The Hydra Conspiracy

by Len Levinson

  “I’ve been married twice, and both my wives divorced me. I guess people in my line of work don’t make very good marriage partners. We’re away from home a lot, and we never know if we’ll be alive when the end of the week rolls around.”

  Her eyes swept over his features and came to rest on his mouth. “You’re the last of the great adventurers, aren’t you?”

  “I doubt if I’m the last.”

  “You’re certainly among the last. Most men want security and comfort these days, and you’ve opted for danger. Why?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe I get bored easily. Or maybe I’m not very smart. I don’t suppose that really smart people would do the kinds of things I’ve been doing all my life.”

  She pursued her lips. “I think you’re intelligent, but I don’t think you’re very sensitive. I don’t think a sensitive person could live with danger for very long. Or maybe it’s not a question of sensitivity at all. Maybe it’s simply a question of strength. Perhaps you’re a very strong person.”

  “Or a very crazy one.”

  “Perhaps.” She looked at her watch. “It’s getting late. I think we should return to the building.”

  They arose and climbed the paths that led to the mansion. She lived in the east wing and he was in the west wing, so they parted in a dark corridor near the center.

  “Good night,” he said, brushing his lips against her forehead. “Sleep well.”

  “You too.”

  He wanted to sleep well with her, but decided she wasn’t his type. Turning from her, he made his way through the mansion to his own room, thinking that in a few days he’d be back in the world, free to pursue the female companionship he normally enjoyed: the promiscuous crazy ladies who were easily found in every bar throughout the country.

  Undressing in the moonlight, he thought about tomorrow morning, when he’d meet with Sheffield and receive his assignment. He was curious about what it would be and anxious to get to work. Prolonged vacations weren’t his cup of tea. He loved action, the game of cat and mouse, and never felt so alive as when his life was on the line.

  He lay in bed and closed his eyes, anxious for the new day to begin.

  Chapter Fourteen

  At breakfast in the dining room, Wilma was nowhere to be seen. Butler sat with some of the people he’d met the previous day and ordered his usual large morning meal. When he was finished he proceeded directly to Sheffield’s office, where one of the secretaries told him to go inside.

  Sheffield sat in darkness behind his desk as on the previous day. Butler wondered why he never wanted anybody to see his face.

  “Have a seat, Mr. Butler,” Sheffield said cordially.

  Butler sat in front of the desk and crossed his legs.

  “I trust you slept well?” Sheffield asked.

  “Yes I did.”

  “Good. Are you ready to go to work?”

  “I can’t wait.”

  “Excellent. Well, we’ve worked out an assignment for you and here it is. First of all you’re going to return to New York for your trial. The cabdriver of course will appear as your witness and you will be found innocent. Then you will inform Mr. Shankham you’ve decided to take the position in private industry that he so graciously offered you. He in turn will notify the director of his reassignment office, who happens to be a member of the Institute. A position will be found for you with the Noble Oil Corporation, whose president, Phillip Noble, is a high-ranking member of Hydra. You will do some sort of security work, which will give you access to the private correspondence of the corporation. You mission will be to relay all relevant information to our nearest office for evaluation. Is that clear?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “I’m sure you’ve read about Phillip Noble in the newspapers, but let me give you some background on him. He is perhaps one of the richest men in the world. His corporation not only owns and leases oilfields throughout the world, it also has-access to other types of natural resources, and manufactures all sorts of products for industry, government and individual consumers. He owns numerous newspapers and television stations. He manufactures armaments, guns, ships and jet fighters, which has provided him with a strong link to the Pentagon over the years.

  “He owns land and industries in numerous foreign countries and therefore has close ties with the CIA. In fact, the CIA and the armed forces can be considered the private protection agencies for his business interests overseas. It is tragic but nonetheless true that one day American soldiers might have to give their lives in defense of his personal business interests overseas. He’s as clever as he is rapacious and he’s hired all sorts of brilliant people to work for him. He doesn’t mind paying huge salaries to key people, and, as we all know, large quantities of money can act as a marvelous salve for guilty consciences. Anyway, Phillip Noble is virtually a government all to himself.

  “He has considerable power which he wields for his own benefit, though nobody ever elected him to anything. He has even more power than the president of the United States, and Phillip Noble can act without the checks of congress or the judiciary. Nobody can impeach him. He is basically a high-level bandit, but, as a result of clever public relations and manipulation of the press, he enjoys enormous prestige throughout the world. It will be up to you to gain entry to his personal entourage and monitor his activities for us. We want to know who his consorts are and everything he does.

  “I should be able to handle that,” Butler said.

  “Good. Well, that’s all. You’ll be further briefed by my assistant, Mr. Smiley, on Institute procedures, and this evening you’ll be driven to the airport in San Francisco, where you will board a scheduled flight for New York. Tomorrow morning you’ll call your lawyer to inquire about the case, and he’ll tell you that a certain taxicab driver has read about your case in the papers and has stepped forward to say he’s the one who drove you home from the Plaza Hotel. You will call Mr. Shankham and tell him the good news—which he doubtless will know already—and then you’ll tell him of your willingness to accept employment. After that you’ll be on your own. Any questions?”

