The New Black Mask (No 8)

Spy for Sale Edward D. Hoch

Edward D. Hoch is a past president of Mystery Writers of America and author of more than seven hundred short stories. He also has twenty-eight books to his credit, including his annual series. Year’s Best Mystery & Suspense Stories, which he edits for Walker. About “Spy for Sale,” Mr. Hoch comments: “This story doesn’t introduce a new character but is intended more as a nonseries tale focusing upon the increasingly important world of what might be called civilian intelligence gathering. The idea came to me after reading an article about such activity in the New York Times. I enjoy researching this type of story, and I hope readers might gain some knowledge along the way.”

Method was already at his desk pouring over the latest satellite photos of the Oregon forestland when Frazer arrived. He was late, as usual, and was aware of Method’s critical gaze on his back as he hung up his raincoat and took his seat.

“I’ve started work on the forestry management report for you,” Method said. “It has to be completed today, you know.”

“I know,” Frazer replied. “Do you have the photos?”

“Right here.”

He leaned over the balding man’s shoulder and inspected the familiar satellite views of tree-covered mountainsides seen from four hundred miles up. “Those fires did more damage than we thought. See this area along the ridge?”

Felix Method grunted. “It’s nature’s way. It’ll fill in again through natural growth.”

Frazer had been a photo analyst for Sky-Eye since the first of the year. Though he didn’t particularly like Felix Method, he had to admit the man had laid the foundation for what might well become a hugely profitable business in a few years’ time. Method and his backers had purchased Sky-Eye from the American government when it turned over three aging satellites to commercial companies. The two Landsats had gone to the Earth Observation Satellite Company, while Sky-Eye had gone to the newly formed Sky-Eye International Corporation.

The satellite, circling the earth in a regular orbit, was the equal of the highly touted French SPOT, capable of photographing any point on earth twice each week with a peripheral-vision camera and transmitting the picture to a ground station via electronic signals. Powered by solar panels, Sky-Eye had decades of life ahead of it. “It’s not as good as the military satellites, of course,” Felix Method had explained when Frazer joined the firm. “It can’t read the numbers on a license plate from one hundred fifty miles up, like the American and Soviet governments can. The Defense Department set specific limitations on how good the Sky-Eye can be. Still, it can distinguish objects a quarter the size of a football field, which is good enough for our clients.”

“Just who are your clients?” Frazer had asked, wondering what he was getting into.

“Our photos can be used for mineral exploration, city planning, crop forecasting, forestry management — just about anything where an overview of a large area is required. Clients merely furnish the latitude and longitude of the spot they need, and Sky-Eye takes the picture. The cost can be anywhere from under a hundred dollars to two thousand dollars, depending upon various factors. If they need it at once, it costs more. If they’re willing to wait a few months until the data can be routinely transmitted back to earth and the pictures processed as a group, the cost goes way down.”

Frazer’s job was photo analysis, for those clients who required it. Mostly this involved a knowledge of geology and land management, but his years with Air Force intelligence helped, too. They’d taught him a great deal about shadows — how they could help or hinder photo analysis. As Felix Method liked to point out, “There are always shadows on our pictures. If the sun can’t get through the clouds, our camera can’t get through, either.”

This morning in April, with a misty rain falling outside, Method and Frazer and Miss Raymond were the only ones in the office. Miss Raymond was Cynthia Raymond, who handled much of the office routine and billing, taking time out occasionally to try a bit of photo analysis on her own. She was especially captivated by satellite views of the Nevada desert, showing the site of underground testing of nuclear bombs at Yucca Flat.

“What are all these things?” she asked Frazer, coming over to his desk with the latest Yucca Flat photo. “They look like the craters of the moon.”

“You’re not far wrong.” He liked the feel of her alongside him, her long legs brushing against him ever so slightly as she leaned over the desk. “The underground explosions, if they’re powerful enough, cause the earth to collapse over the point of the blast, leaving craters several hundred feet wide. Such tests are easily detected by satellite cameras, so there’s no way of hiding them from the Russians. That’s why our government announces them, although since 1982 they haven’t announced the smaller ones.”

“Someone could count these craters and know exactly how many underground tests we’ve conducted.”

