Agent in Place

by Helen Macinnes

  Georges said, “All right, Tony. I read you. I’ll carry it next to my heart from now on. The truth is, I didn’t expect any excitement on this assignment.” Just a simple little tour of inspection, hadn’t that been our idea when we came sailing into Menton this morning? Make certain that all was going well with Parracini? “Quel con,” was Georges’s final comment on that subject, as he fished out a neat object, disguised as a portable phonograph, from under the bed, along with an equally portable machine pretending to be a typewriter. He placed them on the table where he had already set out his versatile radio, some tapes, a pad, and pencils. “Any time,” he told Tony, readying typewriter and phonograph for their proper functions. His entire equipment covered less than one-half of the table.

  “Compact,” said Tony. “The wonders of modern technology.” Georges worked on. He was taut and angry and much too solemn. “No more aerials draped out of windows?”

  “It runs on batteries.” Georges was intent on the final adjustments. “Ready when you are.”

  “And no sending-keys? I don’t even see you looped up in earphones?”

  “That’s all past tense. Nowadays we—” Georges checked his reply and saved himself in time. He joined in Tony’s smile. His voice eased. “What’s the first message? To Gerard, I suppose.” He looked at his watch, nodded his approval of the remarkably brief time it had taken to set up the preparations. “First, you run over the various points you want to make, then I can either tape or scramble—”

  “First,” said Tony, “I think we ought to get in touch with Bill. But by less exotic means.” He picked up the telephone and dialled Bill’s private number. He had to wait, impatience growing with each unanswered ring. “This call is necessary,” he reassured Georges, who was watching him in dismay. “We must know where we stand, before we—” Bill’s voice interrupted him.

  “Already in bed?” Tony asked.

  “No, no, I was in the next room watching television with Nicole. Sorry for the delay. Something new to report?”

  “Nothing. Just wondering if they all got safely home from the movie.”

  “Early,” Bill told him. “Brigitte couldn’t take the air conditioning.”

  “What about Bernard? Is he around?”

  “Playing chess with Parracini downstairs.”

  “I don’t suppose—no, you couldn’t.”

  “Couldn’t what?”

  “Tell Bernard to slip quietly down to the harbour. But that’s impossible now.”

  “Oh, I don’t know about that—”

  “I said quietly, Bill. We don’t want to alarm Parracini—or the others, either. It’s nothing much, anyway. Just a feeling I have about the Sea Breeze. I don’t like having only one man aboard tonight.”

  “Why?”

  “This afternoon—” and keep the Casino and Gorsky out of this—“I saw evidence of the opposition.”

  Bill went into high alarm. “They’re on the track? They’ve actually uncovered Parracini?”

  “No, repeat no!” Just the opposite, Tony would have liked to say. Instead, he led into the question that had impelled him to call Bill. “And don’t set Parracini into a panic about them. Shandon Villa is where the action is. Better say nothing to him. Keep his mind at ease—he has a big day ahead of him. When will you tell him that we’ve decided to have the meeting on board the Sea Breeze, and not at your place?”

  “Oh, that’s already done. Thought it better to break the news tonight, didn’t want to spring it on him at the last moment.”

  “Tonight?”

  “Just before dinner. We were having drinks, and—”

  “I hope he wasn’t unhappy about it.”

  “Far from it. It took him but a couple of minutes to see our point of view. I emphasised additional security.”

  So, thought Tony, Parracini needed only a few minutes to decide. No consultation necessary with anyone. He’s the man in charge. No doubt left about that.

  “Did I act out of turn?” Bill asked, puzzled by Tony’s silence.

  “Relax, relax. All that’s bothering me is the Sea Breeze. She could use some of that additional security. If anything goes wrong with her tonight—” Tony left that idea hanging in the air.

  Bill said slowly, “If you feel you need some extra support, I can get in touch with a couple of good men.”

  I knew it, I knew it: Bill wouldn’t be here without some back-up, some kind of insurance, Tony thought. “How soon?”

  “They’re on stand-by notice today. I don’t want to call them though, unless it’s absolutely necessary. Is it?”

  “With the opposition in town?”

