The Double Image

by Helen Macinnes

  “So the girl will go in good faith. She will hear and see no political evil because she doesn’t believe that people like Erica can be part of her world.” Rosie shook his head; how often he had seen that pattern repeated. It never amused him.

  “Exactly. Erica will choose her, herself. In fact, she had two possibilities in mind, right away, and gave their names to Peter so that he could have a check made on them for security. Her favourite candidate was—” and here Duclos cleared his throat lightly—“an American student in Paris. Erica and she have attended the same art classes, seemingly. Name: Veronica Clark. Age: twenty-five. She lives in a small hotel in the Beaux-Arts district: Hotel Beauharnais.”

  “Poor Veronica,” Partridge said. “What art student would refuse a visit to Mykonos?”

  Rosie looked at him thoughtfully. “What intelligence agent, for that matter? You seem to be the expert on the Aegean, Jim. If it isn’t a rude question, how did you manage that, sitting at a desk in Germany?”

  “The nucleus of the Lesbos organisation was recruited from a Communist network in West Berlin. We seem to be facing the same kind of thing now, but this time they’re working out of Paris. And—this time, too—the boss-man has appeared, himself, to make sure that there will be no more failures. Could be?”

  “Insarov?” Rosie nodded. That could be.

  Duclos threw up his hands. “Let us finish with Erica, first,” he insisted. “You had two questions about her, Rosie. You’ve only asked one.”

  “Had she anything to say about the American called Alex? Anything that could give us a lead on him?”

  “She remembered that her meeting with Alex last week had troubled her; he was cautious to an extreme. But perhaps he would feel easier when he did not have to carry new gloves and a travel book on tours to Scandinavia. She was reproved for her flippancy. She was told that he had every reason to be cautious in Paris.”

  “Meaning he is well known? Of some importance?” Rosie asked quickly.

  “He has an important job, certainly. That we learned from the Russian conversation that followed next. Shall I go on with it, now?”

  “One last question about dear Erica,” Partridge said, glancing at Rosie. “Did you have her followed, photographed?”

  Duclos looked at Rosie, too. “We tried to play it your way,” he told him. “We only followed a little. After she changed cars twice, we decided that any more following would only lead to discovery.”

  “We’ll get her on Mykonos, anyway,” Rosie said impatiently.

  “If you play it carefully.”

  “You mean Mykonos is of no interest to you?”

  “Personally, I am interested. But Bernard sees his first duty in putting the spy network in Paris quite out of business. Understandably. After all, the American base in Turkey is your affair, not ours.” He was watching Partridge’s astonished eyes with some amusement. “Yes, at Smyrna. It is nice to know you may be very near the truth,” he agreed.

  “Any proof?” Partridge asked intently.

  “Only what we heard in the conversation between two Russians as soon as Erica had departed. One was Peter—his voice is deep, hoarse, identifiable. The other we could not place, but he is most certainly Peter’s superior. Now, let me remember...” Yves was putting his facts into the neat and logical order that he found agreeable: the free-floating ideas, the quick jumps in thinking practised by his American friends were something that irked his sense of balance and proportion. Small details, perhaps of greatest importance, could be lost in the excitement of discovery. This report was his to give, and he was determined to give it in his way.

  “Alex is going to Smyrna. Purpose not disclosed. He has important contacts there. Names not disclosed—but from Peter’s remarks, we judge that these contacts do not know that Alex is a Communist agent. After that, he proceeds to Mykonos. His mission accomplished, he returns to Paris. So much for Alex, except that reference was made by Peter to the Farraday party, which Alex attended. So he is the American you are looking for, Rosie.”

  Rosie, grimly silent, nodded.

  “Next, there was talk of John Craig. They are no longer interested in him. They know, now, his purpose for travelling abroad; they checked thoroughly on his credentials as a historian. Peter had some reservations. What if Craig were to extend his visit to Troy down as far as Ephesus, which is close to Smyrna? What if he were to meet Alex by chance? There, the other Russian was much more casual and confident. Over-caution, he said, was another name for timidity. Alex would meet several people who knew him, no doubt. That was why he would use his real name in Smyrna and have an innocent excuse for his travels. No one would question him unless he seemed evasive. If he was not good enough to stand up to a meeting with Craig or anyone else who knew him, he was of no use for this mission. Peter made a hasty retraction. Alex, it seems, had been his choice.”

  “So Craig is off their list,” Partridge said reflectively, and caught Rosie’s speculative eye on him, and shrugged apologetically. Still, he thought, that wasn’t a bad idea of mine; Craig’s a natural for this job.

  “It was just then,” Duclos continued, his voice quickening, rising, “at the point where Peter was flustered, and as annoyed as he dared to be, that he made a slip. He said, “In spite of what you think, I did not select Alex because of any personal interest. You will find, Comrade Insarov, that he is the man for this mission.’ There followed a very definite silence. As now.” Duclos smiled at Partridge. “That guess of yours was certainly right. Insarov must be Berg—why else would he be interested in Craig, whose only claim to notice is that he has seen Berg?”

  “There was more than guessing involved,” said Rosie, giving Partridge his full due.

  “And more than one man involved, too,” Partridge reminded them. How many agents had been alerted, each producing a small fraction of information, and some of it useless, all risking their lives? How many analysts breaking down those fractions? How many evaluators fitting them together in different ways? “You know, when I started work in Intelligence, I had a vision of Partridge, out there all by himself, keeping the peace with his little pistol and brilliant action, a life of fast cars and beautiful women and expense accounts that didn’t have to be rendered.” He allowed himself a laugh then, covering his own elation with a touch of self-ridicule.

