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

What can we do about it? Look on the bottom of page one. Big headline: Leftist bombings in Turkey and Italy. There goes NATO. Ooops, we fucked up again. Turn inside and what have you got? ‘CIA Agents in Greek Armed Forces, Socialist MPs Claim.’ Which would be nice if it were true, but it isn’t. And here’s a gem on page three. You read this one.” He handed the paper to Anna, pointing to a story in the middle of the page.

“ ‘Soviets Blame CIA for Italy’s Violence.’ ”

“Go ahead,” said Hoffman. “Read it.”

“ ‘Moscow. The U.S. Central Intelligence Agency was blamed by a Soviet newspaper today for Italy’s current wave of political violence. The daily Sovietskaya Rossiya said CIA agents were inspiring gangs of left-wing and right-wing extremists to throw bombs and shoot around corners at democratic leaders.’ ”

“Get that? ‘Shoot around corners.’ Finish reading.”

“ ‘At CIA headquarters in Langley, Virginia, the agency’s covert-operations section is working night and day on plans for provocations, murders and political divisions in Italy, the commentary said.’ ”

“Wonderful! The local paper in Athens, capital of one of our NATO allies, is printing raw KGB press releases. Oh well, another fuck-up. What can we do? So let’s see what’s happening on the home front, with the world turning to shit and us taking all the blame. Bingo, here’s a story on page six. You’ll like this one. ‘Lesbian Policewomen Win Back Pay,’ reads the headline. And I quote: ‘Six former Boise policewomen fired by the city in 1977 for alleged homosexual activity have been awarded $103,000 in back pay, tax payments and attorneys’ fees.’ Isn’t that nice? Aren’t you glad to see our law-enforcement community worrying about the really important things?”

“You really are an asshole, Mr. Hoffman,” said Anna. She stood up.

“Hey, sit down. We were just getting down to business.”

“Not me. I’m leaving.”

“Calm down.”

“I am calm,” said Anna. She walked to the door and opened it. “Boy, was Stone wrong about you. He said you were a crank, but that you were worth the trouble. I feel sorry for you, to be honest. You really are pathetic.”

Hoffman countered with an obscenity, but it didn’t matter. Anna was gone.

The phone rang in Anna’s room the next morning at seventh-thirty. “This is your wake-up call,” said a male voice.

“I didn’t leave a wake-up call.”

“Okay, this isn’t your wake-up call. It’s Frank Hoffman. I’m calling because I owe you an apology.”

“That’s okay,” said Anna. “Forget it. Goodbye.”

“Don’t hang up. I mean it. Let’s have breakfast and we’ll talk about it.”

“No.”

“You gotta have breakfast, honey.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Yes. You do. I already ordered it.”

“You what?”

“I already ordered breakfast for you. I hope you like scrambled eggs.”

“You can’t do that.”

“I already did. I know people here at the hotel. It’ll be up to your room in about fifteen minutes. So will I.”

“You can’t come up to my room.”

“Why not? You have a suite, right?”

“How do you know that?”

“I told you. I have friends at the hotel. See you soon.”

Anna was tired of arguing and hung up the phone.

Hoffman arrived bearing flowers, in addition to the breakfast tray. Not just a bouquet, but a whole trolleyful of orchids and gladioli and tulips. Anna wasn’t sure she would open the door until he started singing. It sounded like an impromptu medley from Kiss Me, Kate, but it was hard to tell because Hoffman’s voice was so gravelly and he dropped so many words. Anna decided to let him in—breakfast, flowers, Cole Porter and all. What else could she do?

“You were right last night,” said Hoffman when he was seated and attacking his share of the breakfast tray. “I did act like an asshole. And I’m sorry. Really. I feel terrible.”

“Stop apologizing,” said Anna. “You’ll make me feel guilty.”

“Good,” said Hoffman, shoveling scrambled eggs into his mouth with a piece of toast. “I want you to feel guilty. Guilty enough that you’ll renew your offer.”

“What offer? I never made an offer.”

“The offer you were going to make, to have me help you and Stone in your little Soviet caper, whatever it is.”

“Why do you want to help?”

“Because I’m bored. And patriotic. And because you people need me.”

“I thought you didn’t like Stone.”

“Stone’s all right. Too smart for a dumb guy like me. But it’s not his fault the world’s fucked up.”

Anna looked carefully at the large man eating breakfast so enthusiastically before her in the sitting room of her hotel suite. He was still wearing the same peculiar gold ornament around his neck that she had noticed the night before. It looked like a small life preserver.

“What’s that?” asked Anna, pointing to the gold piece, changing the subject and giving herself time to think.

“A doughnut,” said Hoffman.

“Why?”

“Because I like doughnuts.”

“Oh.”

“I tell some of my Saudi friends that it’s an award I got from the agency. I say the ‘O’ stands for operations. They like that.”

“But it’s not an award.”

“No, like I said, it’s a doughnut. But it doesn’t matter what it is. The Saudis like it because it’s big and heavy and expensive. They’re very size-conscious, the Saudis. One of them actually offered to buy it from me. Can you believe that? How can you respect people like that?”

“I see,” said Anna.

“So listen. What kind of job do you have for me?”

“I didn’t say I had any job.”

“I know. But if you did, what would it be?”

Anna was thinking, as he talked, that since joining the agency, she had met only one person who was as outrageous as Hoffman, though in a much nastier and more dangerous way, and that was Ali Ascari. It occurred to her suddenly that these two gentlemen might make a perfect match, Frank and Ali.

“I can tell you a few things about the operation,” said Anna. “The rest is code word.”

“Yeah, yeah. Sure. Code word.”

“We have an Iranian asset. His family is from Baku, in Azerbaijan. He claims to have contacts who are operating across the border, smuggling radios and VCRs and Korans. And