Checkpoint Charlie

First Sneden reported, bringing it up to date. “We lost another one last night. Rastovic jumped off the roof of a block of flats in Leningrad. Less than forty-eight hours after Begorenko’s death. Of course we don’t know if they killed themselves or if they were suicided by the Organs but means the same thing either way — we’re blown. Six operations, eleven operatives. Including the MIG-32 program.”

Ross: “Are we sure of that? It couldn’t be coincidence?”

Cutter: “Two dead out of eleven? Not a chance.”

Sneden: “I’m afraid Joe’s right. I feel miserable about this. It’s my fault — I was too lax in my guidelines for third-floor security. The safe should never have been unlocked.”

Cutter: “Why wasn’t it locked?”

Sneden: “Ease of access. We had five different Controls in and out of it all the time. Plus myself and occasionally the First Secretary. If we had to unlock the damn thing every time…”

Myerson: “All right, all right. Let’s hear from Mr. Dark.”

Me: “A couple of curious items. See what you make of them. Item one — evidence of arson. Traces of lighter fluid residue in the wastebasket where the fire started. Any comments?”

Cutter: “The fire had to be set by somebody inside. It was burning before the Russian firemen arrived. Elementary conclusion: a saboteur among us. Elementary question: to what purpose?”

Me: “Elementary answer: to cover something up and/or provide a distraction. Agreed?”

Myerson: “Go on, Charlie.”

“Me: Item two. As far as we know, the computer information coming through from agent Poltov is still clean. If not accurate it’s at least plausible to our scientists who’ve been analyzing it as it comes through. As of last night, when I had my third interview with Poltov, he claimed he’d been neither harassed nor approached.”

Ross: “How do we know he’s not lying about that? How do we know he hasn’t been doubled?”

Myerson: “Intuition, Charlie?”

Me: “No. Logic. If they knew he was feeding us they’d stop him or falsify the data. They’ve done neither. Therefore they don’t know he’s ours.”

Cutter: “Fascinating.”

Me: “I knew you’d be the first one to see the point, Joe. Your mind’s always six steps ahead of everybody else’s. Next to me you’re the best.”

Cutter: “I might put it the other way around, there, Charlie.”

Me: “You’d be wrong. Your talent’s equal to mine but I still have the edge in experience.”

Ross: “Well, maybe they only managed to break the codes that dealt with Begorenko and Rastovic. Isn’t that possible? Maybe they’re still working on the rest of the codes over at Cryptanalysis in the Arbat. Suppose they don’t break Poltov’s code until next week after we’ve cleared him? Then what?”

Me: “No. The Russians haven’t broken any of our codes at all. They haven’t had time. The fire was set Monday. Begorenko died Thursday night late, or if you prefer Friday morning. It takes longer than that to break a top-class code, even with the aid of the best computers. Unless you’ve got help from somebody on the other side.”

Cutter: “The two suicides, Begorenko and Rastovic — let me get absolutely clear on this. They were on separate capers? They had nothing to do with each other? They didn’t even know of each other’s existence? They had separate Controls, separate cutouts, separate and distinct codes?”

Sneden: “Correct. Total strangers to each other. One in Moscow, one in Leningrad.”

Myerson: “But they were both blown. And the only thing they had in common was that both their names were in the safe on the third floor.”

Ross: “Leaving us no choice. We’ve got to shut down all the operations. Including Poltov.”

Sneden: “Well, no. Charlie’s just got through saying Poltov’s secure. How can we shut him down? It’d be a disaster for us when we’re this close to getting the final data on the MIG-32. Nobody wants to close Poltov down. He’s the most valuable agent we’ve got anywhere in the world at this moment in time.”

Me: “I agree with De

Myerson: “I don’t follow your reasoning at all. How can we let him run? If it’s only a matter of time before they break the code on his file too —”

Me: “I told you. They don’t have Poltov’s file. They don’t have any files.”

Cutter: “Charlie’s right.”

Myerson: “Somebody please tell me what’s going on here.”

Me: “De

Cutter: “I think the cat’s got De

Me: “All right. Not without regret. The Russians never got near the safe; if they had, Poltov would have been transferred, killed or doubled by now. Therefore the information on Begorenko and Rastovic was given selectively to the KGB by someone who didn’t mind betraying in essential information but balked at selling the hard stuff. It had to be someone inside this Embassy, of course — someone who set the fire so as to make it look as if the safe had been compromised. That way we wouldn’t look for a spy in our own ranks; we’d look for a spy in a Russian fireman’s uniform instead. That gets our culprit off the hook, covers his tracks. That’s what the distraction was for.”

Sneden: “That could have been anybody.”

Cutter: “De

Me: “And you use that old-fashioned lighter, De

Cutter: “How much did they pay you, De

*   *   *

DENNIS SNEDEN was ash-white but he held his tongue and refused to meet anyone’s eyes. Misery wafted off him like the smell of decay.

I said, “Most of the files are routine information-gathering capers. We buy information whether it’s important or not. It all goes into the hopper. Most of it, individually, isn’t important to our security. Begorenko sold us statistical data on collective farm output and miscellaneous agricultural information. Rastovic kept us posted on perso

He didn’t answer.

Cutter said, “But he’s still loyal enough to protect the vital mission. He couldn’t sell Poltov to them.”

I said, “That was his mistake. De

Sneden said quietly, “What do you take me for?”

None of us needed to answer that. After a moment Sneden crushed out his cigarette. “Do I get killed or what?”

Myerson smiled at me. “Charlie broke the case — we’ll leave the disposition to him.” He got up and wandered out of the room, having lost interest in the proceedings. The bastard. He wanted to force me to order an execution — he knows I don’t kill people. He thinks it’s because I’m squeamish — it doesn’t occur to him that it might be a matter of moral scruple.

I looked at Joe Cutter and Leonard Ross. Neither of them was at all amused. Cutter said, “He’s a class-A wonder, Myerson is.”

Ross, who is young and collegiate and manages to retain a flavor of naïveté despite several years in the service, brooded at De

De

I said, “I don’t see any need for blood. De

“Do I have a choice?”

Joe Cutter said, “You could commit suicide.”

“Not me.”

“Then you haven’t got a choice.”

“What if I deny the charges?”