2
When Jeff entered the Admiral’s office he could see that this was not to be so much a trial as passage of sentence. He could tell by their stiffness. The Admiral was behind his desk, and the others—Keller, Collingwood, and Quigley—were seated in a semicircle with their backs to the light. There was an empty straight chair in front of the desk, and Jeff knew he was supposed to take that chair. He did not want to sit there, however, because the light would be in his eyes and he could not clearly see their faces. “Sit down, Mr. Baker,” the Admiral said.
“If you don’t mind I’ll move this chair,” Jeff said, and he did move it towards the end of the desk. Then he sat down. In the better light he could see the Admiral’s face growing red.
The Admiral picked up a sheaf of papers, rustled them into a pile, and put them down again. The model cruiser, carrier, and four miniature destroyers still sailed across his desk, but in disgraceful formation. “Now, Mr. Baker,” the Admiral began, “you know why you’re here. No matter what my personal feelings may be, I want to be fair with you. It’s always been my contention that every man deserves a hearing. I’d give a hearing to a seaman, second class, and I’ll give one to you. Now what have you got to say for yourself?”
“Nothing, sir,” Jeff said.
“Don’t you have any statement?” the Admiral asked. He seemed surprised. “You know, Mr. Baker, this is a very serious proposition.”
“I’m aware of it, sir. I’ve already made my statement to Mr. Keller. I’m sure he reported it to you accurately.” He knew that Fred Keller’s training made it impossible for him to lie, or omit any word of what Jeff had said, in an official statement. He looked at Keller. Fred’s face still seemed distraught, as it had looked when he left the apartment. Keller nodded, almost imperceptibly.
“It is absolutely incomprehensible to me,” the Admiral said, “that you would consort with a Russian, and be taken in by such a cock-and-bull story. Not to speak of your other actions. Not to mention your shameful public display before the Hungarian police simply because there’s a little harmless explosion. Why I’ve seen men stand up under a sixteen-inch salvo and grin. Done it myself.”
Jeff thought the Admiral must be one of those born brave soldiers—a MacArthur or a Patton—naturally contemptuous of death. Other men were different. Other men didn’t like war, didn’t like any part of war. They saw no glory in its rituals or its panoply. Of course the Admiral couldn’t understand this. All Jeff said was, “I can only envy you, sir.”
The Admiral obviously didn’t like the answer. “And you plundering drugs from the dispensary. L’Engle calls it secondary shock. Lot of bushwa. I say that you’re an addict, and I say that L’Engle’s a thief and a black marketeer. That’s what I say.”
Jeff sensed that the Admiral was baiting him. Jeff felt that the Admiral wanted him to lose his temper. He looked at the little fleet in disarray on the desk. He kept his mouth shut.
“If it were entirely up to me—which it would be if the Department of State believed in maintaining taut ship—you’d be on the way back to the United States today with L’Engle. But the Consul General here tells me I’ve got to be polite to you, because you’re a Foreign Service Officer.” The Admiral enunciated “Foreign Service Officer” in what he thought was a babyish treble.
Jeff remained silent. He knew that nothing, now, could upset his poise, his independence, his serenity. They could put a grenade under his chair and he wouldn’t budge.
“Yes, I’ve got to be very polite,” the Admiral went on. “I can’t fire you myself. I can only ask Washington to recall you. And I have to prefer charges. Well, that I’ll do.”
Jeff said, “I don’t think it matters very much what happens to me. But what happens to Atlantis Project does matter.”
“I don’t think it’s necessary for us to discuss the project,” the Admiral said. But Jeff could see that his words were automatic, and not in accordance with his thought. “We’ll keep Atlantis out of this.”
“No, we won’t,” Jeff said.
He watched Keller. Fred was in trouble with himself.
He looked at the others. Morgan Collingwood was very still, very attentive. Jeff knew that Collingwood, as an experienced diplomat, would be projecting the situation far ahead and beyond the walls of this office.