  “None that I can think of offhand.”

  “Good. That will be all for now, Mr. Butler. So long, and good luck.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Butler was briefed by Mr. Smiley for the rest of the afternoon, and at five was told to get ready for the drive to the airport. He returned to his room and packed his few things, then went in search of Wilma to say goodbye to her. He knocked on her door but there was no answer. He roamed through the mansion but couldn’t find her. Finally he encountered a friend of hers who said Wilma had left on a mission early that morning.

  Butler went to the office of Mr. Smiley, thinking of Wilma. She must have known last night that she was going away today, but, like a good undercover agent, she had said nothing. He hoped that someday he’d meet her again.

  He was driven to the airport outside San Francisco, where reservations had been made for him on a direct flight to New York City. He boarded the plane and after a short delay it took off. Several hours later it landed at La Guardia Airport in New York and he took a cab to his apartment.

  Getting out of the cab, he looked around and saw two men seated in a Chevrolet parked halfway up the street. A shaft of light from the street lamp shone down on them, but the wide brims of their fedoras obscured their faces. They might be waiting for their girlfriends to come out of the building they were parked in front of, or they might be on a stakeout for him. He’d know the answer to that soon enough.

  He took the elevator upstairs to his apartment and went inside. Everything looked just as he’d left it, but he suspected that the Agency must have conducted a thorough search in his absence. He put his suitcase on the bed and unpacked his things. Members of the Institute had retrieved his belongings from the hotel in Merida, so now he had his special laser fountain pen back, as well as the few other articles he’d purchased. As he was finishing unpac
king, the phone rang. He picked up the receiver.

  “Hello?” he said.

  “Is that you, Butler?” asked F. J. Shankham, excitement in his voice.

  “It is indeed,” Butler replied jovially. “How are you this evening, chief?”

  “Where the hell have you been?”

  “Oh, I took a little vacation for a few days, to try and get my head together.”

  “Where were you?”

  “Here and there.”

  “Here and where?”

  “None of your fucking business.”

  “Now see here, Butler. You’re still on the payroll of the Agency. We have a right to know of your whereabouts.”

  “A friend of mine has a cabin in the woods in Maine. That’s where I was.”

  “Where in Maine?”

  “None of your business. What the hell do you care where I was?”

  “You’re on bail, Butler. You’re not supposed to leave the city limits. You’ve broken the law.”

  “Since when does the Agency worry about breaking the law?”

  “You’re not the Agency. You’re a private individual and there’s very strong evidence that you’ve committed a bloody murder.”

  “I haven’t committed any fucking murder.”

  “How do I know that?”

  “You should be able to trust me after all these years.”

  “I wouldn’t even trust my own mother.”

  “What’s the matter with another bloody murder? The Agency has committed thousands of them.”

  “The Agency acts in the interest of national security.”

  “What did the murder of Allende have to do with national security?”

  “There you go again with Allende,” Shankham said testily. “Why are you always ranting and raving about Allende?”

  “My question was, what did his murder have to do with national security?”

  “He was going to nationalize industries that were owned by American citizens.”

  “So what does that have to do with you or me? We don’t own any industries.”

  “We couldn’t let him get away with that.”

  “Why not?”

  “We just couldn’t.”

  “Why couldn’t we?”

  “I’m tired of arguing with you about these things, Butler, and so is everybody else around here. We’ll be glad to see you gone.”

  “Is that why you set me up with a murder rap?”

  “We didn’t do that, Butler. I know you think we did, but we didn’t. Maybe the Russians did. You know how sneaky they are.”

  “How did you know I was out of town?”

  “Well, we called a few times and nobody answered.”

  “Maybe I just wasn’t home.”

  “We have reason to believe you left town.”

  “Whatever gave you that reason?”

  “We have ways of knowing things.”

  “Then how come you didn’t know where I was?”

  “We can’t be expected to know everything.”

  “Shall I tell you why?”

  “Please do.”

  “Because you had some of your goons following me, and I lost them. Two more of them just saw me come home; that’s why you’re calling.”

  “Good thinking, Butler. You always were one of my best agents. Too bad you’re so politically irrational. Will you tell me how you shook my two goons?”

  “No.”

  “Oh come on. I’ve been trying to puzzle it out ever since it happened, because we surrounded the theater, you know. We checked everyone coming out. Where did you hide?”

  “I was long gone, Shankham.”

  “No kidding.”

  “While you were checking everybody coming out, I was on my way to Maine.”

  “Where did you say you were in Maine?”

  “I didn’t say.”

  “Why didn’t you say?”

  “If you’re so smart, find out for yourself.”

  “You didn’t talk to anybody, did you?”

  “About what?”

  “About you know damn well what.”