“It’s not quite as easy as that. As I said, some are much smaller and don’t leave craters. And tests of equipment are often done in a different manner, in horizontal tunnels drilled into the side of the mesa. But this is a good record of the larger underground ones.”

“Can we tell as much about the Russian tests as they can about ours?”

“Pretty much.” He flipped through one of the photo files and took out an eleven- by fourteen-inch enlargement. “This is a Soviet missile launching site. I could make you a detailed drawing of it from the information on this photo. And here’s a space-shuttle runway being built.”

“You’re good at this business, aren’t you?”

“Fairly good,” he admitted with a grin. “Everyone’s good at something.”

Felix Method came in from his desk to interrupt them. “Less chatter and more work would be appreciated. How are those forestry-management reports coming along, Frazer?”

“I’ll have it after lunch.”

“I hope so.” He turned his attention to Cynthia. “Caught up on your work, Miss Raymond?”

“No, sir.” She blushed prettily and retreated to her own desk.

Frazer waited until he was going out to lunch and then managed to pause by her desk. “Maybe we could continue our conversation over a drink tonight,” he suggested.

She brightened up at once. “I’d like that.”

Frazer was unattached at the moment, and he’d had his eye on Cynthia Raymond since she joined Sky-Eye two months earlier. Her high cheekbones and dusky eyes gave her an appearance that was almost oriental, the sort he found especially attractive in a woman. Better yet, she’d demonstrated the sort of intelligence on the job that he found refreshing. She wasn’t afraid to ask questions, and the answers seemed to go into her memory like programs into a computer.

He took her across the street to the Weather Vane after work. A great many of the area’s office workers hung out there, but Felix Method had never been seen to drink in public, and Frazer was reasonably certain they wouldn’t encounter him. “How do you like working at Sky-Eye?” Frazer asked her when the drinks arrived.

“I really find it fascinating. It’s like being a spy but without any of the risks. In a way, we’re offering a spy for sale.”

“I never thought about it in quite that way,” he admitted.

“Do you know that one of the biggest customers for our satellite photos is an organization of retired CIA agents? What do you think they do with them?”

“Keep their hand in, I suppose. They like to know what’s happening.”

She took a sip of her vodka and tonic. “Sometimes I fantasize that the three of us are spies — you and Method and me. Did you ever realize that our names contain the letters x, y, and z? Felix Method is X, Cynthia Raymond is Y twice over, and Frazer is Z. Isn’t that something? It’s like a Hitchcock movie!”

“You’re not old enough to remember Hitchcock movies, are you?”

“I see them on television all the time.”

“I don’t think Hitchcock would understand spying from four hundred miles straight up. His plots needed human contact, interplay between agents from different sides.” He added, “And as for your X, Y, and Z, what about Jack Sergeant? He doesn’t fit.”

Sergeant was the fourth member of the Sky-Eye staff, though he was often on the road selling the service. “I hardly know him,” Cynthia admitted. “He’s only been in a couple of times since I’ve been there. Are he and Method former spies like you?”

Frazer had to chuckle at the description. “I was a photo analyst for the Air Force, but hardly a spy. I think Felix Method had an office-equipment business of some sort. He found some backers and happened to be in the right place at the right time, when NASA was forced by law to turn over the Landsat and Sky-Eye satellites to private commercial companies. It’s a growing business with great potential, as soon as they figure out exactly how to exploit it. Jack Sergeant wants us to advertise more, but Method is against that. He feels it would attract the wrong type of client.”

“What would the wrong type be?”

“Only America and Russia have photographic spy satellites. If any other nations want satellite photos, they have to buy them from one of the private suppliers, like us. Naturally, the government doesn’t want us dealing with certain unfriendly Communist or Arab nations.”

“What would they use the photos for?”

“To check troop buildups and defenses along their borders, mainly. Satellite photos would be invaluable to a country planning to invade its neighbor, or to guard against such an invasion. But Method must have told you all this when he hired you.”

“He told me next to nothing. It all sounded like a dull science class in college. I almost quit the first week.”

“I’m glad you didn’t.”

After two drinks he suggested dinner, but she had another engagement. “I’d like to do it sometime, though. Maybe next week.”

“It’s a date,” he said with a grin.