William Quigley hadn’t said anything. He was sitting with his hands in his lap, wooden as part of the furniture. Now Quigley felt called upon to speak. “If you will pardon me, Admiral,” he said, “I want to point out that I am responsible to the Department for the security of Atlantis Project. Mr. Baker says that this project has been penetrated.”
“I don’t believe it,” the Admiral said.
Quigley said, “It is not possible for anyone to say arbitrarily that it has or hasn’t until there has been an investigation. I propose to conduct such an investigation.”
The Admiral’s office was quiet now. William Quigley raised his colorless eyes. “Jeff,” he said, “it is my opinion that you haven’t told us everything.”
“You’re right, Quig,” Jeff said.
“You’ve seen your Russian friend again, haven’t you?”
“Yes, I have.”
The Admiral interrupted. “Mr. Baker, it strikes me that you have been deliberately treasonable. To our knowledge you have twice seen this Russian, and twice you’ve been warned. Now you say you’ve seen him again.”
“There are two kinds of treason,” Jeff said. He discovered that his voice was level and steady. “There is treason to your country and there is treason to civilization. I tried not to commit either kind.”
“Then you did see him again?” the Admiral demanded.
“Yes, I did. I saw Leonides Lasenko again. I saw him yesterday afternoon. He was wearing civilian clothes, and he was trying to get across the border into the British Zone. He has become one of the unbekannte Menschen. He is a leader in a resistance movement against the Soviet regime.”
The Admiral leaned his big frame across the desk. “Do you make this all up as you go along?” he inquired.
Jeff said, “May I continue?”
The Admiral glared. “You can say what you want. We don’t have to believe it, you know. We aren’t children.”
“Before he left Lasenko gave me two names,” Jeff went on. “One here. One in Moscow.”
Quigley stirred in his chair. “Where’s he going? Where’s this Lasenko going?”
“He’s trying to get to the Hochschwab. They’ve got a transmitter up there. They’re going to call it RFR—Radio Free Russia.”
The Admiral planted a hand on the desk. “Mr. Baker, I don’t want to hear any more of your fabrications. I think you have a twisted or diseased brain.”
“I don’t,” said Quigley.
The Admiral turned on him. “Quigley, remember that you’re not concerned with policy. You’re strictly in operations, and only in security operations at that.”
“I’m remembering,” Quigley said.
“Can I go now?” Jeff asked. “Have you finished with me?”
“I have, Mr. Baker,” the Admiral said. “You will go to your quarters.”
3
When Jeff was gone the Admiral growled, “Did you ever hear such balderdash?” But nobody said anything, and the Admiral spoke again. “All right, come on. Let’s get on with this. What’s to be done? First send a cable to the Department, I say, asking for his immediate recall. Then we’ll draw up the charges and send them in the pouch.”
“We can’t send them by pouch,” Quigley objected. “You’ll remember, sir, that nothing about Atlantis Project was to be committed to writing.”
“In my estimation,” the Admiral replied, “it’s not necessary to go into this business of Atlantis being compromised. Fred Keller said yesterday he didn’t believe it, and I don’t believe it either. It’d just cause a useless flap in Washington. You know how they panic in Washington.”
Now Keller rose. He stood behind the chair and gripped the b
ack of the chair. He wet his lips. “I’m afraid I’ve changed my mind, Admiral,” he said. “I’m afraid we’ve failed. Whether Jeff Baker leaked, whether the leak was in Washington, or whether it was somewhere else I don’t know. But I find I must conclude that Jeff Baker is telling the truth, until proved otherwise.”
“I agree with you, Fred,” said Morgan Collingwood. “I don’t think we can reach an arbitrary decision here at this time. I think there should be a complete investigation in Washington. I think Quigley should go on Sunday’s plane, and lay the whole matter in the lap of the Department.”
“I think that would be proper procedure,” said Keller. “Meanwhile I feel I should discontinue Atlantis operations.”
The Admiral straightened the fleet on his desk. He pushed out his lower lip. He was thinking. The Admiral had not become an admiral by disregarding the advice of his staff. The Admiral knew what to do when he sighted unexpected enemy strength. “You certainly changed your mind in a hurry,” he fired at Keller.
