"That's it.'
'Can I help?' The presidential aide seemed fascinated by the briefcase.
'Thanks,' said Webb. 'Just pull the cord through.'
Stevens did so. 'I always thought it was chains around the wrist,' he said.
Too many hands cut off,' explained the major, smiling at the White House man's reaction. 'There's a steel wire running through the nylon.' He freed the briefcase and opened it on the table, looking around at the elegance of the furnished library-den. At the rear of the room was a pair of French windows that apparently led to an outside garden, the outline of a high stone wall seen dimly through the panes of thick glass. 'So this is Treadstone Seventy-one. It isn't the way I pictured it.'
'Pull the curtains again, will you please, Elliot?' Abbott said. The presidential aide walked to the French windows and did so. Abbott crossed to a bookcase, opened the cabinet beneath it, and reached inside. There was a quiet whirr; the entire bookcase came out of the wall and slowly revolved to the left. On the other side was an electronic radio console, one of the most sophisticated Gordon Webb had seen. 'Is this more what you had in mind?' asked the Monk.
'Jesus...' The major whistled as he studied the dials, calibrations, cable patches and scanning devices built into the panel. The Pentagon war rooms had far more elaborate equipment, but this was the miniaturized equal of most well-structured intelligence stations.
I'd whistle, too,' said Stevens, standing in front of the dense curtain. 'But Mr Abbott already gave me my personal sideshow. That's only the beginning. Five more buttons and this place looks like a Strategic Air Command base in Omaha.'
'Those same buttons also transform this room back into a graceful East Side library.' The old man reached inside the cabinet; in seconds the enormous console was replaced by bookshelves. He then walked to the adjacent bookcase, opened the cabinet beneath and once again put his hand inside. The whirring began; the bookcase slid out, and shortly in its place were three tall filing cabinets. The. Monk took out a key and pulled out a file drawer. 'I'm not showing off, Gordon. When we're finished, I want you to look through these. I'll show you the switch that'll send them back. If you have any problems, our host will take care of everything.' 'What am I to look for?'
'We'll get to it; right now I want to hear about Zurich. What have you learned?'
'Excuse me, Mr Abbott," interrupted Stevens. 'If I'm slow, it's because all this is new to me. But I was thinking about something you said a minute ago about Major Webb's trip.' 'What is it?' 'You said the trip was predated on the G-Two schedules.'
That's right'
'Why? The major's obvious presence was to confuse Zurich, not Washington. Or was it?'
The Monk smiled. 'I can see why the President keeps you around. We've never doubted that Carlos has bought his way into a circle or two - or ten - in Washington. He finds the discontented men and offers them what they do not have. A Carlos could not exist without such people. You must remember, he doesn't merely sell death, he sells a nation's secrets. All too frequently to the Soviets, if only to prove to them how rash they were to expel him.'
'The President would want to know that,' said the aide. 'It would explain several things.'
'It's why you're here, isn't it?' said Abbott.
'! guess it is.*
'And it's a good place to begin for Zurich,' said Webb, taking his briefcase to an armchair in front of the filing cabinets. He sat down, spreading the folders inside the case at his feet, and took out several sheets of paper. 'You may not doubt Carlos is in Washington, but I can confirm it.'
'Where? Treadstone?'
There's no clear proof of that, but it can't be ruled out. He found the fiche. He altered it'
'Good God, how?'
The how I can only guess; the who I know.'
'Who?'
'A man named Koenig. Until three days ago he was in charge of primary verifications at the Gemeinschaft Bank.'
"Three days ago? Where is he now?'
.'Dead. A freak accident on a road he travelled every day of his life. Here's the police report; I had it translated.' Abbott took the papers, and sat down in a nearby chair. Elliot Stevens remained standing; Webb continued. There's something very interesting there. It doesn't tell us anything we don't know, but there's a lead I'd like to follow up.'
'What is it?' asked the Monk, reading. This describes the accident. The curve^ speed of vehicle, apparent swerving to avoid a collision.'
'It's at the end. It mentions the killing at the Gemeinschaft, the bolt that got us off our asses two weeks ago.'
'It does?' Abbott turned the page.
'Look at it Last couple of sentences. See what I mean?*
'Not exactly,' replied Abbott, frowning. This merely states that Koenig was employed by the Gemeinschaft where a recent homicide took place... and he had been a witness to the initial gunfire. That's all.'
'I don't think it is "all",' said Webb. 'I think there was more. Someone started to raise a question, but it was left hanging. I'd like to find out who has his red pencil on the Zurich police reports. He could be Carlos's man; we know he's got one there.'
The Monk leaned back in the chair, his frown unrelieved. 'Assuming you're right, why wasn't the entire reference deleted?'
Too obvious. The killing did take place, Koenig was a witness; the investigating officer who wrote up the report might legitimately ask why.'
'But if he had speculated on a connection wouldn't he be just as disturbed that the speculation was deleted?'
'Not necessarily. We're talking about a bank in Switzerland. Certain areas are officially inviolable, unless there's proof.'
'Not always. I understand you were very successful with the newspapers.'
'Unofficially. I appealed to prurient journalistic sensationalism, and - although it damn near killed him - got Walther Apfel to corroborate halfway.'
'Interruption,' said Elliot Stevens. 'I think this is where the Oval office has to come in. I assume by the newspapers you're referring to the Canadian woman.'
'Not really. That story was already out; we couldn't stop it. Carlos is wired into the Zurich police; they issued that report. We simply enlarged on it and tied her to an equally false story about millions having been stolen from the Gemeinschaft.' Webb paused and looked at Abbott. 'That's something we have to talk about; it may not be false after all.' 'I can't believe that,' said the Monk. 'I don't want to believe it,' replied the major. 'Ever.' 'Would you mind backing up?' asked the White House aide, sitting down opposite the army officer. 'I have to get this very clear.'
'Let me explain,' broke in Abbott, seeing the bewilderment on Webb's face. 'Elliot's here on orders from the President It's the killing at the Ottawa airport.'
'It's an unholy mess,* said Stevens bluntly. The Prime Minister damn near told the President to take our stations out of Nova Scotia. He's one angry Canadian.' 'How did it come down?' asked Webb. 'Very badly. All they know is that a ranking economist at the Department of Finance made discreet inquiries about an unlisted American corporation and got himself killed for it. To make matters worse, Canadian Intelligence was told to stay out of it; it was a highly sensitive U.S. operation.' 'Who the hell did that?'