They parted in the parking lot, and Frazer drove home alone. He lived in a three-room apartment in an older, middle-class section of the city. It was a place he’d located under pressure after his separation and he’d kept it through the divorce, letting Maggie have the house without protest. He still viewed it as something of a transition, though he didn’t quite know where his next home would be.

He’d parked the car around back and headed for the rear door of the building when he became aware of another presence nearby. Jack Sergeant emerged from the shadows and spoke to him. “Didn’t mean to startle you, Frazer. I’ve been waiting for you to get home.”

“Jack! I thought you were in Chicago or someplace.”

“I just got back. Can we go inside and talk?”

“Sure, I suppose so.”

Frazer led the way up to his apartment, switching on a few lights and offering his visitor a beer. He’d never been on close terms with Jack Sergeant, and he knew very little about the man. Sergeant was in his forties, balding, and wore thick horn-rimmed glasses that gave him something of an academic appearance. His background was in sales, according to Felix Method, but Frazer knew nothing more about him.

“I’ve had a very interesting journey,” Sergeant began, accepting the beer from Frazer but not tasting it immediately. “Lots of new clients for Sky-Eye.”

“I’m sure Method will be pleased to hear about it.”

Jack Sergeant looked down at his beer. “Maybe not. You know how nervous he gets about the Defense Department regulations.”

Frazer perked up, wondering what Sergeant was getting at. “Who’s the client, Jack?”

“It’s a Middle Eastern country. The name doesn’t matter. They’re willing to pay a premium price for satellite photos of the Mediterranean and Persian Gulf regions.”

Frazer nodded. “Aircraft carriers and oil tankers. They’re both easy to spot, even from four hundred miles up.”

“And we can give them pictures twice a week, right? That’s frequent enough to keep pretty good track of ship movements in the region.”

“I can see why Method would be nervous. Did you tell them we can’t do it?”

“Not exactly,” Sergeant replied. He slipped a hand into his inner pocket and brought out a thick plain envelope. “Look inside.”

Frazer opened it and took out a wad of hundred-dollar bills, all new. “My God! How much money is here?”

“Twenty grand. That’s the down payment. There’s five times that much.”

“Method—”

“Not Method. Us, Frazer. Us — you and me! Are you in?”

“That’s crazy! What are we supposed to do for that sort of money? You know our price schedule.”

“Method would never sell them what they want. They have to work under the counter, and it’s worth the money to them.”

“Exactly what is it they want?”

“I told you — twice weekly photos of the Mediterranean and the Persian Gulf, plus occasional photos of Israel. That’s all.”

“That’s enough!” Frazer placed the envelope of money on the coffee table. “I don’t think I want to get involved in this.”

“Hell, if we don’t do it they’ll buy ’em from the French. Their SPOT satellite is probably better than ours anyway. I figure it’s best for everyone if we sell them the pictures.”

“Best for us, certainly,” Frazer said, eyeing the envelope.

“I need you, Frazer. You know Method doesn’t give me access to the pictures except for recognized clients. You see them when they come in, and you can command Sky-Eye to shoot anything we need. Method trusts you.”

“I’m only an analyst.”

“He still trusts you. And you know how to fudge the records so it looks like we’re shooting Alpine forests.”

“I don’t know—”

“This is our big chance for some easy money. They’ve promised another twenty grand at the end of the first month, if they like the results. That’s ten each. I do all the contact work. You give me the pictures, and you never have to see anybody.”

“Let me think about it, Jack. Give me a day or two. That’s the best I can tell you.”

“That’s good enough for me.” Sergeant stood up and shook hands. He hadn’t touched his beer.

“Take the money. I don’t want it here.”

He slipped it back into his pocket, eyeing Frazer as he did so. “Half of it can be yours.”

“I’ll let you know.”

After Jack Sergeant left Frazer fixed himself a sandwich and thought about the money.

Two things happened the following day to decide him.

The first was a phone call at work from Maggie’s lawyer. He’d thought the divorce settlement was final, with Maggie getting the house and a comfortable alimony check. Now the lawyer informed him that she was refusing to sign the final papers unless the alimony was increased by fifty percent. After all he’d been through during the divorce, Frazer only wanted to be rid of her. “Tell her I’ll agree,” he said reluctantly.