“Yes, I suppose I did,” Keller said. “But now I am certain of how I feel.”
The Admiral shook his impressive, white-maned head. In his day the world had been understandable. We had fifteen battleships, the British had fifteen battleships, the Japs nine, and the rest were second-rate powers. A man spent his life learning Mahan, and then heretics came along who said the battleship was just a fat target. The heretics talked of psychological warfare, and political warfare, and battle by radio. He had tried to learn this new type of warfare, but he had found it difficult and even unbelievable. How did it fit in with Mahan? How could a man disregard the Bible? The world would be better off if it got back to battleships. With battleships, a man knew where he stood. “Well, I suppose I’ll have to go along with you,” he said.
“May I suggest, sir,” Keller said, “that Mr. Collingwood and Quig and I prepare a report on this matter without referring to the Atlantis part? Quig can catch Sunday’s plane and take the document safe hand, and fill in the Department orally on the Atlantis section.”
“Yes, I suppose that’s the way to do it,” the Admiral agreed. “It should go to Matson, or the Undersecretary, or the Secretary.”
“The correct channel,” said Morgan Collingwood, “would be to tell Matson first, and then allow Matson to inform the highest levels.”
“Very well,” said the Admiral. Now that he had thought it over, he could see that it was probably best to pass it along to Matson. It would be necessary to discontinue Atlantis for a time. This was disappointing. He suspected that the Navy would soon recall him to active duty, and it would be nice to go back with a third star. But if there were a security scandal during his administration of the Budapest Mission, he might not get active duty. The safe thing to do was lay it in the lap of Washington.
4
On Saturday Jeff didn’t leave his room, even for a walk. He was afraid to leave because someone might telephone, or drop up to see him, and he wouldn’t be there. He concentrated on his Toynbee, but his mind kept wandering to the letter he had sent to Horace Locke.
He tried to imagine the course of that letter. If L’Engle’s plane was right on time, and if L’Engle cleared customs in a hurry, and if he went directly to Old State, then Horace Locke might have received the letter Friday afternoon. But if anything happened—any delay at all—then he wouldn’t get it until today. He wondered whether Horace Locke worked Saturdays. There wasn’t any reason for him to work Saturdays because there wasn’t anything for him to do. Maybe L’Engle would find Locke at home if he wasn’t in his office. He thought Locke lived in the Metropolitan Club, but he wasn’t sure. He was sure that L’Engle would deliver the letter. On that he would gamble his life.
Quincy Todd called him late in the morning and said, “I see you’re still here.”
“Barely,” Jeff said.
“Lonesome?”
“Uh-huh.”
“I’ll come up tonight and bring some local talent.”
“I’d rather not.” He had been trying to write Susan, and found there was nothing really he could say, and anyway there was the chance he might find himself back in Washington before the letter.
“Just for laughs.”
“Okay, for laughs.” It would be good, anyway, to see a human face.
5
And Saturday afternoon Quigley visited him. Quigley sat down in the prim way he had, and dropped a worn dispatch case, its lock askew and its seams leaking threads, at his feet. “Going somewhere?” Jeff said.
“Yes, I’m going to Washington. I suppose you can guess why.”
“I suppose I can. Do you think I have a chance?”
Quigley considered the question. “I have been in the Department for thirty years,” he said finally. “If I could guess what the Department was going to do, it would be necessary for me to be Secretary of State, and not a security officer. On occasion I believe that not even the Secretary knows what the Department will do, until it is done. That has been my experience.”
“That’s a helluva answer, Quig.”
“You’re in a helluva situation, if you will pardon the language.”
“Am I?”
“Yes. You see, you have nothing to substantiate your story. It is true that your friend Leonides doesn’t seem to be in Budapest. That I’ve discovered. But it doesn’t prove anything. He might have been transferred, or on a trip, or down at Balaton for the skating.”
“It’s true.”
