The Intriguers

VI.

Maybe you're accustomed to calling a government office and being greeted with a fancy organizational name. Fm not. Ours isn't that kind of an office and we have no name. At least we hadn't the last time I called Washington, less than a month ago.

Obviously, I'd just learned what Mac had wanted me to learn, or part of it. There had been some kind of a shakeup, the gobbledygook boys and girls had taken over, and we were now something called the Federal Information Center, or a branch thereof. Well, such things happen in Washington. To learn the full extent of the disaster, I drew a long breath and called the same number again. I got a different girl, but she'd learned her lilt at the same school.

"Federal Information Center."

I decided to try the head-on approach and see what happened. "Give me Mac," I said.

"Mac? I'm sorry, sir, without the full name I don't think I can… Oh, yes, of course! You want the Bureau of Public Safety. I'll connect you." I waited. Presently another woman's voice came on the line. This was a severe, businesslike, liltless voice. "Bureau of Public Safety, Miss Dodds. With whom did you wish to speak, please?"

I didn't know any Miss Dodds. "Gimme Mac," I said crudely, since that seemed to be the password.

"Who's calling, please?"

"Somebody who wants Mac," I said.

"Really, sir-" She broke off. There was a brief pause; and her voice came again. "I'm sorry, sir. You did say Mac, didn't you?"

"I did."

"Yes, of course. I'll see if I can reach him on the temporary line,. His office is still in the old building for the time being, and we haven't been able to make very satisfactory arrangements. You know what telephone service is these days. Please hold."

Normally, calling the office in the old building on a side street where nobody'd expect a government office to be, I'd have got a girl who simply said hello, unless there was a special message for a particular agent who was expected to have to call from a bugged phone or a roomful of people. In that case the girl might tell me I'd reached the residence of Mrs. Amos Aardvark, say, or the home of Mr. Zachariah Xerxes. If the coded message was for me, I'd apologize for dialing the wrong number and hang up. If it wasn't for me, I'd ignore it, say an identifying word or two, and ask to be put through to Godalmighty, the Big Cheese, the Mother Superior, or whatever other facetious name I chose to employ. The whole transaction would generally take considerably less than ten seconds. Obviously, things had changed.

There was a clacking in the phone, and Miss Dodds' prim voice came again. "Sorry to keep you waiting, sir. I'm trying to reach him for you. We've been having some trouble with that connection. It's temporary, you know."

"So you said," I said. "Keep plugging. That's a joke."

"Yes, sir. Ha-ha… here we are now. Go ahead, sir."

The line she'd got me was fairly noisy, but the voice speaking from the other end, while slightly weak, was familiar and reassuring after all the abnormal yak-yak. It spoke three words, mandatory secret-agent-type stuff. I spoke two words in return.

"Eric?"

"Yes, sir," I said. "What the hell's going on in that madhouse city in the Potomac swamps, anyway? The Bureau of Public Safety, for Christ's sake! Wasn't that who chopped off all those heads in the French Revolution?"

"I believe you're thinking of the Committee of Public Safety, Eric."

"Bureau, committee, what's the difference?"

Mac's distant voice said deliberately, "What's going on is, quote, a streamlined reorganization of all governmental intelligence functions, unquote."

I said, "Again? If I remember rightly, a guy tried to pull the same thing a few years back, only he knew so little about intelligence operations that he couldn't even run his own outfit without getting a bunch of communist agents planted on him, so the big deal fell through… Leonard. That was his name. Herbert Leonard."

"You have the right man, Eric. Mr. Leonard is apparently a persistent individual and a skillful politician; and this time he seems to have powerful backing."

"So it's serious, sir?"

"Quite serious. We are going to have to be very circumspect for a while. Mr. Leonard has already given clear indications that he doesn't like us very much. Just a minute. I have another call." I waited until his voice spoke again in my ear. "Eric? What were we talking about?"

"About the way Mr. Leonard doesn't like us, presumably because of the way we helped to lower the boom on him last time. Maybe he's afraid we'll do it again."

"Maybe. What kind of a vacation did you have, Eric?"

"Lousy, sir," I said. "My girl Friday turned out to be a missionary at heart, and somebody tried to shoot me."

"Shoot you? What happened?"

"He missed. Then, unfortunately, he kind of drowned," I said. "They fished him out of San Carlos Bay this morning. His death was strictly accidental, of course."

"Of course. Do you have any clue as to his motive?"

"No, sir. We never really got on speaking terms."

"I see. Well, there are a number of people employed by other nations who have reason not to be particularly fond of you."

"Yes, sir."

"I don't want to seem to dismiss an attempt on your life lightly, but there are reasons why I'm rather disinterested in would-be murderers at the moment-as long as they are safely dead, of course. We have trouble inside our own ranks. As you'll gather, it couldn't have come at a worse time."