  “But not in connection with us, you said,” Bill reminded him sharply. “What’s their business here, do you know?”

  “It was Chuck Kelso.”

  “That has nothing to do with us.”

  “I know, I know. But I’d still feel more comfortable with a couple of good men around.”

  “I’ll call them.” Bill wasn’t too enthusiastic. He liked keeping his insurance well covered. “Where do you want them?”

  “No need to go aboard—unless, of course, something breaks. Tell them to keep a close eye on the Sea Breeze. That’s all.”

  “Okay,” Bill was reassured. “We play it cool.”

  “All of us,” Tony emphasised. And, for God’s sake, don’t disturb Parracini’s sweet dreams, he thought as he rang off with a cheerful “See you—early tomorrow.”

  And that was that.

  Georges, sitting with his feet up on the table, looked with undisguised impatience at his watch.

  “I agree. It took far too long,” Tony conceded. “It was like pulling teeth. But we did learn something important. Parracini was told about our Sea Breeze project before he went to the Casino.”

  “Then Gorsky knows!”

  “He knows.” Either this room is getting hotter or my blood-pressure is rising, thought Tony. He pulled off his jacket, dropped it on the bed.

  Georges swore softly. “That alters everything.” He shook his head in commiseration. “Too bad, Tony. It was a good plan.”

  “It still is. Sail straight to Nice; and then by air to Brussels. Couldn’t be simpler. Why, even the Nice airport is in the perfect spot for us—right at the water’s edge.” Tony added softly, “We really can’t refuse an opportunity like that, now can we?”

  “Drop the whole idea, Tony. We can’t pull it off. Not now.”

  Tony said nothing at all.

  “Gorsky will hire a cabin cruiser, and keep the Sea Breeze well within sight. The moment he sees we aren’t having a leisurely cruise, he will send out a general alarm. We’ll never get Parracini anywhere near Brussels. We won’t even reach Nice—if Gorsky has a boat that can outrun the Sea Breeze—the best we can do in our motor sailer is ten knots. And his men will be heavily armed: he does nothing by half-measures. We’ll have a couple of handguns, if that.” Georges stared at Tony, his thoughts now back with the Gorsky file. “You know, if he couldn’t board us, Gorsky would blow us all out of the water, Parracini included. He’d do that rather than let Parracini remain our prisoner. It’s not the first time he has killed one of his own—for the sake of security.”

  Hands in pockets, Tony had been studying the equipment on the table. “Let’s begin,” he said, pulling the other chair into position opposite Georges. “But I want to know what to expect here. First, you tape my message, and then—”

  “A waste of breath,” Georges said. “You didn’t listen. The plan is out, Tony. We need—”

  “I listened. And you gave me a new idea. Always a pleasure working with you, Georges, my boy. Now, where were we?—Oh, yes. First, you tape the message; then you speed it up in transmission—turn it into a screeching background to harmless chit-chat. And at the receiving end, there’s a tape-recorder to pick up the screech. Right?”

  Georges nodded. Tony always knows more than he pretends, he reminded himself in surprise.

  “And when the taped screech is p
layed back and slowed down to the original recording speed, it becomes intelligible. Is that how we’ll do it?”

  “That’s one way. But there’s a new and quicker variation.”

  “Equally safe?”

  “Safer. The latest in scrambling devices. Produces screeches that can be directly untangled as they arrive at the receiving end from any ordinary conversation.”

  “Simple and secure. I like that.”

  “Highly sophisticated and secure.”

  Tony’s smile broadened as he pulled the writing-pad in front of him. “Contact Brussels.” He began jotting down what needed to be said.

  “Geneva, you mean. Gerard is there this week-end. He’s working late in his office in case we have anything further to report. You really worried him this—”

  “Brussels,” repeated Tony. “Straight to the top, Georges. Where do you think our message will get some real response? Special Service Division? Attention Commander Hartwell?”

  “If he can be reached.”

