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

“He sounds great,” said Anna.

“He is,” said Stone. “The problem with him, as with Mr. Ahmedov, is that he may not want to do it.”

“Why not?”

“He’s become something of a crank. He thinks we’re all incompetent.”

“Have you sounded him out?”

“No. That wouldn’t be appropriate.”

“Why not?”

“Because if I asked him, he would say no. The unfortunate fact, you see, is that I was part of the reason he resigned.”

“Oh,” said Anna softly.

“So you’ll have to make the approach yourself. He won’t be easy to recruit, but if he agrees, he’ll be the ideal person to handle Ascari. He should be easy to find in Athens.” He wrote out Hoffman’s home and office telephone numbers and handed the paper to Anna.

“Okay,” said Anna, “but I should warn you. I’m not convinced that Ascari will make a good agent. He’s unreliable, in addition to being a little shit.”

“Oh, he’ll make a tolerable agent, especially if Frank Hoffman gets his hands on him. I’ll tell you a little secret about recruiting which applies to people like Mr. Ascari. I call it Stone’s Inverse Law.”

“What’s Stone’s Inverse Law?”

“It states as follows: If you walk into a room and take an instant dislike to someone—a particularly sleazy or uninspiring character—then it is almost a certainty that this man can be recruited to become an agent of the United States of America.”

“That’s Ascari, all right.”

“Well, there you are,” said Stone. “You two may want to begin by contacting the people I mentioned. If they agree, we’ll talk about what to do next. We’ll certainly want to add more instruments to our little orchestra when we get further along, but this is enough to get you started. May I remind you, finally, of the importance of maintaining security. An injudicious word to anyone and the project may be ruined.” Stone looked gravely at Anna and at Taylor.

“What about the cutouts?” asked Taylor. “How much can we tell them?”

“Oh, I’ll leave that to you. You both have good judgment. The two people I mentioned are reasonably discreet, if it turns out that you’re working with them. I have no objection to your telling them a bit about what we’re up to. But you’ll know what makes sense in terms of operational security. Anything more?”

“What about money?” asked Anna.

“All arranged. The accounts have been opened. Marjorie will give you the checkbooks. And you already have the keys.”

“Yes, sir,” said Taylor, fishing the key chain out of his pocket.

“Now then, I must go. I have to maintain appearances at my non-job back at headquarters. Marjorie will be here to assist you with whatever details I’ve forgotten. I will be checking in regularly, but don’t hesitate to call me immediately if any problems arise. Marjorie has my home number.”

He shook hands with each of them again and headed for the stairs. Anna had one last question, which had been nagging in the back of her mind all day. On whose authority was this operation being conducted? Who ultimately was responsible for it? The question embarrassed her, and now, enveloped in the web spun so elegantly by the old man, it seemed almost a technicality. And it was too late anyway. Stone was walking down the stairs and out the door.

23

The Karpetland showroom seemed quite empty after Stone had left—even after Marjorie returned from lunch at two-thirty. She offered to make coffee for Taylor and Anna, and when they said no, she sat down at the desk closest to the door and took out a fat paperback book. She read with great concentration, pausing every few minutes to look dutifully at the black telephone.

Taylor took the desk farthest from the door and put his feet up, as if he’d been working in a run-down rug store in Rockville all his life. That left the middle desk for Anna. She sat down squarely, centering her bottom on the chair as if to anchor herself in time and space. She wanted to lean back and put her feet up, too, the way Taylor had done, but she was wearing a dress and she suspected that Marjorie would think it unprofessional. Taylor leaned toward her, wanting to make conversation, but Anna ignored him. She was already making plans.

“Marjorie,” she said. “Could you check the airline connections from Dulles to Athens for me, please.”

“What day will you be traveling, Miss Morgan?”

“Tuesday night if there’s a direct flight from Dulles. Otherwise, Wednesday night.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Marjorie, putting down her book.

“I’ll need a hotel room, too.”

“Which hotel would you like?”

“The Hilton,” interjected Taylor.

“Yes, I suppose the Hilton would be fine,” said Anna.

“What size room?”

“I don’t care. Whatever they have.”

“A suite,” called out Taylor.

Anna laughed. “Yes, why not. A suite please, Marjorie.”

Marjorie began busily dialing and reserving and arranging. While these negotiations were going on, Taylor had abandoned his desk and flopped down on the stack of Oriental rugs in the middle of the showroom floor. He appeared at first to be asleep, but when Anna walked over to take a closer look, he propped himself up on one elbow.

“Let’s get out of here,” he said. “This is a drag.”

“We can’t. We’ve got work to do.”

“No, we don’t. Stone has already taken care of all the busywork. We’re wasting our time sitting around here.”

Anna couldn’t disagree. “Where do you suggest we go?” she asked.

“I dunno. Take a walk. See the sights.”

“Of Rockville?”

“Why not?”

“What about Marjorie?”

“She’ll be fine. What does she need us for?”

It was true. Marjorie was running on autopilot. “I’ll get my purse,” said Anna.

Taylor walked over to Marjorie’s desk. “We’re going out for a while. You can knock off whenever you like.”

“Oh no, Mr. Goode. I’m here until five o’clock every day, Monday through Friday.”

“Fine. Whatever you say. If we’re not back by then, you just turn out the lights.”

“All rightie,” Said Marjorie.

The Rockville Pike was thick with Friday-afternoon traffic, the Toyotas and Datsuns and Hondas idling like smug little water bugs alongside their big, sulking American cousins. The