"You've got to be kidding. You're the CIA's chief spiderman in covert operations. Your head's a hamper with all the nation's dirty laundry in it, not to mention a lot of other highly sensitive information that could benefit our enemies. Switzerland was crawling with operatives. What would you have done if someone had made and nabbed you?"
The man with the brown hair and eyes and rodent features shrugged, then smiled wanly. He seemed in an uncharacteristically mellow mood. When he spoke, his voice took on a vaguely professorial tone. "Frederickson, I'd hate to disillusion you, or anyone else in this car, but you'd be amazed at how many of any country's so-called top secrets are pretty much common knowledge among members of the higher echelons in the international intelligence community. Cooked Goose was an exception, not the rule. The biggest headache for most of us is trying to keep our citizens from finding out how much bullshit is financed with their money."
"Actually, I wouldn't be amazed at all."
"Even if I had been picked up, I'd probably have been released as soon as the operative's superiors found out about it. If it took a mind to, the United States could totally shut down the intelligence operations of thirty or forty countries within seventy-two hours-maybe less. Being responsible for kidnapping any top ops officer would just create too much of a hassle for everyone, making it too difficult to conduct business as usual."
"You may be right, Insolers," Veil said. "But just suppose you'd been snatched by some rookie terrorist who believed everything he'd just finished reading in his training manual, which had most likely been furnished to him by the CIA. Said rookie ties you up, then goes to work on you with heated tongs and chemicals. Then what would you have done?"
Insolers gave it a few moments' thought, once again smiled somewhat wanly. "Probably tried to hold out until Chant Sinclair came to my rescue. Frederickson, are you and your brother really going to put him to work for you?"
"If it's what he wants."
"I'd pay to see that," Insolers said, and laughed loudly.
"What the hell's so funny?"
Insolers just continued to laugh.
When we heard the distant sound of approaching sirens, Sinclair pulled back onto the highway, and we did the same. Five minutes later we reached the turnoff leading to the airport, and Jan waved goodbye to us through the rear window. We continued on toward Interpol headquarters.
FB2 document info
Document ID: fbd-138c7b-aa62-f24c-13ba-51ed-fc19-ae8d77
Document version: 1
Document creation date: 14.10.2012
Created using: calibre 0.9.2, Fiction Book Designer, FictionBook Editor Release 2.6.6 software
Document authors :
George C. Chesbro
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Dark Chant In A Crimson Key m-11 Page 24