  “You mean things like Angola, Chile, Brazil, Argentina and so forth?”

  “Exactly.”

  “I didn’t say one word about things like that. I’ve remained completely loyal to the Agency, although I regret to say the Agency has not remained completely loyal to me.”

  “That’s not true, Butler! How can you say such a dreadful thing?”

  “Because your goons have been following me around.”

  “We were only trying to protect you, that’s all.”

  “From whom?”

  “From whoever framed you for murder, providing somebody in fact did frame you.”

  “There’s still doubt in your mind?”

  “I told you that I don’t trust anybody.”

  “Not even your mother.”

  “Right. Who knows what foreign power she might be working for?”

  “That’s true. The enemy is everywhere. The big question is: who is the enemy?”

  “International godless communism, that’s who.”

  “How about international godless multinational corporations?”

  “There you go again. I must say in all candor that I’m growing weary of this conversation. Watch your step, call your lawyer in the morning, and good night to you.”

  “Night, chief.”

  The phone went dead in his ear. Butler hung it up and resumed unpacking. When he had finished he was hungry and he decided to go out for a bite. He left his building and walked to a small candlelit Italian restaurant on Third Avenue, where he seated himself at a dark corner table. When the waiter finally noticed him, he ordered minestrone soup, baked lasagna and a salad. The waiter departed into the kitchen with the order, and Butler looked around at the other diners. They were mostly couples, while he was all alone, wondering what Wilma B. Willoughby was doing.

  A man in a black wool trench coat entered the restaurant. He wore a black fedora on the side of his head and had a chubby face, and his nose looked like a holster. He spotted Butler, smiled, and walked toward him. Butler thought he looked like a KGB agent.

  “Good evening, sir,” the man said in a guttural Russian accent, removing his hat. “May I possibly join you at this table?”

  “Why don’t you sit at one of the empty tables?”

  “Because I want to sit with you.”

  “I’d like to dine alone if you don’t mind.”

  “I think I have something to say that might be of interest to you. I am—” the man glanced around nervously “—with the KGB.”

  “No kidding.”

  The man sat in the chair opposite Butler and laid his hat on the table. “My name is Ivan Gudenov and I’m very pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Butler.”

  “Let’s not beat around the bush, Mr. Gudenov. What’s on your mind?”

  “As you wish.” Gudenov leaned toward Butler and spoke in a voice barely above a whisper. “We have learned three things about you. First of all, we know that you are a member of the CIA. Second, we know that you are currently under an indictment for murder in the first degree. Third, we know that you have been in disfavor at the CIA because of your revolutionary views. Therefore, in view of this, we thought you might be interested in talking about various things which are of pressing interest to my government, such as the nature of the CIA network, various secrets held by the CIA and so forth.”

  “Whatever makes you think I’d want to talk about such things?”

  “Well, you’re disillusioned with the Agency, aren’t you? I mean, it’s quite obvious that they’ve framed you with this murder charge because they want you out of the way.”

  “Maybe so, but what makes you think I’m so enchanted with Russia?”

  Gudenov smiled. “We are against the same things you are against: your cruel economic system and your international meddling.”

  “What about your international meddling?”

  “Our
international meddling is aimed at curtailing your international meddling.”

  “Bullshit. Your commissars are as bad as our capitalists. And what about your prison system?”

  Gudenov shrugged. “Every country has prisons.”

  “But your country has the most extensive prison system in the world. And the prisons are basically concentration camps for political dissenters.”

  “Well, it’s difficult to keep people under control. You’ll have the same thing here in a few years yourselves, the way things are going in this country. Let’s get back to the CIA. Can you outline for me your network in the Soviet Union?”

  “No.”

  “We’ll pay for all information.”

  “No.”

  “A hundred thousand dollars?”

  “No.”

  “We can fly you to Moscow tonight, eliminating the need for you to go to court over that trumped-up murder charge.”

  “No.”

  “A hundred thousand dollars is a lot of money, Mr. Butler.”

  “No.”

  “It’s not a lot of money?”

  “I’m not interested.” Butler saw the waiter approaching with his bowl of minestrone. “Would you please excuse me, Mr. Gudenov? I’d like to dine alone.”

  “If you wish, sir.” Gudenov stood, and settled his fedora on his head. “If you change your mind, give me a call. I’m sure you know where to reach me.”

  “I know where to reach you.”

  “Good night, Mr. Butler.”

  “Same to you, Mr. Gudenov.”

  Gudenov left the restaurant and Butler spooned into his minestrone soup, wondering how the Russians had found out so much. But an international city like New York was crawling with spies and there was always someone willing to sell information. It was common knowledge that there were spies representing foreign powers operating even within the Agency itself. Some of them were given false information, some were assigned to areas where they never came into contact with important information, some were killed, and some were probably doing their dirty work undetected. Butler wondered if anybody had infiltrated the Institute. That would be harder, because presumably nobody knew that it was anything other than a research organization. But in the world of espionage anything was possible.