  “He can be. Did you think I picked his name out of a hat? He’s in charge of night duty this week. Sleeps in his office, stalwart fellow. He’s American, so we’ll jolly him up with a starting signal he’ll recognise: Officer requires assistance. Next comes Urgent call for immediate help, highest priority. And then we follow with this—” Tony pushed the pad over to Georges. “You’ll compress it for coded transmission, but don’t drop out any words or phrases such as vital—necessity—threat of attack—officers’ lives in extreme jeopardy.” And that last phrase, thought Tony, might be no exaggeration.

  Pencil in hand, Georges was already abbreviating Tony’s notes as he read them back. They were concise enough, but slightly more dramatic than Georges himself would have risked. “High-ranking enemy agent under arrest, escorted by four NATO officers, will sail tomorrow, Saturday, on Sea Breeze maximum speed ten knots, departing Menton harbour eleven hours, arriving Nice around thirteen hours, weather permitting. Request immediate air transport to Brussels. Warning added: operation now seriously endangered by Soviet agents (Department V—Executive Action) known to be in possession of sailing information. Sea Breeze will be followed, intercepted. Real threat of attack. Officers’ lives in extreme jeopardy. Require vital support. Necessity for immediate action. Most urgent request for—”

  Georges looked up, his pencil poised in mid-air. “For a naval vessel?”

  “A very small one.”

  “But—”

  “How many navies does NATO have?”

  Georges laughed, finished the job of abbreviation, began coding. “But why navy, at all?” he asked as he completed the message for transmission. “NATO could find us a medium-sized cabin cruiser. There must be hundreds of them all along this coast.”

  “If Hartwell can arrange for it, I’d settle for that. In fact—” Tony had an additional idea, and smiled—“I’d like both. A cabin cruiser, not too big to dock in Menton harbour beside the Sea Breeze, a navy cutter out in the bay, waiting, ready to escort. Tell Hartwell that too. From me.”

  “You know him?”

  “My old and good friend.”

  “Even so, you’re asking too much.”

  “And making sure we get at least half of what we need.” Tony pushed his chair away from the table, stretched his back muscles, and rose. “Sign off with one last nudge: we are here all through the night, awaiting instructions and final arrangements.”

  “You’re as confident as that?” Georges asked. But there was a renewed assurance in his own voice, an added zest when he made contact and could begin transmitting.

  Confident? Tony had wondered, walking aimlessly around the room. If hopes were dupes, fears may be liars. Certainly, doubts never won any arguments, and we’ll get plenty of that. But I’m damned if Gorsky is going to blow any of us out of the water, and then report that the Sea Breeze’s engine must have exploded. Explosion? Another possibility to take into account... But later, Tony decided, deal with that later. Now, there was a message for Gerard to be whipped into shape.

  Difficult, this one. Gerard would have no super-sophisticated gadgets in a small room in Geneva: nothing as costly as the newest equipment available in Brussels. It wasn’t only security that was the problem. Gerard was a problem in himself. First, there would be shock, disbelief. But once he was convinced, he’d start sending messages to prepare the two officers who were arriving in Nice tomorrow morning. The name of Parracini would be loose in the air, ready to be picked up by monitors. Or even KGB ears—it only needed a dutiful little secretary or a bugged telephone in Gerard’s office to blow everything wide open. Gorsky would warn Parracini to clear out, and Parracini would be into Italy tomorrow morning before Bill had poured his first cup of coffee.

  So, Tony thought as he sat down on the bed, we talk with Gerard, make him realise we’re faced with a major problem, and say nothing about Parracini. Not even a circumlocution like high-ranking enemy agent. Nothing. Yet we can’t keep Gerard out of this. Tempting, but not possible. How do we warn him?

  Tie loosened, belt unbuckled, Tony stretched out on the thin mattress. How? he asked the ceiling.

  * * *

  He felt a tug at his arm and was instantly awake.

  Georges was saying, “Time we called Geneva. Sorry to do this, you were sleeping so deeply that I—”

  “Just drifting in and out.” Tony swung his legs on to the floor. Exhaustion had left him: he felt as clear-eyed and brisk as if he had been asleep for several hours, but his watch told him it was barely twenty minutes since he had stretched out on the bed. “What about Brussels?”

  “Completed. Don’t worry, they received the message. Now, we wait.”

