The Betrayers

Chapter Two

AS I STOOD IN the airport terminal in Honolulu, on the Island of Oahu, I wasn't really thinking about all this. It was in the back of my mind, of course, but for some reason I was thinking about a girl who'd have enjoyed this trip, restful or not-a girl we'd called Claire, whose real name I'd never learned and probably never would learn now. She was buried in a French cemetery as Winifred Helm, beloved wife of Matthew Helm. On the record, she'd been the victim of an unfortunate traffic accident. With a little local cooperation, you can lose a lot of inconvenient deaths among the highway statistics.

Well, that was ancient history now, or would be as soon as I could make my mind accept it. I finished my fresh pineapple juice, a totally different drink from the sickly-sweet canned stuff you get on the Mainland, and I thanked the greeter-lady for the refreshing experience.

She wasn't bad-looking, but except for the face it was impossible to judge her on points, since she was covered from neck to heels by a long, loose, brightly printed cotton garment with all the sex appeal of a potato sack. While obviously comfortable and indisputably modest, it seemed an odd sort of costume in which to appear in public.

She gave me no secret signs or coded passwords but fluttered off with her tray of juice cups to greet some other passengers from the plane. Nobody signaled me or shot at me as I retrieved my baggage. Nobody threw any knives or kisses my way as I located a taxi, got in, and gave the name of the Waikiki Beach hostelry that had been recommended to me as the kind of quiet, low-pressure place in which a weary man of violence could nurse a broken heart in peace.

After a few blocks, however, I decided that I hadn't escaped entirely unnoticed: we were being followed by a small car of a make I didn't recognize immediately. On the whole it was a relief. If nobody had made a move, I'd have had nothing to do but wait and wonder, but Mac had done his best to insure that my talents wouldn't be wasted.

"I wasn't going to use you on this, Eric," he'd told me on my second visit to his office. "Aside from the fact that you're entitled to a rest, it's a job for which you're poorly qualified. As you say, the Pacific is not your beat. You're unfamiliar with the area, and Monk knows you by sight. However, maybe we can make your apparent disadvantages work for us. In any case, since Monk does know you, if he spots you arriving in Honolulu, as he probably will, he's not likely to believe you're there by chance, even if it's the truth. So for your own protection, if you insist on spending your leave out there, you had better be aware of certain things…

I couldn't remember insisting on going to Hawaii. All I'd said was that I wouldn't change my plans for one particular guy. I'd have changed them for Mac, but obviously he had no intention of asking me to. He preferred to take me at my word, which left me no out.

Well, I should have known better than to make such a stupid, stiff necked statement in that office, I reflected, listening to the things he was telling me about the Monk. They didn't surprise me greatly. After all, I'd got to know the guy pretty well at one time-as well as you can get to know a guy you've risked your life with and beat hell out of.

"It is always disturbing when an agent goes bad," Mac said. "Particularly if he's as senior as Monk, he tends to feel himself superior to all rules and laws. After all, he's been breaking them for years in the line of duty."

"Do we know what he's up to?" I asked.

Mac said, "We have conclusive evidence that he's been in contact with Peking."

I said, "That doesn't really prove anything, sir. Hell, I've had contact with Moscow on occasion. There are times when you've got to pretend to be bought. He could have a legitimate explanation."

Mac said dryly, "Your sense of fairness is exemplary, Eric, considering your recorded opinion of the man, which should perhaps have been given more weight than it was."

I said, "I still think he's a bastard, and a dangerous bastard. I'll be happy to shoot him for you, or cut him into little pieces and feed him to the sharks, if they've got sharks out there. But I'm not going to call any man a traitor without proof."

"This has been proved," Mac said. "Monk has sold out. We have checked it carefully. The details don't concern you, but you can take the fact as established."

I don't like facts I have to take as established or details that don't concern me, but there was obviously nothing for me to say but, "Yes, sir."

"As for your original question, no, we do not yet know exactly what he has in mind. Naturally, we must determine that before we take final action. Whatever he's initiated out there under Red Chinese supervision must be stopped. That is as important as dealing with Monk himself. You understand?"

"Yes, sir. Who's on it now?"

"We have one man doing what he can from outside, under the name of Bernard Naguki. If he has occasion to call on you, he will say that there are few seabirds on the Islands, to which you will reply, yes, but the land-birds are very numerous."

I wondered what great brain had dreamed that one up, and how I was supposed to tell the agents from the ornithologists.

I said, "You say Naguki is working on it from outside, sir. Do we have an inside agent, too?"

Mac hesitated. "As a matter of fact, we do. Until we have enough information to act on, Naguki is mainly a distraction, a decoy, as you will be. We do not want Monk to suspect a leak in his own organization. But you will forget I told you this, Eric. It is a very precarious situation, as you can understand, and the agent in question has been promised a free hand and complete anonymity as far as everyone else is concerned. I have given my word on this; I could not have got cooperation otherwise."

I made a wry face. "I love these informers who want to get on the winning side without taking any risks."

Mac said calmly, "I have given my word, Eric."

"Yes, sir."

He showed me his thin, rare smile. "But you haven't, have you? What you learn independently and what you do with what you learn are things for which I cannot be held responsible."

We looked at each other across the desk. I said, straight-faced, "Yes, sir. That clarifies the situation somewhat."

"In theory you will be approached only when you are needed. I will signal that you are coming as soon as I can make contact safely. The identification procedure will be the same."

