  He waved his good hand in the air; the large emerald ring flashed in the cold morning light. ‘That’s right son. Khrushchev once said that he would support all interior wars against colonialism because he said quote they are in the nature of popular uprisings unquote. Well that’s what I’m going to do in the territory the Reds occupy. Get me?’

  I said, ‘That’s the sort of decision only governments should make.’

  ‘I believe that a man is free to fight for what he believes is right.’ Midwinter’s eye twitched again.

  ‘Perhaps he is,’ I said. ‘But it’s not you that does the fighting. It’s poor little sods like Harvey Newbegin.’

  ‘Ease down son,’ said Midwinter. ‘You’re on rich mixture.’

  I looked at Midwinter and regretted trying to argue with him. I was weary of war and sick of hate. I was tired, and frightened of Midwinter because he wasn’t tired. He was brave and powerful and determined. Politics were simple black- and-white toughness—like a TV Western—and diplomacy was just a matter of demonstrating that toughness. Midwinter was formidable, he moved like a flyweight levitated by his confidence, he had all the brains that money could buy and he didn’t have to look over his shoulder to know that plenty of Americans were marching behind him with sidedrum, fife and nuclear big stick. But a good agent should have a fast brain and a slow mouth, so I took it slowly. I said, ‘Is this your way of protecting America, employing second-rate hoodlums in Riga? Subsidizing violence and crime in the USSR? All that does is strengthen police and governmental power there.’

  ‘I’m talking about…’ Midwinter said in a loud voice, but this time my voice carried through.

  ‘OK. Inside America you are doing even more to assist the Russians. You spread false accusations and false fears through the land. You smear your Congress. You smear your Supreme Court. You even smear the Presidency. What you don’t like about Communism is that you’re not giving the orders. Well I prefer America with ballot boxes and I prefer my orders to come out of a face instead of a telephone. You can’t look a telephone in the eyes to see if it’s lying.’

  I turned away from them and the sole survivor of the Midwinter Mining Athletic Team stared at me.

  Midwinter moved fast. His good hand clenched my arm. ‘You’ll stay,’ he said in a low voice. ‘You’ll hear me out.’ I pulled away from him, but the big man in the sweat shirt put himself between me and the door. ‘Tell him, Caroni,’ said Midwinter. ‘Tell him he’s going nowhere till he hears me out.’ We stared at each other.

  ‘OK,’ I said. ‘Now let go of my arm, you’re creasing my only good suit.’

  ‘You’re tired,’ said Midwinter. ‘You’re on edge.’ His face moved from phase one: threat, to phase two: conciliation. ‘Caroni,’ he shouted, ‘get this feller a winter-weight suit, shoes, shirt and stuff. Take him along to my shower. And Caroni, give him a work-out. He’s been on a plane all night. Get him spruce. We’ll have breakfast an hour from now.’

  ‘OK General,’ said Caroni without expression.

  Midwinter said, ‘I’ll stay here, Caroni. I’ll do another three miles on the machine. That’ll bring me to the Tennessee State line.’

  I had a shower and Caroni put me on a slab and punched hell out of my surplus fats while explaining some of the finer points of coronary heart disease. A suit—Dacron and worsted herringbone—came along as if by magic in one of those blue Brooks Brothers’ boxes. By the time I was ushered up into Midwinter’s private apartment at the top of his office block, I looked like I’d come to sell him insurance.

  There was a table set with Scandinavian silverware and bright yellow linen. Unlike his uptown mansion this apartment was full of stainless steel, modern abstract paintings and the sort of chairs that have to be designed by architects. Midwinter was sitting under a Mathieu in a strange wiry throne that made him look like an actor in a bad film about space ships. He had a pair of 10 × 50s glued to his face and was staring out of the window.

  ‘Know what I’m watching?’ he said. From here the view was magnificent: there was the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island and, scarcely visible in the mist, the tip of Staten. The waves of the bay were cold and grey and each one was flecked with dirty spume. Half a dozen tugs lurched towards the Hudson River and the Staten Island ferry was beginning to pack the commuters tight.

  ‘One of the big boats coming in?’ I asked.

