He said, “You say your name is John Smith.”
“Yes.”
He didn’t exactly smile. He said, “It is a very common name in the United States and, I understand, is frequently assumed by those who wish to avoid investigation.”
“It is frequently assumed because it is common,” I said, “and since it is common, why shouldn’t I be one of the hundreds of thousands who legitimately bear it.”
“You have identification?”
“I’ve been robbed. I’ve come in to complain—”
Vee raised his hand and made hushing noises through his mustache. “Your complaint has been recorded, but I have nothing to do with the people here. They merely made sure you were not wounded and then sent for me. They have not searched you or questioned you. It is not their job. Now — do you have identification?”
Wearily, and quietly, I told him what had happened.
“Then,” he said, “you have nothing with which to support your statement that you are John Smith of Fairfield, Connecticut?”
“Who else should I be?”
“That we would like to find out. You say you were mistreated in a tavern. Its location, please.”
“I don’t know.”
“Its name?”
“I don’t know.”
“What were you doing there?”
“I told you. I was merely walking through the city—”
“Alone?”
“Yes, alone. I told you.”
“Your starting point?”
“My hotel.”
“And you have identification there?”
“Certainly. My passport is there and all my belongings.”
“The name of the hotel?”
I winced at that. Even to myself my answer would seem too much to accept. “I can’t recall,” I said in a low voice.
“Its location?”
“I don’t know.”
Vee sighed. He looked at me in a near-sighted way and I thought his eyes seemed sad, but perhaps it was only myopia.
He said, “The basic question is: What is your name? We must have some identification or this becomes a serious matter. Let me explain your position to you, Mr. Blank. Nothing compels me to do so, but I am not in love with every aspect of my work and I shall sleep better if I make sure you understand that you are in great danger.”
My heart began to race. I am not young. I am not a hero. I am not brave. I said, “But why? I am a wronged person. I have been drugged and robbed. I came voluntarily to the police, sick and lost, looking for help—”
Again Vee held up his hand. “Quietly! Quietly! Some speak a little English here and it is better that we keep this between ourselves for now. Things may be as you have described, or they may not. You are an American national.
“My government has cause to fear Americans. That, at least, is our official position. We are expecting an American agent of great ability to penetrate our borders on a most dangerous mission.
“That means that any strange American — any American encountered under suspicious circumstances — has, for a week now, been referred instantly to my department. Your circumstances were suspicious to begin with and have grown far more suspicious now that I have questioned you.”
I stared at him in horror. “Do you think I’m a spy? If I were, would I come to the police like this?”
“You may not be the spy, but you may still be a spy. There are people who will think so at once. Even I view it as a possibility.”
“But no kind of spy would come to the police—”
“Please! It will do you good to listen. You may be a distraction. If you play chess, you will know what I mean when I say you may be a sacrifice. You are sent in to confuse and distract us, occupying our time and efforts, while the real work is being done elsewhere.”
I said, “But it hasn’t worked, if that’s what I’m supposed to be. You’re not confused and distracted. No one could be fooled by anything as silly as this. It’s not a reasonable sacrifice and so it’s no sacrifice at all. It’s nothing but the truth I’ve been telling you.”
Vee sighed, “Then what’s your name?”
“John Smith. Ask me a million times and it will remain my name.”
“But you can’t prove it. — See here,” he said, “you have two alternatives. One is to convince me in some reasonable way that you are telling the truth. Mere statements, however eloquent, are insufficient. There must be evidence. Have you nothing with your name on it? Nothing material you can show me?”
“I told you,” I said despairingly. “I’ve been robbed.”
“Failing that,” he said, as though he hadn’t heard my remark, “it will be assumed you are here to fulfill some function for your country that will not be to the interest of my country, and you will be interrogated with that in mind. It will not be my job, I am glad to say, but those who interrogate will be most thorough and most patient. I wish it were not so, but where national security is at stake—”
I was in utter panic. I said, stuttering, “But I can’t tell what I don’t know, no matter how you interrogate.”
“If so, they will finally be convinced, but you will not be well off by then. And you will be imprisoned, for it will not then be politic to let you go free in your condition. If your country succeeds in what it may be attempting, there will be anger in this country and you will surely be the victim of that and will receive a long sentence. Your country will not be able to intercede for you. It will not even try.”
I screamed. “That is unjust! That is unjust!”
“Life is unjust,” said Vee. “One of your own Presidents said that.”
“But what am I to do?” I pleaded.
He said, “Convince me your story is true. Show me something! Remember something! Prove your name is John Smith. Take me to the tavern — better yet, to the hotel. Present me with your passport. Give me anything, however small, as a beginning, and I will have sufficient faith in you to try for the rest — at some risk to myself, I might add.”
“I appreciate that, but I cannot. I am helpless. I cannot.” I was babbling. All I could think of was that I was facing torture and an extended prison term for the crime of having been drugged and robbed. It was more than I could bear and I fainted. I’m sorry. It is not a heroic action, but I told you I wasn’t a hero.
[Halsted said, “You don’t know what they had put in your drink in the tavern. You were half poisoned. You weren’t yourself.”]
It’s kind of you to say so, but the prospect of torture and imprisonment for nothing was not something I could face with stoicism on my best day.
The next memory I have is that of lying on a bed with a vague feeling of having been manhandled. I think some of my clothing may have been removed.
Vee was watching me with the same expression of sadness on his face. He said, “I’m sorry. Would you care for some brandy?”
I remembered. The nightmare was back. I shook my head. All I wanted was to convince him somehow of my utter innocence. I said, “Listen! You must believe me. Every word I have told you is true! I—”
He placed a hand on my shoulder and shook it. “Stop! I believe you.”
I stared at him stupidly. “What?”
He said, “I believe you. For one thing, no one who was sent on a task such as yours might have been, could have portrayed utter terror so convincingly, in my opinion. But that is only my opinion. It would not have convinced my superiors and I could not have acted on it. However, no one could be as stupid as you have now proved to be without having been sufficiently stupid to step into a strange tavern so trustingly and to have forgotten the name of your hotel.”