"No, sir. What's the problem?"

"To put it bluntly, one of our people has gone a bit berserk."

"It's an occupational hazard, sir."

"Particularly among agents with families, it seems. Whenever anything happens to their spouses or offspring, their immediate reaction is to employ their training amid experience for purposes of vengeance. It's always very awkward, but particularly right now."

"Yes, sir. Who's the current berserker? Do I know him?"

"You did a job with him in Cuba. Agent Carl."

"A big blond guy. Sure, I remember him. What's up with Carl?"

"Let's just say that he received some rather bad news concerning a member of his family. He called immediately afterwards to say that he was resigning to take care of some private business. He said not to send anyone to try to stop him, because anybody who was sent just wouldn't come back." I couldn't help a wry laugh. Mac heard me, two-thirds of a continent away. He spoke in a severe tone of voice: "You seem to find that amusing, Erie. Why?"

"Only because I've used the same line myself upon occasion, as you may remember, sir." I made a face at the phone. "But you are sending somebody after Carl, in spite of his warning."

"Yes. You."

"Thanks a whole lot, sir."

"He is presently in Fort Adams, Oklahoma, or somewhere nearby. We don't have his exact address. You'll contact him and take whatever steps necessary to prevent him from involving us in a scandal that could destroy us. I repeat, whatever steps are necessary. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, sir," I said. "You always do, sir. But if Carl has resigned, officially, how do his actions reflect on us?"

"Don't be naпve, Eric. Mr. Leonard is just waiting for an excuse to crack down on us. Do you think he'll let a little thing like a resignation stand in his way?"

"It's a point," I admitted. "Well, you'd better give me Carl's current description. These days of long hair and beards I might not recognize him. That Cuba assignment was a long time ago. Oh, and if it isn't too confidential, you might tell me precisely what the news was that sent him off his trolley…

The girl was back in the station wagon when I returned to it. I signed the charge slip for the gasoline and got behind the wheel. We didn't speak until we were out of Nogales, heading up the four-lane freeway towards Tucson. It's a funny thing, much as I enjoy Mexico, and much as I detest that interminable border hassle, I always feel a sense of relief and relaxation when I'm back in the US with American gas in the tank.

"Well?" Martha said at last.

"What do you know about something called the Federal Information Center?"

"Just what everybody knows," she said. "FINC is the brainchild of a red-faced, white-haired, smoothie political type named Leonard, who's mounted a real slick takeover operation with powerful political support."

"What did you call it?"

She laughed. "Officially, it's abbreviated FTC, but everybody calls it FINC. What else would you call a national collection of snoops and spooks?" After a moment, she glanced at me. "Did you talk to… him? What did he say?"

I reported my conversation with Mac, practically verbatim, and said, "Apparently, we are now the Bureau of Public Safety, operating under said FINC."

"Well, we've got lots of company, Mr. Helm. The CIA's latest overseas booboo and J. Edgar's recent death made it relatively easy for Herbert Leonard. Obviously, it was time for a change, or Congress thought it was, and he's it. The whole ball of wax. All the nation's intelligence agencies wrapped up in one glorious unified package. You must have read about it."

I said, "Hell, I don't read the papers when I'm on leave. Particularly when I'm on leave in Mexico. I don't listen to the radio, either."

"No, all you do is make eyes at skinny blondes." Martha spoke without altering her voice or turning her head. "Tell me, was she really any good in bed? She was tall enough even for you, but it didn't seem to me there was enough of her, crosswise, to give a man any real satisfaction."

I said, "Hush your dirty mouth, Borden. What do you know about an agent of ours with the code name Carl?"

Martha hesitated. "Well," she said after a moment, "his real name is Anders Janssen. He's on the list. There are ten names, eleven including you. He is number six, if that matters, but you were supposed to find him in New Orleans, where he'd been sent to hide out until the right time came, and the right man, meaning you."

I said, "Only now he seems to have resigned and headed for Oklahoma on a private mission of his own. What happened recently in Fort Adams, Oklahoma, Borden?"

"You must have heard-"

"Why make me say it again? I haven't read a paper or listened to a radio for three weeks on purpose. Tell me."

"Well," she said, "well, it was another of those riots, at a small educational institution called Fort Adams State University. The police and deputies opened fire, and three students were killed."

"I see," I said slowly.

"Why did you want to know?" Martha asked curiously. "Has it got something to do with Carl?"

"It's got a lot to do with Carl. One of the kids who got shot was his and he's running amok. My current orders are to do something about it, immediately if not instantly." I frowned at the four-lane highway sliding towards me in the bright Arizona sunshine. "However, I think since we're so close to the ranch, we'd better go have a talk with Lorna first."