  ‘I’m watching hawks, three foot across, peregrine falcons; they eat small birds.’ He put the binoculars down. ‘They live in those ornamented buildings. Gothic church towers they like especially. I watch them hunting most mornings. Real speed. Real style.’ He turned to look at me. ‘Say…’ he said suddenly very loud. ‘That suit looks great. Did Caroni get that for you?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said.

  ‘Well I’ll have him get me one just the same.’

  ‘Look, Mr Midwinter,’ I said, ‘I appreciate compliments from rich busy men, especially insincere ones because they don’t have to butter up anyone if they don’t want to. But sometimes it makes me uneasy, so if it’s all the same to you I’d rather hear what you want right now.’

  ‘You are a direct young man,’ said Midwinter. ‘I like that. Americans like a little preamble before business. A little how’s-your-lovely-wife-and-beautiful-children—before soliciting the order. You British don’t do that, huh?’

  ‘I wouldn’t want to mislead you, Mr Midwinter,’ I said; ‘a lot of them do.’

  Midwinter put the binoculars on the table and poured coffee for both of us. He was well into the scrambled eggs on toast before he spoke again and then it was only to inquire if I was enjoying it. The last morsel disappeared and Midwinter fidgeted with his lips and patted them with a napkin while staring at me. He said, ‘Your friend Harvey Newbegin has deserted.’

  ‘Deserted?’

  ‘Deserted.’

  ‘With my vocabulary you only desert from armies. Do you mean he has left your employ?’

  ‘I mean he has left the country.’ He watched me carefully. ‘Surprised eh? I had his sweet little wife on the phone during the night. He went across the border—the Mexican border—right after he left you last night. We figure he’s going over to the Russians.’

  ‘What makes you think so?’

  ‘You disagree?’

  ‘I didn’t say that.’

  ‘Ah,’ shouted Midwinter. ‘You agree eh? Sure son. He set you up for that beating you took. If those Russian cops hadn’t moved in you’d be dead. To tell you the truth, I’d sooner have you dead and my boys still free but that doesn’t change the fact that Harvey had them give you the treatment. Then after the Communist cops had you in captivity they suddenly take you to witness an arrest. Why do you think they did that?’

  ‘I’d say they took me there so that I should come back soiled.’

  ‘Right,’ said Midwinter. ‘Why?’

  ‘You shift the blame of betrayal to protect a betrayer.’

  ‘Right,’ said Midwinter. ‘Newbegin had already done a deal with the Communists, but he could escape blame for a short extra period by setting you up as a patsy. You got that eh? You suspected Newbegin?’

  ‘That’s it,’ I said.

  ‘I get a blast out of you son. You can really sort the mustangs from the broncos.’ He flashed me a friendly smile.

  ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘But I don’t see what you expect me to do.’

  ‘I want you to bring this guy Harvey Newbegin back here
.’ Midwinter pointed to an empty chair by the window to tell me exactly where he wanted him put. ‘I don’t care what it costs. Cuff the tabs for anything you want. Use any of my people, I can get you full co-operation of the police anywhere in the States…’

  ‘But he’s not in the States,’ I said patiently.

  ‘Well you dope it out,’ said Midwinter. ‘All I know is that you are maybe the only living person who knows Harvey Newbegin as a close friend. There are plenty of people who can find him but the guy who finds him has got to be able to talk some sense into the guy. What’s more,’ added Midwinter archly, ‘I figure you’ve got a motive not to be too well disposed to him.’

  ‘When you hook a sucker, reel him in slowly,’ I said. ‘Being the archetype Judas is not my kind of image.’

  ‘No offence son,’ said Midwinter. ‘Maybe you can get yourself more than half killed and still be tolerant and professional. If you can, I admire that, I admire it. There are no personality failures here either, the organization is paramount. That organization means more to me than anything else in the world. If Harvey Newbegin takes the sort of information he has to the Russians I’ll never forgive myself.’

  I said, ‘And you’ll probably have the CIA squeezing you to death as a security risk.’

  Midwinter nodded nervously. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Expect I’ll fall down and go boom.’ He hammered the edge of his false hand against the table like a karate expert warming up.