  “And what will we get—pie all over our faces?”

  We’ll get worse than that, thought Georges, if we have miscalculated Gorsky’s possible reactions. What if it could be all plain sailing to Nice, and no interference? Hastily he put that thought out of his mind. “By the way, I expanded that reference to Department V—Executive Action. Just a little. A neat insert, I thought. Hope you don’t object.”

  “Too late, anyway. What did you add?”

  “Gorsky’s file number. Okay?”

  “Wish I had thought of it,” Tony admitted, walking over to the table, looking at the equipment, wondering if a telephone call using voice code might not be the quickest way to contact Gerard. He noted that Georges hadn’t only been busy expanding references, but had found a spare minute to dump a small hunk of boiled ham, some Brie and Chèvre cheeses, along with a loaf of bread and a bottle of wine, on the free end of the table. “Is Gerard as fascinated by Gorsky as you are?”

  “More so. And with good reason.”

  “What, for instance?”

  Georges hesitated.

  “Come on, come on. This info could help us now.”

  “Gerard had a Soviet defector from Disinformation three years ago—sequestered him in a safe-house, twenty-four-hour guard. But Gorsky got at him, through one of the kitchen staff. The defector died, and two of our men with him. Food poisoning.”

  “What was his code name in Gerard’s case-book?”

  “That’s Gerard’s private property. It wasn’t even listed—”

  “All the better. Less chance of its being recognised by outside ears. Our talk with Gerard could be monitored if we use the telephone. You know that.”

  Georges nodded. For at least a year, Soviet Intelligence had been able to intercept and record telephone calls in all foreign countries, not only between government officials but between private citizens. Computerised scanners could monitor and separate the microwave frequencies. Fixed antennae on the roofs of Soviet embassies were picking up signals between foreign relay stations—even signals beamed to American communication satellites. “They’ve been using our technology,” Georges burst out, suddenly as much American as he was French. “That’s how our telephone call to Geneva could be monitored—by Telstar! Ironic, isn’t it?”

  Tony said thoughtfully, “N
ow wouldn’t it be nice to cause a hiccup or two in those busy little Soviet computers?” He paused. “What was the code name Gerard gave to his dead defector?”

  “Hector.”

  The Trojan hero, dragged around by his heels at the tail-end of Achilles’s chariot... “Well,” said Tony, “do we use the telephone? Or have you a better idea of how to contact Gerard?”

  “Yes. But he will want to talk with you. And that could tie up our transmitter for the next hour.” Further explanations requested, counter-suggestions—“No,” said Georges, “we’ve got to keep our lines of communication open with Brussels.”

  “Then we haven’t any choice, have we?”

  “We could always use the old-time scrambler for telephone conversations. That might help.”

  “What would, nowadays? Twinkle, twinkle satellite, shining in the sky so bright, what d’you hear up there tonight?” That at least brought a small smile to Georges’s worried face. “All right,” Tony went on, “get Gerard on the line. You speak first, soften him up with a few friendly phrases. He likes you.” And the sober truth is that neither Gerard nor I have ever liked each other. We are two Englishmen with clashing personalities, which can make for disagreeable sounds. Remember, Tony warned himself as Georges at last handed him the telephone, don’t let Gerard’s bloody bullheadedness get one rise out of you. Sweetness and light and firm persuasion. And keep it brief.

  * * *

  And brief it was, four minutes of talk with Tony in control most of the way. For once, Gerard gave little argument: perhaps the initial shock was so great that its tremors lasted through the remainder of the conversation.

  Tony plunged right in with, “Bad news about the condominium you are planning to build here. Serious difficulties have developed with the construction plans; a real crisis, in fact, that needs your personal attention. I know you were sending your two architects to consult the builders, but you ought to be here yourself. Why not fly down with them? We’ll meet all three of you, and we can go over the blue-prints without delay. I’d suggest an hour earlier than previously arranged—we have a lot to discuss about building specifications. They must be met—and that means you should oversee the necessary changes in the blue-prints. A brief visit should be enough, but your presence is imperative. We need your guiding hand—just to ensure that your special project goes smoothly and agreeably.”