“I believe it, Jeff. But who else will? Will Matson? Will the Secretary, if it goes to the Secretary? Do you have a friend in the Department, Jeff? It might be better if you had a friend in the Department.”
Jeff thought it over. “I suppose you’d call him a friend. You know Horace Locke?”
“Certainly I know Horace Locke. It was a terrible blow to the Department when it lost Horace Locke. It was like losing Sumner Welles.”
Jeff drew in his breath. “Lost Horace Locke! He’s still there, isn’t he?”
“If you mean is his name still on the Foreign Service List, yes he is still there. But he has no influence, and almost no job. I feel very sorry for him, and I’m afraid he won’t be able to help you.”
“He is the only friend, except Susan Pickett, of course.”
Quigley struggled with the twisted lock of his dispatch case, said, “Darn it! Darn it!” and finally it opened. He took out a notebook. “Now, Jeff, I want you to tell me the rest of the story about Lasenko—every detail—everything you can remember.”
So Jeff told everything he hadn’t told in the Admiral’s office the day before—except the two names—the survivor in Budapest and the one in Moscow, the big one. He knew that Quigley was going to ask for the names, and when he did ask Jeff said:
“I’m sorry, Quig.”
Quigley nodded. “I understand. As a matter of fact I think you’re very discreet, Jeff, and I won’t press you. You say you sent a confidential report on Lasenko to Locke. Of course the Department doesn’t consider that proper, Jeff. On the other hand it is done very frequently, and usually the reasons are excellent, as in this case. So I shall say nothing of it. But I do urge you also to send the names to Locke. As you pointed out to Lasenko, in case anything happens to you.”
Jeff smiled. “In case anything happens to me. How will I get the names to Locke?”
“I’ll take them.”
“Really?”
“Certainly I’ll take them. They’ll be in Washington Monday. Just sit down at your typewriter and write a note to Horace Locke. You can’t mention your own affair, of course, because that is restricted Department business. Just write the names, and say if anything happens to Lasenko, these other men can be contacted.”
A man couldn’t do everything himself. A man had to trust other men. He found he trusted Quigley as he trusted L’Engle. He moved across the room and sat down at the typewriter and wrote one brief paragraph.
Then he signed his name and addressed an envelope. He folded the paper and sl
ipped it inside the envelope and handed it to Quigley. “Here you are.”
“Aren’t you going to seal it?”
“No.”
Quigley took the envelope and dropped it into his dispatch case on top of his notebook and other envelopes garnished with red wax. He didn’t say anything. He spent an absurd length of time fussing with the lock.
Jeff watched him. He seemed at this time so ridiculously small and inefficient. Jeff went to the closet and found his own dispatch case, which since he arrived in Budapest had been used for nothing except a liquor cache. He removed the half-empty bottle of cognac, and the pint of emergency rye. What was it Susan had said about this case? She hoped it would bring back something to wipe her fear away? Was that what she had said? Well, this was the only chance the case would get. “Quig,” he said, “how about trading cases? Yours has had it, and I never use mine.”
Quigley, still bending over, looked up. “That’s an awful good case. I wouldn’t think of taking it. This one is shot, but I’ll get another in New York.”
“Come on, take this one,” Jeff argued.
“No, you keep it.”
“I wish you would. I’ve got reasons.”
Quigley stood up and took Jeff’s case and ran his fingers along the beautifully turned leather and picked at the seams and inspected the lock. Then he took his envelopes and notebook out of the old case and transferred them to Jeff’s case. “This is awfully good of you,” he said. “This is the best case I’ve ever had.”
“You’re really doing me a favor when you take it,” Jeff said.
Quigley shook hands, and Jeff said, “I guess I won’t be seeing you again.”
“I hope you’ll be seeing me very soon and very often. You’ve done a very nice thing for me, Jeff. I don’t think anybody ever did such a nice thing for me. Now goodbye.”
Jeff thought it was very strange that a hard little guy like Quigley would be so upset, and even have tears in his eyes, and he wondered why.