Perhaps he already knew then that he would accept Sergeant’s offer, but he said nothing when the man arrived at his desk shortly before noon. He went into the tiny conference room to report to Felix Method on his trip, then joked a bit with Frazer and Cynthia. Finally he went off to lunch alone.

When Method left for lunch, Frazer paused in the analysis report he was writing and turned his attention to Cynthia. “Did you have a good time last night?” he asked.

She smiled at him. “Before or after I left you?”

“Both. I was thinking of after.”

“It was dull. I should have taken you up on that dinner offer.”

“We can remedy that quickly enough. How about tonight?”

“Sure! Why not?”

He took her to one of the better restaurants near the office, and then suggested they return to his apartment for a nightcap. She didn’t object. They made love for several hours, until she finally said she had to go, sometime after one o’clock. Reluctantly he drove her back to her car.

Later, in bed, he reached his decision. He needed money for Cynthia Raymond. She was the sort who liked nice things, good food, fancy restaurants. And he needed money for Maggie’s alimony. There was no harm in playing along with Jack Sergeant for a month or so. He could always quit any time he wanted.

He told Sergeant the following day, and they had lunch together. After lunch he stopped at the bank to deposit nine thousand dollars in hundred-dollar bills. “Keep it under ten grand,” Sergeant had cautioned him. “Banks have to report deposits of ten thousand or more to the government.”

Programming the Sky-Eye satellite to photograph the areas they needed was easy enough. Frazer had been gradually taking over more of the routine operations from Felix Method, and the older man seemed to welcome the help. He was busy with trips to Washington and meetings with his investors. In the week that followed his luncheon with Jack Sergeant, Frazer was able to supply two complete sets of photographs showing key areas of the Mediterranean, Israel, and the Persian Gulf. His only problem was in doctoring the records to explain why the satellite had been instructed to transmit the photos to the earth station at once, rather than waiting for the less-expensive regularly scheduled relay. He managed to explain it by charging the photos to several of their large-volume accounts like the Oceanographic Institute, then issuing credits to cancel the charges before they were billed. He knew Method scrutinized the charges with some care, but generally ignored routine credits. There was always an excuse for credits — clouds over the target area, electronic glitches in the transmission from the satellite, or simply a mistake in the order. Cynthia typed up the orders and credits, and he knew she would come to him with any questions before she would go to Method.

They slept together twice during that following week, enjoying it more each time. But Cynthia was unhappy with her job at Sky-Eye. “I’m nothing more than a secretary and billing clerk,” she grumbled. “Can’t you talk Method into letting me do a bit more photo analysis?”

Frazer rolled over in bed and chuckled. “You’ll have my job before long. Is that what you want?”

“I want something where I can use my brain.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” he promised, though in his heart he knew he preferred her exactly where she was. If Method were to hire a new clerk-typist, she might find reason to question some of the recent charges and credits.

A week later, when Frazer had delivered two more sets of photographs to Jack Sergeant, Method called him into the conference room. “Shut the door, will you, Frazer? I want to speak to you in private about something.”

“What is it?” He sat down opposite Felix Method at the long oak table.

“The people at the Defense Department have been hearing disconcerting stories about certain foreign powers trying to buy high-resolution satellite photos. I gather their information is coming from the CIA. You understand the awkwardness of our position here. We operate with the blessing of the Defense Department, as does Landsat. One word from them and we could be effectively out of business on national security grounds. Have you seen or heard anything — anything at all — which might make you suspicious?”

“Suspicious of what?” Frazer asked, stalling for time as he tried to fathom what the man was after.

“Well, I was thinking specifically of Miss Raymond. She keeps wanting to get into photo analysis, and I’ve noticed you giving her some rudimentary instructions. Do you have any reason to believe she might have an ulterior motive?”

“Certainly not,” Frazer said with something like relief. “She’s simply an ambitious young woman trying to get ahead.”

“She’s never asked you any questions that seemed to go beyond the bounds of mere curiosity?”

“No.”

“She’s never indicated a connection with any foreign government?”

“Of course not! I think the Defense Department’s being unnecessarily edgy about this whole thing. After all, they did set you up in business. And you’re not doing anything the French aren’t doing with their SPOT satellite.”