I nodded. "I gather from what you say that the Monk doesn't know he's been sold, but does he know we're onto him even if he doesn't know how?"

"I'm afraid he's begun to suspect it. That is why I ordered Naguki to get over there and make himself conspicuous, to make it look as if he were the one who had turned up the incriminating evidence."

"That could be rough on Naguki. The Monk can be pretty ruthless."

"Precisely." Mac's voice was unruffled. "That is why I am briefing you, so that you can take Naguki's place if anything should happen to him."

I couldn't help wondering if he had somebody lined up to take my place if anything should happen to me. "Yes, sir," I said. "Thank you very much, sir."

My sarcasm, if that's what it was, was lost on him. He went on smoothly, "You understand, of course, that officially Monk is still a trusted senior operative to whom no breath of suspicion attaches. In fact, the more I think of it, the more I feel that the person under suspicion should be you."

I was careful not to give him the satisfaction of seeing me look startled. "Suspicion of what, sir?"

"Of indiscreet remarks and unstable behavior, disturbing enough to warrant having you suspended and placed under precautionary surveillance. Yes, I think that will work out very well. Disliking you as he does, Monk will want to believe that you are really in disgrace. Very often even a clever man will wind up believing what he wants to believe."

My month's vacation seemed to be receding farther and farther into an unpredictable future. I asked, "Am I permitted to know what I'm supposed to've said indiscreetly?"

"Of course. You were heard to state, among other things, that turning our back on Russia to get involved in Asia is an idiotic error in world strategy, and any lousy second looie who pulled a boner like that on the battlefield would be court-martialed. I am, of course, quoting you verbatim."

"I see," I said. "Am I also supposed to weep for poor little communist babies fried in dirty capitalist napalm?"

"Not unless you can do it very convincingly. As a cynical and experienced operative, I think you will appear more plausible, at least at first, if you base your arguments strictly on military considerations. Of course, if it becomes necessary to gain the confidence of some particular person, you can let your opinions become gradually more extreme. Or you can back off to safer ground if it seems indicated. It will depend on whom you are trying to impress. Research will provide you with some material that'll give you an idea of the jargon that's being used in discussing the subject."

"Yes, sir," I said. "As you describe them, my original statements don't seem very reprehensible, hardly adequate grounds for suspension and surveillance. So I say that I think Russia is a more dangerous enemy than China, so what?"

Mac said sternly, "For a soldier to question the decisions of his superiors is always reprehensible, Eric. And for an agent to question the policies of his government where he can be overheard is, to say the least, an error in judgment that throws doubt on his professional qualifications."

I said, "Yes, sir. I'm sorry I brought it up, sir."

He wasn't going to let me off that easily. He went on, quoting his own training materials: "An agent is not supposed to attract attention by voicing unpopular opinions, valid or invalid, except as required by a particular assignment. Off duty, an agent is supposed to remain politically inconspicuous, lest he impair his future usefulness. Violation of this principle is sufficient cause for disciplinary action." Mac looked up and spoke in his normal voice again, "I might add that one of the things that first led us to suspect Monk was that some of his people were reported to be publicly taking sides in this debate without being checked or reprimanded in any way."

"I guess I don't have to ask what side they took. What about them in general? Apart from the inside guy we're counting on, whoever he may be, what's the personnel situation out there?"

Mac looked grim. "Unfortunately, because of the distances involved and the special language qualifications required, our Pacific operation has always been more or less autonomous, almost an independent unit within the organization. You will have to assume, in the absence of strong evidence to the contrary, that our Pacific operatives are all loyal primarily to Monk. Most of them were recruited by him, and all of them are accustomed to report to him or through him, rather than directly to me, as in other areas." He moved his shoulders ruefully. "An administrative error, I suppose, but one that could hardly be avoided considering the geographical difficulties."

"Yes, sir," I said. "So he's actually got a little undercover empire at his command. Very handy for a guy with ambitions."

"Yes," Mac said. "Of course, there is a basic flaw in the structure of an empire. Without an emperor it ceases to function."

His voice was soft. I glanced at him and said, "Yes, sir."

"Eric."

"Yes, sir?"

"I have said that Monk is not officially under suspicion. For the sake of everybody concerned, it would be well if his reputation remained unblemished to the very end."

"Yes, sir," I said. "To the very end."

We regarded each other bleakly for a moment. There didn't seem to be any more to say. I turned and left the office.

And now I was riding down the Honolulu waterfront followed by what I'd finally identified as a Japanese Datsun sedan. It was driven by a moonfaced, moustached young man whom I recognized as one of ours-well, of Monk's-code name Francis, currently operating under the alias of Bill Menander. As his crude tailing technique indicated, he was fairly young and inexperienced, or perhaps Monk had instructed him to let me know I was being watched. It would be like the Monk to want to rub it in.

Behind Francis, off and on, was a light-colored Ford a year or two old. I couldn't make up my mind whether it was part of the parade or just somebody heading for Waikiki on perfectly innocent business.

Riding through Honolulu in the fading sunlight, I decided that except for some steep and spectacular mountains behind it, apparently of volcanic origin, the city could easily be mistaken for Los Angeles or Miami Beach. But you'd never mistake it for the gray German cities I'd seen with Monk on that long-ago assignment. We'd both come far since then, but I guess I'd always been aware that, knowing what I did about him, I'd made a serious, soft-headed error in bringing the guy back alive, and that I'd have to set it straight some day.