Leon Uris (40 page)

The President’s assistant entered, and they went through the papers together before locking them into his attaché case.

“How much longer are you going to be in Paris, Mike?”

“Few weeks anyhow. I’ve got a meeting with the Scandinavian people next Wednesday. Give Liz a ring when you get back to Washington and tell her I wasn’t able to find the material she wanted. If she’ll send me another sample, I’ll see what I can do. My boy Jim has a birthday coming up. Have my secretary get him a left-hand fielder’s glove, Ted Williams model.”

“Right.” McKittrick looked at his watch. “My car should be here in a few minutes.”

They fenced in silence for a few moments. “Hell, you may as well say it,” Nordstrom said.

“I’ve got the official word from La Croix. They’re ignoring the entire Topaz affair. What’s next, Mike?”

“Damned if I know. But NATO is going to be in big danger soon. Marsh, there can only be one leader of the free world, can’t there? We’ve done a pretty good job, haven’t we?”

“We’ve done a lot better than when the French were running the show, and we’ve done it for a lot more decent reasons.”

“The boss of this planet is seldom appreciated,” Mike said, “by those he has replaced in the job.”

“Mike,” McKittrick said haltingly, “there’s a base I have to touch. I know how fond you are of Devereaux. We all are. He’s top-drawer. But he’s in big trouble.”

“What are you trying to tell me?”

“If Devereaux comes to you for help, you are under orders not to help him. He’s been written off. And we’ve got to keep on doing business with France.”

“You know, I remember the first time I saw Boris Kuznetov. A scared little guy in a hotel room in Copenhagen. He said something then I’ll never forget. He said, ‘It makes no difference if you are Russian or American. Our profession is cruel, yet ... they cannot take from us all that is human. Humans, in the end, are compassionate. Someday you may need a friend. Someday a friend will need you.’ ”

“Mike, I’m just delivering the message.”

“I got the goddamned message,” Nordstrom snapped.

The secretary entered. “Your car is waiting, Mr. McKittrick.”

“So long, Marsh. Have a good flight back.”

As McKittrick left, he knew that if Devereaux sought help, there was a good chance Mike Nordstrom would disobey his orders.

A
T TEN O’CLOCK SHARP AT
night, André left the Café des Deux Magots as had been prearranged by the telephone conversation.

He drove across the Seine by the Pont d’Austerlitz with an eye on the rear mirror. His tails were still behind him as he continued up Rue de Rivoli, so he circled the great Place de la Concorde and doubled back into the Place Vendôme and at last lost them.

He drove on to the greenery of the Bois de Boulogne and slowed and drifted back and forth near the Pavilion d’Armenonville. During his third pass, headlights of another car, which had pulled off in the bushes, blinked off and on. André turned off the road and parked near the second car.

Robert Proust waited nervously, perspiring even in the cold. They watched the area silently for several moments to assure that all was clear.

“Well, Robert, we’ve come a long way to have to make a secret rendezvous.”

“It’s not very advantageous to be your friend these days,” Robert answered. “Well, I came anyhow. André, you know how closely you’re being watched. Every move, every call. Even if you return to your post in Washington, one of the new people will have orders to watch you.”

“What are you trying to tell me?”

“I’m trying to talk you out of your damn madness. The service knows I would never personally carry out an order against you, but in your case there are standing orders that Fauchet has received from Colonel Brune personally.”

“Yes, good old Ferdinand. He’d like nothing better than to pull the trigger on me himself. Or does he use a strangling wire these days?”

“You have one advantage now ... your years in the service and many friends. They won’t play with you now because it would wreck the morale of the SDECE. But when the time comes, Fauchet will do a clean job. He knows his work.”

André laughed, ignoring the warning. “Do you have the same private postbox at the Rue des Capucines Station?”

“Yes.”

“Good. I’ve found what I was looking for. In a day or two there will be a letter. It will have my resignation and reveal an interesting name. Through your own ingenious resources you must see to it that it gets directly into the hands of President La Croix. There will be an extra copy in a separate envelope for your own information.”

“André, for God’s sake, don’t go through with this.”

“It’s not for God’s sake, it’s for France’s sake. Will you get my letter into the hands of the President?”

“Yes, I promise.”

“Now, what about Michele? Did you see her in Montrichard?”

“Yes. She’s headed to the Spanish frontier. More than likely she’s made it over to Spain by now. She’ll be waiting at the town you said. From there, you’ve got your fifty-fifty chance to make the break for Mexico or South America. You know those places better than anyone.”

“Good. Well, at least Michele didn’t have to walk over the mountains as we did, eh, Robert?”

“You mean as I was carried. It’s hard for a squalid lump like me to understand, but I guess I always knew you wouldn’t back down.”

“Don’t berate yourself, Robert. You’ve been a loyal friend.”

“André ...”

“Yes?”

“Nicole went to Spain also. When I saw her she said, ‘I beg André not to turn me away.’ ”

“Nicole? Well, we started in Spain. But can two people so scarred by each other’s wounds really start over?”

“Somehow, it might work.”

“Does she know about Juanita?”

“Yes. She said you’ll need her more than ever now.”

“Robert. I won’t delude myself into believing a miracle is about to take place. She may think she found answers in the quiet of her room. It is something else to come out into the world and put those answers to work. When the pressure comes, all of us revert to what we are. People rarely change, except to go downhill.”

“Then, you are going to turn her away?”

“Nicole and I still have a power to reach each other, to hurt each other and to thrill each other. In the end the things we have may have to be enough. I won’t know until I see her again ... or if I ever will.”

André shook Robert’s hand and gave him a “chin up” smack on the shoulder, got into his car, backed out and drove away. Robert Proust watched him disappear knowing he would never see him again.

J
ACQUES
G
RANVILLE’S COUNTRY ESTATE
in Normandy consisted of thirty-six rooms showing exquisite taste and set in a private forest and hunting grounds. Paulette received a raised eyebrow from her husband to indicate he wished to chat alone with André. She retreated from the paneled study.

Jacques made to a portable bar near his desk and produced a bottle of bourbon. “How’s that?”

“You remember my weakness,” André said.

They saluted with raised glasses. “When do you return to Washington?” Jacques asked.

“I expect to be traveling very soon.”

“I’m glad we were able to have this weekend together. You know I moved heaven and earth to open up the New Zealand Embassy post for you. I was simply overruled. Everyone thinks you’re too valuable in Washington. Christ, André, I can still get the post if you’ll consider it and back me.”

“You’ve had my answer on that. I’m not going to New Zealand.”

“I’m only trying to help you,” Jacques said. “I know what an ordeal these past weeks have been and how hurt you are. But you’ve got to look at the broad concept, the big canvas. Pierre La Croix is right. At least for France he’s right. We’re not the kind of people to be dominated or even led by outsiders. I have no vendetta against the Americans and I can’t share all this violent anti-American opinion but we have the right to make our own mistakes. Now with this new section on scientific intelligence, try to send back some good information.”

“I’ll try my best, as always.”

“And ease up. You’ll have an expanded staff. Give them more of the work load. With Cuba off limits for you, you are in a position to take life easier.”

“I suppose I am tired.”

“Queer breed, you intelligence people. I often wondered why you and Robert stayed in this business after the war.”

“For Robert, it was a way to make a living. Most of the people in most of the secret services are simply decent civil servants.”

“But you, André, you puzzle me. You could have had the whole world.”

“But I have had the world I really wanted. I’ve worked with the kind of men and women more beautiful as humans, more courageous, more idealistic, than any others on earth. Only someone with a deep and mystic love for country can serve that way, in silence.”

“Yes,” Jacques said, “but what about the others? The scoundrels, the cutthroats, the double-dealers.”

“I’ve lived with the scum of the earth, too. Traitors always fascinate me. I’ve never stopped wondering how a man is able to turn against his country.”

André set his drink down, clasped his hands behind him and stared past the brocaded drapes to a stand of birch trees in winter bareness. “Some men like Boris Kuznetov cross over out of fear or horrible disenchantment. A Henri Jarré is so consumed with hatred it was no crime in his eyes to spy on NATO because he honestly felt it was in the interest of his country, or rather what he thought France’s interest should be. There are dedicated Communists about us who spy because they believe in Communism, just as we have those who spy for democracy. There are others who feel that Russia is going to win out over the West in the end and they want to get on the right side. There are the little fish caught in the wrong bed or with their hands in the cash till and laid open to blackmail.”

“Well ... no matter. André, the main reason I wanted to see you is to urge you to put this Topaz affair to rest. Frankly, I don’t know if Topaz is real or not at this point, but I do know there’s no way you can win. You’ve hit a blank wall. Let me and the rest of us who are alerted take care of Colonel Brune in our own good time.”

“Brune? I made a mistake about him,” André said.

“What do you mean?”

“I made him much bigger than he is. All he really is is a bureaucrat fighting for his life and afraid of his own mediocrity. He’s played the anti-American, anti-Devereaux game with slanted and distorted reports because he thought it would please La Croix and because he was otherwise advised to do so. But the worst that Brune can be charged with is being a rotten administrator, of playing politics to hang on to his office and of allowing the service to deteriorate. But a Soviet agent? No. Brune is not guilty. When faced with the Topaz scandal he was absolutely forced to discredit me or be drummed out of office in disgrace.”

André turned from the window past Jacques’ magnificent collection of Dumas, Voltaire, Hugo.

“A man like Colonel Brune is easy to manipulate. Like a puppet he has been manipulated by a clever, vicious devil.”

André leaned against the thick Renaissance table. “Too bad you haven’t gotten a good look at America, Jacques.”

“You know how it is. My visits are short and official.”

“Shame. America is a country of unbelievable varieties of physical beauty. I never cease to marvel. Four time zones in one country. Imagine. God-made vistas, man-made miracles. Total splendor. I think I like Colorado best ... yes, I like it best. Great wild mountains. Not with manicured villages like below the Alps but wild and rugged terrain and weathered old ruins of mining towns. Rushing streams filled with trout. In the early summer the high country around Aspen, the valleys and fields, are a veritable carpet of wild flowers.”

“Good Lord, André. What brought on all this nostalgia?”

“The wild flowers.”

Jacques showed a hint of a smile. He set his drink down and sat behind his desk. “Tell me about the wild flowers.”

“Certainly you should know the state flower of Colorado. You have the same name ... Columbine.”

As perspiration popped out on Granville’s lip, he inched the top drawer of his desk open. “You are being highly entertaining,” he said.

“We were talking about traitors,” André continued. “Worse than the whores, the pimps, the paid stranglers. The infinite scum, the most vile being is the man who betrays his country for money.”

Granville’s fingers felt around the drawer and stopped on the cold metal of his pistol. His hand wrapped around it slowly.

“Jacques, you look dumbstruck. Let’s see how it all went. During the war you made a number of liaison missions to Moscow for the Free French. The Russians sized you up as a charming young reprobate who would remain close to La Croix and they knew that someday he would rule France. So you were approached and eighteen years ago your grooming started. Once in, one does not get out. That’s a long time for any man to lead a double life. But, even considering the normal graft of your office, the wealth of two of your ex-wives, and your own inheritance, it was not enough to keep up your style of living ... and you do have style, Jacques.

“What an astonishing rapport you have with the Swiss banks in Geneva,” André continued. “Blank numbered accounts XXF 12908 and BFI 2202 at the Bank de Groff alone hold over forty thousand American dollars. And the money flows in almost on demand to one C. S. Bouchard. Well, Monsieur Bouchard, alias Columbine, alias Jacques Granville, it’s not small business with you, but then why should it be when the Soviet Union has one of its agents briefing Disinformation to our half-blind President?

“I’ve seen them some and go, but by God, Jacques, you are the shrewdest son of a bitch of them all. You used everyone. You used the President of France to peddle your filth. You stole the fortunes of two women. You used Colonel Brune and twisted things around so that he carried on the dirty work of Disinformation on the pretense you were being his friend and saving his job. You used me. And you even used my wife to get information on Kuznetov’s whereabouts. Too bad, Jacques, his escape is a clean job.”