Siro by David Ignatius (short books to read txt) 📕

said, “that some weeks ago we agreed to let Miss Barnes explore the possibility of engaging an Armenian operative for our enterprise. Now she has found an appropriate person and proposes to do just that.”

Taylor looked at Anna, who was leaning forward in her chair as if ready to spring. She was, in some subtle way he didn’t yet understand, a different woman from the one he had left in Rockville. “Isn’t it a little late for something like this?” he asked.

“No,” said Anna. “I don’t see why.”

“Because we’re closing up shop at the end of November,” replied Taylor, “and it’s almost October now.”

“That’s enough time, so long as we really do have until the end of November. We’re not going to fold up before then, are we, Mr. Stone?”

“No,” he answered. “I shouldn’t think so.”

“Then there’s enough time for what I want to do.”

“Perhaps you should explain for Alan and me just what that is.”

Anna nodded, took a gulp of air, and began her pitch. “The Armenian is a doctor, a medical researcher who has been studying in Paris for two years. He’s part of a small network of Armenian activists, inside and outside the Soviet Union. He’s going home to Yerevan in ten days, and he wants us to help him with something, which happens to fit perfectly with what we’re trying to do.”

“What does he want?”

“He wants us to give him a device that will allow his friends to pick up satellite television signals from the West. He says it would change everything in the Soviet Union if people could see how the rest of the world works.”

“He may be right. But what is it, exactly, that he wants from us?”

“A phased-array television antenna.”

“What on earth is that?”

Anna removed the wiring diagram from her purse and handed it to Stone.

“This,” she said, pointing to the drawing, “is a phased-array television antenna.” Stone studied it for a few moments and then handed it to Taylor. He turned it one way, then the other, held it up to the light, turned it backwards, and then handed it back to Stone.

“This doesn’t mean a fucking thing to me,” said Taylor. “But I know someone who’d understand it in a minute.”

“Who’s that?” asked Anna.

“George Trumbo, my friend from the TSD office in Athens. He’s a genius with this stuff, when he isn’t drunk.”

“Could he build one of these?”

“Probably. If someone got him the hardware.”

“Would he keep his mouth shut about it?”

“Definitely. But are you sure this makes sense?”

“Yes,” she said. “Absolutely positive.”

“How would your Armenian pick this thing up, assuming George could make it?”

“He says we could find a way, over the border. We’re supposed to talk about the details next week, assuming we agree.”

“I don’t know,” said Taylor. “It seems kind of half-assed. It bothers me.”

Stone didn’t offer any opinion for the moment. He studied the wiring diagram again, and then rubbed his eyes. Anna had expected strong opposition from him, but across his exhausted face had fallen a look of calm equanimity. It was a shadow cast by some new idea that was working in his brain.

“I think it’s an intriguing idea,” said Stone eventually.

“You do?” said Anna. She smiled.

“Have you made a formal recruitment pitch to this Armenian fellow yet?”

“Not exactly,” she answered.

“What does that mean?”

“I haven’t told him who I work for.”

“Have you paid him money?”

“No.”

“Do you have any sort of contractual arrangement with him?”

“Not really. I’ve only met with him three times. It didn’t seem appropriate.”

“That’s unfortunate,” said Stone.

“Why?”

“Because the bond between you is personal rather than professional. As such, it carries an awkward element of moral obligation. Contracts are so much easier. Still, it’s an intriguing idea.”

“It bothers me,” said Taylor again.

Anna wanted to kick him. Why was he sabotaging her chance at the very moment Stone seemed willing to agree? She couldn’t tell, looking at him, whether he was genuinely concerned for her welfare or whether he was simply jealous.

Stone apparently was growing tired of the discussion.

“I’m hungry,” he said. “Let’s eat.”

They broke for dinner at nine-thirty. Taylor suggested that they eat at a fish restaurant called Urcan, up the Bosporus in a town called Sariyer. He thought a change of scene would do everyone some good. So they all piled into a taxi and headed upstream. The custom at Urcan was for customers to choose their dinner from among the fish swimming in the tanks by the front door. Stone selected a flounder that was lying motionless on the bottom of the tank, trying to blend into the sand. He later pronounced it delicious, and lingered long over the dinner, the wine and the Greek brandy. It was a merry evening, with everyone doing their best to avoid serious conversation. By the time they left Urcan, all three were quite tipsy, especially Stone. He held Anna by the arm as he walked unsteadily toward his suite, and gave her a kiss on the cheek at the door.

“Let’s resolve this Armenian business tomorrow morning, before we leave,” he said. “Breakfast in my room at eight-thirty.” He closed the door.

Anna looked toward Taylor, who was leaning against the wall a few feet away.

“How about a nightcap?” she said, hoping it didn’t sound too calculating.

“You’re on.”

“I’m in room 9. Give me ten minutes to get ready.”

39

When Taylor knocked on the door ten minutes later, Anna pulled it back just a crack. The smooth skin of her cheek was visible through the opening. So was the outline of her breast beneath the gauzy fabric of a loose shift, the sort of garment that Istanbuli ladies wore after the bath. “I’m not ready yet,” she whispered. “Why don’t you come in and wait while I get dressed.”

She beckoned Taylor to come in, as if inviting him to join in a secret revel. As he entered the room, he saw that Anna’s body was naked under the translucent folds of her dressing gown. He was aroused immediately, and moved forward to