No, not quite in the dark. For at least six hours out of the past twelve, Blade's intuition had been raising a pointed question. Had his mission been a real one, or-something else? Blade decided that it was time to trust his intuition and put that question to R.
«Yes. I think the submarine's mission was the real one, and I was being sent ashore as part of a diversionary operation. I rather imagine that what the courier died bringing out was a fake, while the real material came out by some other route.» Blade kept his voice neutral. He was too experienced an intelligence professional to get indignant over this sort of deception, although he'd never liked it and never would.
«What was the submarine's mission, in that case?»
«I imagine it had something to do with the device they tested successfully against the destroyer. From what I saw, I suppose it was a high-speed decoy that would match the acoustic and sonar profile of the submarine. They launched it, waited until the destroyer dashed off after it, then fired a high-speed acoustic torpedo straight up its stern.»
There was a long silence in the room while R stubbed out his cigar and lit another one. Then he smiled. «The Imperial Navy wouldn't be at all happy to learn how easily you guessed what they were doing.»
«And you?»
«I'm entirely happy with practically everything you've done or said. You acquitted yourself extremely well. Agents with ten years' experience have done much less well in the face of considerably weaker odds. You've obviously got a great natural aptitude for this sort of work.»
«Thank you, sir.»
«Don't thank me for my good opinion of you until you've seen what it will lead to. You'll be assigned as an Independent Operations Specialist. That means one lonely assignment after another, usually deep in enemy territory. You'll go out on those assignments, one after another, until you start losing your edge or the Red Flames kill you. You won't be finding much pleasure in life.»
«I didn't expect that I was being invited to a year-long party,» said Blade with an edge in his voice. «I expected a great deal of dangerous work, and perhaps a short life. I also expected that it would be of some service to the Empire.»
«My apologies,» said R, and he seemed to be speaking sincerely. He reached into another drawer of his desk and pulled out a decanter of whiskey, a soda-water syphon, and two glasses. «I've said it before, Captain Blade, but I think I can properly say it again. Welcome to Special Operations.»
«Thank you, sir,» said Blade. «Captain?»
«You need military rank, otherwise you'll be neither fish nor flesh nor fowl to the more orthodox military types. Captain isn't really high enough, but it's as high as I can get approved for somebody of your rather modest seniority.
«You won't be a captain very long, however. There will be quite a few vacancies at higher levels as soon as we know which of the present Independent people will have to be transferred out of fieldwork. Some of them haven't made the necessary adjustments from peace to war.»
Blade nodded. That was inevitable, in any intelligence network. Even some people who had already been living and working under near wartime conditions couldn't go on when the world marched off to war all around them.
They sipped at their whiskey, and R went on. «As far as our operations in Nordsbergen being penetrated, we've suspected that was the case for several weeks. So we set up a number of diversions at the ends of all the routes we suspected might be compromised. Each of these diversions was also covered by another operation. Meanwhile, we set up a completely new route to extract all the key material and personnel. It worked quite successfully.»
«What about the diversions?»
«We sent in six of our people. You are the only one who's still alive.»
Blade could not come up with a quick or easy answer. R saved him the trouble.
«We also suspected this would happen when we heard that General Golovin was in Nordsbergen.»
The name rang a faint bell in Blade's mind. «Their security chief?»
«Yes. The Chairman of the Counterintelligence Office of the Red Flames' Administration of State Security. He's a professional soldier, but he's made a specialty of intelligence work for thirty years. He personally directed Red Flame operations against Imperial citizens in three of the conquered countries over the last fifteen years.»
«He must have come up fast. Is he that good?»
«He is. He's also a thoroughly unpleasant type, personally. A sadistic streak a mile wide. He also has one other weakness. He's too fond of being as far up front as he can manage when there's a big operation on. Since he's six feet eight, he's rather hard to conceal. So when he's spotted, it's usually a reliable indication that the Red Flames have a high-priority operation underway. We can react accordingly.»
«I see.» R's being able to react on cue had been no help to five of the six agents who'd been part of the reaction. But that was too often the way intelligence operations worked out. Knowing who your enemy was and where he was didn't necessarily mean safety. It could mean that he knew the same things about you.
«Do we have anything on how the Nordsbergen operations were blown?»
«Nothing reliable. We're doing a good deal to remedy that situation, of course, including checking for leaks in our own staff. That will be one of your jobs for about the next six weeks.»
«Sir?»
«You'll have about six weeks of light duty before you start the briefing for another field assignment. During that time you'll be assigned to Division Headquarters. You'll be one of the first new people there since the crisis with the Red Flames developed. That means you've a good chance of being one of the people any Red Flame agent will test out, to see if you can be used. I trust you have no objections to keeping a watchful eye on your colleagues and associates?»
Blade slowly shook his head, and gave the answer he'd worked out for himself over the years. «No, sir, I can't say that I do. In the long run it's self-defense. If they're working for the opposition, they can kill me just as thoroughly as a Russlander with an assault rifle.»
R nodded, smiling, and poured out some more whiskey.
Chapter 10
For three days Blade was assigned a private room in one wing of Special Operations headquarters. Except for the view and the different color scheme, the room was identical to the one in which he'd awakened on his first day in the service of the Division. During those three days it was made clear that he not only didn't have to do anything but shouldn't even try.
The medical officer was blunt. «It's a pattern we're trying to break. Tough young man does four field jobs in rapid succession without resting up between them. Thinks he's indestructible. Sneers at doctors' orders to rest. Goes out on fifth mission and stress load catches up with him. End of tough young man.» He glowered at Blade through thick-lensed glasses. «With a war on we can't afford this, even if you think you can.»
So Blade spent three days catching up on lost sleep, missed meals and intelligence reports that had come in while he was out in the field. He didn't mind three days of it, but he was glad it ended before boredom set in.
He spent a number of hours during those three days studying the files on the huge VTOL transport planes. Officially they were Avro Model 167 Assault Transports. Unofficially they were «the Elephants.» Blade's status as an Independent Operations man gave him an acceptable «Need to know» for information about them, and about a good many more of the latest Imperial weapons and devices.