  ‘There’s another factor,’ said Midwinter. ‘There is this girl named…’ He pretended to search his memory.

  ‘Signe Laine,’ I supplied.

  ‘Right,’ said Midwinter. ‘Is she reliable?’

  ‘She’s reliable for some things,’ I said.

  ‘She’s emotionally entangled with Harvey Newbegin,’ Midwinter pronounced. ‘The Laine girl is a member of our organization. In the ordinary way of things I would have given her the task of contacting Harvey, but under the circumstances…’ he tapped his hand again, ‘you are the only person. Don’t let him fall into the hands of the Russians.’

  ‘He’s already been in the hands of the Russians,’ I said.

  ‘You know what I mean,’ Midwinter said. ‘I mean predicting, analysing our movements and decisions. You know what I mean. They mustn’t have him as an adviser.’

  ‘What you want is Harvey Newbegin dead,’ I said.

  ‘Down boy,’ said Midwinter. ‘I’ve loved Harvey Newbegin and his wife for many years. Harvey is a vain, neurotic personality. I’ve spoken to his analyst already this morning. He agrees with me, Newbegin lives in a fantasy world; sexually, romantically, politically and socially. Already he’s having doubts about what he’s doing. Speak to him. Tell him…’ The old man’s soft mottled face wrinkled as though it was about to fall off. ‘Tell him he’s forgiven. We won’t mention it again and he can have a year or so taking it easy in the sun. Tell him I’ll even speak to Mercy. I’ll tell her to take the heat off him.’

  ‘Perhaps you should have told her that a long time ago,’ I said.

  ‘I should,’ said Midwinter. He buttered a piece of toast with the wrist action of a swordsman and then bit a corner from it. ‘She just wanted the best for her husband.’

  ‘So did Lady Macbeth,’ I said. Out on the grey water the harbour patrol boat had anchored while a cop in zipper jacket stabbed at a floating bundle. Midwinter chewed at his toast. ‘I should have,’ he said again.

  I finished eating and put the hand-embroidered napkin on the table.

  The cops fixed the bundle to the boat and chugged away.

  ‘You’ll bring home the groceries all right,’ said Midwinter.

  ‘Perhaps,’ I said.

  A frown passed across Midwinter’s face as he wondered whether to tell me the penalty of failure. I imagine most of Midwinter’s meetings ended with the penalty of failure. We stared at each other, then Midwinter said, ‘You’ll bring home the groceries,’ through gritted teeth, determined to end on a note of encouragement.

  ‘OK,’ I said. ‘You’ve been frank with me and now I’ll be frank with you. First of all you had better learn that your organization in northern Europe is pretty thin on the ground…’

  Midwinter said, ‘I’ll tell you exactly…’

  ‘Hear ME out,’ I said. ‘Newbegin has been feeding you phantom agents for a long time. He operates a swindle with your money. He pays a package of money to one of your agents, who then passes it on to a second real agent who passes it on to a third agent who just happens to be Harvey Newbegin dressed up in fancy disguise. Harvey then puts the money in the bank for himself. He probably does that for every network to which he has access. The rest of the network is just a lot of fancy paperwork.’

  ‘A month ago I wouldn’t have believed it,’ said Midwinter.

  ‘Well, you had better be believing now,’ I said, ‘because a lot depends on it. I know some of those phoney networks and where he puts the money, but to be sure of getting Newbegin I shall have to know them all and there’s no time to waste.’

  Midwinter said, ‘What are you getting at?’

  I said, ‘I shall need to collect from the Brain the details and photos of all your agents who had access to Harvey Newbegin.’

  ‘That’s Finland and Great Britain. Two key areas,’ said Midwinter. ‘Our whole pilot operation.’

  ‘Good,’ I said. ‘Just clear me to have that information and show me the telephone codes to get it.’

  ‘It’s rather complex,’ said Midwinter, playing for time. ‘And what’s more you could smash our whole operation.’

  ‘It’s smashed already,’ I said. ‘You couldn’t use any of those agents if Harvey Newbegin is spitting blood.’

  ‘Perhaps that’s true,’ said Midwinter, ‘but the normal procedure would be to keep them abgeschaltet* until the Russians surface Newbegin or we find him.’