  “And lastly,”—Duclos insisted on giving the report in full, in logical order—“they may be closing down Le Happening. Its uses are over, I suppose.”

  “Or have they noticed your interest in the club? These things do get around,” Rosie said. That had been one of his chief problems all along.

  “Fortunately,” Duclos assured him. “I think our interest in Le Happening will be blamed on Interpol. Bernard is adding a little proof of that: he is getting the police to raid the club for narcotics tonight. I thought I might drop around—”

  He looked at Rosie, who had glanced up sharply and raised an eyebrow. But Rosie made no other comment. And that, thought Duclos, saves a useless argument. He went on, “As for Insarov, he is leaving Paris this afternoon. He mentioned business in Milan next week. If everything goes well, Peter is to set their plan in motion. From Paris? We couldn’t fathom that. Our experts are working over that part of the transcript, phrase by phrase.”

  “Poor old bloody experts,” Partridge said cheerfully, “and they never get a trip to Mykonos, either.” He choked back some of his jubilation. I hope you’re planning to send me along, Rosie. Are you going, Yves?”

  Duclos grinned widely. “I’m doing my best on that, right now. Erica is possibly a French national, and she is certainly part of a Paris network. She would be a good catch for us. And she knows Peter, who is obviously the director, or one of the aides to the director, of that network. So—” Duclos spread his hands, and beamed. “It seems as if you’ll get one of your old dreams, Jim: she’s very pretty, this Erica, and with style. Bernard had a good picture of her made for his files, drawn from a precise description by the cloakroom attendant.
Blonde, nose retroussé, green eyes, excellent figure, good clothes. But naturally—she must fit the circles in which she seems to move.”

  Rosie was not listening. He didn’t even respond with the joke that Yves had expected. He said, “Jim, I’m turning this operation over to you. From today. The best thing I can do is to retire into the background.”

  Partridge and Duclos stared at him, at each other. “But—” Partridge began.

  “Let them think I haven’t one suspicion that something big is shaping up. Relax their nerves for them, shall we? Yes, Jim, that’s the way it has to be. They don’t know you at all. But apparently they know me.”

  “So you were followed today,” Partridge said. He wished his guess about Rosie’s delay in arriving here hadn’t been so right.

  “Very intently. I shook them off, I think. They’ll only allow me one success like that. Just one more, and they’ll know I’m on guard, expecting something. Which is proof I know something.” He studied his hands. “Damn their eyes and ears, they’ve even tapped my telephone,” he said in rising anger.

  “They’ve really drawn a bead on you,” Partridge said slowly.

  Duclos was perturbed. “But Rosie, how could that be? You’re careful, you’re—”

  “They are only testing me, so far. But I’d like to know who gave them the clue that I was the man to watch,” Rosie said softly, dangerously. “It’s someone in security, that’s for sure. Or someone who is in contact with him.”

  “I don’t think the leak came from us,” Duclos said quickly. “After all, there is only Bernard and I who know—”

  “It didn’t come from you, Yves,” Rosie said heavily. “It came from someone who has connections or trusting friends in a branch of our own security. And that’s one thing I’m going to find out, even if I’m sitting on the side lines. By God, I’ll find that out.” He glared around the room. Then he relaxed, forcing a smile. “Now I had better make an involved exit from this place. Said I would be back at the office by four. Which reminds me, Jim, there’s a contract waiting on my desk for you to sign.” And how will he handle that? Rosie wondered.

  Partridge rose and went over to the telephone beside Mimi. He was the Caen Distributor once more, telling Rosie’s secretary that he wanted to speak with Monsieur Rosenfeld. Not yet returned? Then let him be most kindly informed that it was unfortunately impossible to sign the agreement today; another offer at a much better price was under consideration. With regrets and distinguished salutations...

  He’ll do all right, Rosie admitted to himself. He knows as much as you do about this project, perhaps even more in some of the details he gathered during the last four months. He knows the support we can give him, and where to get it. He can cope with Greek and Turkish Intelligence—he must have worked closely with them on the Lesbos-Izmir affair. He’s the eventual replacement for you, anyway, so shut up. But all these admissions didn’t comfort Rosie. This was one operation that he would have liked to see through, all the way to the very end. Oh, well, there was no use in delaying his exit. He shook hands with Yves. “That was an excellent report you made, a good piece of work by everyone concerned. My congratulations to Bernard. Tell him I’ll be at the golf club on Sunday. I’ll thank him, then, myself.”

  “And just when the overhead route to my studio was working so perfectly,” Duclos said with real regret. “Never mind, Rosie. You’ll be using it again by August. Want to bet?”

  To Partridge, Rosie said, “Don’t let the blue skies of Mykonos deceive you. This will be no picnic.”

  “I could use your advice—”

  “You don’t need it.” He knows the ropes, he knows where to get help and how to use it. “Except,” Rosie added lightly, “I think you’d better pack that little pistol, too.”

  Partridge grinned. “I still need your advice. Can I contact you?”

  “Not in person. Through channels. I’ll always be available even if I’m in the background. And I’ll send you all new information I turn up on Wilshot and Bradley.” His voice had been kept low. Then, more naturally, “Oh, and Jim—”

  “Yes?”

  “Go easy on Craig.”

  Partridge’s grin widened. “He’s a natural.”

  “I know. That’s our big temptation, isn’t it?” Rosie clapped Partridge’s shoulder as he turned away to cross the room to Mimi. She was working happily at her desk, and had turned on her radio to keep her company; perhaps also to show she was much too busy listening to Les Sylphides to have heard any of their long discussion. She was a woman of infinite tact. Rosie slipped his arm around the strong waist as they walked in close step to the door. “Take care of yourself, