The Bannerman Solution (The Bannerman Series) (34 page)

“Possibly nothing,” he answered. “He knows he has no hold on you except your word and he won't count on
you keeping it now that the need is past. He didn't take your retaliation threat seriously, by the way. He knows you make little bombs but he has trouble believing that
you actually use them.”

“Then why did he help?”

“The same reason I would. Zivic tends to take the
long view. I do owe him now. And by rescuing me he
effectively disrupted my mission so he did his own job at
the same time. Incidentally, I'm having dinner with him tomorrow night.”

“You are?”

“Might as well.”

“You've talked to him?”

“Oh. He sends his regards.”

Molly made a face. “But he actually told you he
didn't take me seriously? That wasn't just your opinion!”

“Don't sulk about it. It's better that way.”

“You're taking him to the Ranieri?” she asked idly. The restaurant she named was
j
u
st off the Via Condotti
a few yards from the Spanish Steps. The Ranieri and the
Hassler Roof, which was also nearby, were not so much
favorites of Paul's as they were favorites of Rome's en
tire diplomatic and intelligence community, and of
high-rolling deal makers of every description.

Paul nodded absently.

On the following evening, just as Paul and Anton
were completing their fish course, the maître d' an
nounced that there was a call on the house phone for
Signore Zivic. The colonel, now dressed in an excellent
Italian suit, took the call in a carved wooden booth re
sembling a confessional. He brought the receiver to his
ear.

“Good evening, Colonel,” he heard the voice say.
“This is Molly Farrell. Do you remember me?”

“With great affection, Miss Farrell.”

“I just wanted you to know that when you helped my
friend, you didn't do it for nothing.”

“That is my hope,” Zivic frowned. He did not know
quite what to make of this. Surely she knew that he was
dining with her friend and that she was interrupting a
productive discussion.

“Is anyone near you?”

“I beg your . . . no, no one is near.”

“Would you turn your earpiece to face the wood on your left, please? Keep it away from your face and tell
me when you've done it.”

“This has the sound of a demonstration, Miss Far
rell.”

“Please do it. Are you ready?”

He did as she asked. “It is ready.”

A popping sound. Not much louder than a wine cork
coming free. Zivic flinched reflexively. A small metallic
object appeared in the wood panel, deeply imbedded.
Now he examined the earpiece. Its surface was barely
disturbed. One of the holes seemed slightly larger than
the others. He returned it to his ear with some reluc
tance.

“This is very impressive, Miss Farrell. I am forced to
acknowledge that your threat had substance.”

“Thank you. And I'll keep my part of the bargain
depending on the favor.”

“You are a most interesting young lady.
Buona sera,
Miss Farrell.

“Colonel?”

“Yes?”

“When you asked if I'd have sex with you and I said
yes. Do you remember what you said?”

“I remember.”

“Thank you for that, too.” She hung up the phone.

On a professional level, Paul was furious. We are not,
he told her, in the business of showing off. What would
you have done if he wasn't impressed? Blow up a bus
load of Russian tourists?

“I realize
it
wasn't the smartest thing. I just wanted
him to know.”

“Smart would have been leaving well enough alone.
Chances are he'd never have called in his marker. He's
also not a man to anger.”

“He's not angry. He likes me.”

Paul knew that. He saw the pleasure on Zivic's face
when he returned to the table, and his obvious enjoy
ment in telling the story of his phone call. But he was
not about to give Molly the satisfaction of hearing him
say it.

“Who says so?” he asked.

“He sent me roses today.”

Not two weeks passed before Zivic called in his favor
from Molly. He handed her a key to his apartment and
asked if she would sweep it for listening devices at least
weekly.

“That's the favor?” she asked.

“That's the favor.”

“Your own people can't do this for you?”

“Yes. But they will take the opportunity to place
their own. You, I think, will not.”

Several years passed before he called in his favor
from Paul. They were wearying years for both men,
although Zivic felt that Paul had the better of their two
worlds. As a contract agent, as Mama's Boy, Paul could
decline assignments that he considered stupid or point
less, or even tedious. Unlike Anton, he did not have to
produce reams of intelligence reports, numbing pages
of statistics or economic surveys that were seldom read
and even less frequently actionable. Nor did he have a
quota of business and social contacts to make in the
event they might be of some future use.
Zivic enjoyed
no such discretion. Further, while Paul could choose his
operatives, Zivic's were for the most part assigned to
him and inevitably included a number of KGB infor
mants and tiresome party zealots.

At last, Roger Clew was recalled to Washington and
promoted two grades. Roger and Paul handpicked one of Clew's deputies to become Paul's liaison. At about
that time, however, Palmer Reid was named Director of
Operations for Western Europe and immediately in
sisted upon the following: Paul Bannerman would
swear an oath of service to the United States of
Americ
a.
H
e would accept a civil service rating and become a salaried employee; and he would report directly to
Reid's assistant, one Charles Whitlow. Paul ignored him.
There was no shortage of other governments desirous of
his services, including that of Colonel Zivic.

Although Paul's interests and those of Anton were
fundamentally opposed, they often coincided. Where
they were opposed, Paul and Anton sometimes made a game of them. Paul would, for example, occasionally accept assignments to affect the outcome of the Italian
political process. Paul would work to defeat the commu
nist mayoral candidates in Marxist-leaning towns such
as Genoa and Turin, while Anton schemed with equal
vigor to discredit the Christian Democrats, an expen
sive dinner or case of wine riding on the result.

Their interests generally coincided in the area of counterterrorist activities. Paul detested these people
not so much for the randomness of their atrocities as for
the p
o
intlessness of them. He would kidnap suspected
terrorists, expose them to the
questioning
of Dr.
R
usso,
and then, feeling no pity at all, dispose of what was left
of them like so much rotted meat.

“What is your cause?”

“Justice for the Palestinians.”

“Why do you kill the innocent?”

“No Christian or Jew is innocent.”

“What
would satisfy you?”

“Justice for the Palestinians.”

“Would the killing then stop?”

“Retribution would then begin.”

“Against whom?”

“You. All of you.”

“When might there be peace?”

“There can be no peace.”

“Very well. Who are the members of your group?”

“I tell you nothing. I spit on you.”

Within hours they would beg to tell.

Colonel Zivic, Paul knew, had questioned just as
many, with similar results. Terrorists, in Anton's view,
were no less inimical to the interests of his own country
than to the welfare of an Ohio family standing in line at
Rome's Da Vinci Airport. They were useless as weapons
against United States interests because they were un
controllable. They were insects, and yet they could
cause great fleets to move. Zivic feared them more than
he feared any American rocket. They could not destroy
great cities, perhaps, but they could turn cities into for
tresses. Even countries. France was already requiring visas of all foreigners, a patently absurd measure that
would not deter a terrorist in the slightest, serving only
to inconvenience the innocent. Cruise ships such as the
QE2 denied entry to all but ticketed passengers so that no Arab or Irish terrorist or vengeful
Argentinean
pos
ing as a visitor could bring a bomb on board. A pathetic measure. As if a terrorist organization would balk at the
added expense of a ticket.