  ‘That’s my deal,’ I said. ‘When you first said that I was the only man who could get close to Newbegin I didn’t believe you. But you’re right. I’m the only person.’

  ‘You could smash up my whole scheme.’ He stared at me blank and unblinking. ‘It’s too much.’

  ‘OK,’ I said, ‘I’ll give you a bonus.’

  ‘What’s that?’ said Midwinter.

  ‘Most of the money that Harvey Newbegin stole from you was paid into the Bexar County National Bank, 235 North Saint Mary’s, San Antonio, to the account of Mrs Mercy Newbegin.’

  The old man crumpled as if I had hit him in the face. I knew I’d won and the ethics didn’t trouble me one bit.

  ‘OK,’ said Midwinter. ‘You don’t have to buffalo me. You knew I had to agree.’

  So I let him come to terms with his betrayal by Mercy Newbegin—keeper of his left hand—as slowly as he wished to. He put the binoculars over his eyes and stood immobile staring out across the sea. When he spoke it was without looking round.

  ‘Be here at noon, ask for the chief technical manager of Midwinter Mining. He’ll be on the Midwinter Science Foundation floor waiting for you. He’ll tell you everything you want to know.’

  ‘Thanks for the suit,’ I said. ‘Take it out of my wages.’

  ‘I shall,’ said Midwinter. He hammered his false hand against the table edge very, very gently, as though exercising tremendous restraint. As I walked out I heard the buzzer on Midwinter’s communication box. Caroni’s voice said, ‘There’s a hawk now, General Midwinter, on the bell tower.’

  The foyer of Midwinter’s building was crowded with neat, slim young men with short hair and faces dusted with talc. Each one was labelled with his name and rank on a conference badge. They moved through the foyer as though spilled from a tin. A uniformed guard said, ‘Are you with the Frozen Juice Convention?’ but the man with squeaky shoes said, ‘It’s OK Charlie. He’s been to see the General.’ Outside the morning was freezing cold and getting darker.

  As I walked along the street, Midwinter’s chauffeur called to me from the slow-moving Cadillac. He held up the phone that r
ested on the car dashboard. ‘The General,’ he explained waving the handpiece. ‘He says I’m to be at your disposal.’ ‘Thank him,’ I said. ‘And then get lost. Big black Caddies make my sort of friends nervous.’ ‘Mine too,’ said the chauffeur and shot off into the Brooklyn Tunnel traffic happily. There was a backfire and a formation of sparrows banked sharply and twittered away, unaware that hawks watched them from above.

  I got a cab to Signe’s place on Eighth Street. I rang the bell and knocked at the door but there was no reply. I went down the street to the Cookery coffee shop, got some dimes and phoned the number I had been given as a contact. Midwinter’s organization was really on its toes because the number had been switched through to Midwinter’s personal phone.

  ‘Keep watching him, Caroni,’ I heard Midwinter say. Then his voice was close, ‘Midwinter here.’

  ‘Dempsey. I’m going to need someone to stake out an address in the city.’

  ‘Cop?’

  ‘A cop will do fine,’ I said.

  ‘I’ll have the first one there in ten minutes,’ said Midwinter. ‘Give me the address.’ A cab passed the window.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ I said, ‘the party I want is arriving right now.’

  ‘Newbegin?’

  ‘It’s not going to be that easy,’ I said. ‘I’ll keep in touch.’

  Midwinter was saying ‘Where are you?’ as I rang off. I walked across the street and gave Signe’s cab time to get clear.

  When Signe saw me she hugged me and laughed and sniffed and cried. I picked up her Braniff Airlines bag and two boxes that said ‘Shoes by Frost’ and carried them up to her apartment. She went across to the mirror. ‘Thank God you are all right,’ she said, looking in the mirror. She produced a man’s handkerchief and dabbed carefully around her eyes so that the eye make-up didn’t smudge. ‘Harvey wanted to leave you in the surgery. He wanted to have you arrested. I argued with him.’ She turned back to me from the mirror. ‘I saved you,’ she said.

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Don’t mention it. I only saved you, that’s all.’

  ‘So what do you want me to do: buy you a pair of shoes?’