“They can’t control the French, but they can control us. That’s the difference. You know the trouble they’ve had with the space shuttle and the Titan in recent months. At a time when America has only one spy satellite in a decent orbit over the Soviet Union, they hardly want foreign governments buying pictures at will from private companies.”

“I can assure you Miss Raymond has said or done nothing suspicious.”

“But you’ll keep an eye on her? Just between us?”

“Of course.”

Frazer returned to his desk, giving Cynthia a wink as he passed her. Later she managed to whisper in his ear while bending over the desk. “What’s with X and Z meeting?”

“Nothing that concerns Y,” he whispered back. He remembered telling her she had no designation for Jack Sergeant. It hadn’t seemed to matter then.

As the weeks passed, Sergeant grew increasingly nervous. “You know, Frazer,” he said one night, accepting the familiar large envelope of pictures, “I think Method may be right about foreign powers trying to buy pictures. There’s more than one of them out there. If I had the guts to do it, I’d start putting these pictures out for bids.”

“You’d better be content with what we’re getting. Isn’t it about time for that second twenty grand?”

“I’m meeting him tomorrow night. I’ll bring your share to your apartment.”

“I can use it.” He’d already had to draw out part of the nine thousand for the increased alimony payments.

Cynthia was busy that night, but they had dinner together the following evening. They didn’t meet at the Weather Vane any more, for fear that Felix Method might see them together. Instead they found a small cafe across town with good food and a nice sense of isolation.

Over coffee she asked, “Have you spoken to Method about getting me something more important to do?”

“This isn’t the right time for it,” he told her. “The Defense Department has got him so scared he’s seeing spies coming out of the woodwork.”

“Do you think Jack Sergeant could help me?”

“Jack? I don’t see how. He’s hardly ever around.”

She rummaged in her big purse and brought out a compact, checking her lipstick and hair. “Want to come over to my place for a change?”

He remembered that Sergeant might be coming by with the money. “I should be home. Maybe we should make it an early evening.”

“Are you trying to get rid of me?”

“God, no!” he said with a laugh. “Come on over. I just might have to take you home by midnight.”

“You got another girl coming in for the late shift? Is she better than me?”

“Stop that!”

She seemed more passionate than ever in bed that night, and after the violence of their lovemaking Frazer drifted off to sleep. He dreamed he was a bird circling the earth, watching couples in love, watching creatures in the forest, watching—

He awakened suddenly, aware of Cynthia’s deep, regular breathing at his side. The door chime had rung, just once. He slipped out of bed, got into his robe, and padded out the bedroom door, quietly closing it behind him. He crossed the living room and opened the door an inch. “Who is it?”

“Jack. Open up, will you?”

He let Sergeant in but kept him near the door, speaking in a low voice. “I... there’s a friend in the other room. Let’s keep our voices down.” He switched on a small reading lamp.

“I brought the money,” Sergeant said, slipping another fat envelope from his pocket, opening it to show the familiar wad of new bills.

“Good.” Frazer hesitated and then added, “I’ve been thinking about this whole setup, Jack. With Method as nervous as he is, maybe we’d better call it quits for now.” He was looking through the money as he spoke.

“You’re not backing out on me?”

“I told you I’d give it a try. Right now it’s too risky to continue.”

“Because of Method?”

“Because of you. I noticed the consecutive serial numbers on that first batch of new hundreds, before you took your share. These are the same bills as the ones you kept for yourself last time. You’re not working for anyone else. You’re paying the money and delivering the photos directly to this unnamed foreign government. You’re an enemy agent, Jack.”

He shook his head sadly. “I hope you’re not going to tell that to anyone.”

He started to turn, as if leaving, and then spun around. Frazer saw the gun in his right hand but he was frozen with surprise.

There was a sound like a cough from the bedroom and Jack Sergeant toppled over, knocking aside the lamp as he fell. Frazer turned to see Cynthia standing naked in the doorway, holding a pistol with a silencer on the barrel.

“God, you saved my life! He was going to kill me!”

She came slowly into the room. “Is he dead?”

Frazer picked up the lamp and bent to examine the body. “Dead as he’ll ever be. You’d better call the police.”

“No.”

“What?”

“No police. We’ll get rid of the body ourselves.”

“What are you—?”

She came closer and he saw the steely coldness of her eyes. “From now on, Frazer, you’re working for me.”