The patina of the professional was beginning to show through. Lisbon would harden it further.
«Are you impressed by the fact that Fairfax skips you a rank? It took me eighteen months to get that silver bar.»
«Again, time. I haven’t had time to react. I haven’t worn a uniform before today; I think it’s uncomfortable.» Spaulding flicked his hand over his tunic.
«Good. Don’t get used to it.»
«That’s a strange thing to say…»
«How do you feel?» said Pace, interrupting.
David looked at the colonel. For a moment or two, the grace, the softness—even the wry humor—returned. «I’m not sure… As though I’d been manufactured on a very fast assembly line. A sort of high-speed treadmill, if you know what I mean.»
«In some ways that’s an accurate description. Except that you brought a lot to the factory.»
Spaulding revolved his glass slowly. He stared at the floating cubes, then up at Pace. «I wish I could accept that as a compliment,» he said softly. «I don’t think I can. I know the people I’ve been training with. They’re quite a collection.»
«They’re highly motivated.»
«The Europeans are as crazy as those they want to fight. They’ve got their reasons; I can’t question them…»
«Well,» interrupted the colonel, «we don’t have that many Americans. Not yet.»
«Those you do are two steps from a penitentiary.»
«They’re not army.»
«I didn’t know that,» said Spaulding quickly, adding the obvious with a smile. «Naturally.»
Pace was annoyed with himself. The indiscretion was minor but still an indiscretion. «It’s not important. In ten days you’ll be finished in Virginia. The uniform comes off then. To tell you the truth, it was a mistake to issue you one in the first place. We’re still new at this kind of thing; rules of requisition and supply are hard to change.» Pace drank and avoided Spaulding’s eyes.
«I thought I was supposed to be a military attaché at the embassy. One of several.»
«For the record, yes. They’ll build a file on you. But there’s a difference; it’s part of the cover. You’re not partial to uniforms. We don’t think you should wear one. Ever.» Pace put down his glass and looked at David. «You hustled yourself a very safe, very comfortable job because of the languages, your residences and your family connections. In a nutshell, you ran as fast as you could when you thought there was a chance your pretty neck might be in the real army.»
Spaulding thought for a moment. «That sounds logical. Why does it bother you?»
«Because only one man at the embassy will know the truth. He’ll identify himself… After a while others may suspect—after a long while. But they won’t know. Not the ambassador, not the staff… What I’m trying to tell you is, you won’t be very popular.»
David laughed quietly. «I trust you’ll rotate me before I’m lynched.»
Pace’s reply was swift and quiet, almost curt. «Others will be rotated. Not you.»
Spaulding was silent as he responded to the colonel’s look. «I don’t understand.»
«I’m not sure I can be clear about it.» Pace put down his drink on the small cocktail table. «You’ll have to start slowly, with extreme caution. British MI-5 has given us a few names—not many but something to start with. You’ll have to build up your own network, however. People who will maintain contact only with you, no one else. This will entail a great deal of traveling. We think you’ll gravitate to the north country, across the borders into Spain. Basque country … by and large anti-Falangist. We think those areas south of the Pyrenees will become the data and escape routes… We’re not kidding ourselves: the Maginot won’t hold. France will fall…»
«Jesus,» interrupted David softly. «You’ve done a lot of projecting.»
«That’s almost all we do. It’s the reason for Fairfax.»
Spaulding leaned back in the chair, once more revolving his glass. «I understand about the network; in one form or another it’s what the compound’s training all of us for. This is the first I’ve heard about the north of Spain, the Basque areas. I know that country.»
«We could be wrong. It’s only a theory. You might find the water routes … Mediterranean, Málaga, or Biscay, or the Portuguese coast … more feasible. That’s for you to decide. And develop.»
«All right. I understand… What’s that got to do with rotation?»
Pace smiled. «You haven’t reached your post. Are you angling for a leave already?»
«You brought it up. Sort of abruptly, I think.»
«Yes, I did.» The colonel shifted his position in the small chair. Spaulding was very quick; he locked in on words and used brief time spans to maximize their effectiveness. He would be good in interrogations. Quick, harsh inquiries. In the field. «We’ve decided that you’re to remain in Portugal for the duration. Whatever normal and ‘abnormal’ leaves you take should be spent in the south. There’s a string of colonies along the coast…»
«Costa del Santiago among them,» interjected Spaulding under his breath. «Retreats for the international rich.»
«That’s right. Develop covers down there. Be seen with your parents. Become a fixture.» Pace smiled again; the smile was hesitant. «I could think of worse duty.»
«You don’t know those colonies… If I read you—as we say in Fairfax—Candidate Two-Five-L had better take a good, hard look at the streets of Washington and New York because he’s not going to see them again for a very long time.»
«We can’t risk bringing you back once you’ve developed a network, assuming you do develop one. If, for whatever reason, you flew out of Lisbon to Allied territory, there’d be an enemy scramble to microscopically trace every movement you made for months. It would jeopardize everything. You’re safest—our interests are safest—if you remain permanent. The British taught us this. Some of their operatives have been local fixtures for years.»
«That’s not very comforting.»
«You’re not in MI-5. Your tour is for the duration. The war won’t last forever.»
It was Spaulding’s turn to smile; the smile of a man caught in a matrix he had not defined. «There’s something insane about that statement… ‘The war won’t last forever.’ …»
«Why?»
«We’re not in it yet.»
«You are,» Pace said.
TWO
SEPTEMBER 8, 1943, PEENEMÜNDE, GERMANY
The man in the pinstriped suit, styled by tailors in Alte Strasse, stared in disbelief at the three men across the table. He would have objected strenuously had the three laboratory experts not worn the square red metal insignias on the lapels of their starched white laboratory jackets, badges that said these three scientists were permitted to walk through passageways forbidden to all but the elite of Peenemünde. He, too, had such a badge attached to his pinstriped lapel; it was a temporary clearance he was not sure he wanted.
Certainly he did not want it now.
«I can’t accept your evaluation,» he said quietly. «It’s preposterous.»
«Come with us,» replied the scientist in the center, nodding to his companion on the right.
«There’s no point procrastinating,» added the third man.
The four men got out of their chairs and approached the steel door that was the single entrance to the room. Each man in succession unclipped his red badge and pressed it against a grey plate in the wall. At the instant of contact, a small white bulb was lighted, remained so for two seconds and then went off; a photograph had been taken. The last man—one of the Peenemünde personnel—then opened the door and each went into the hallway.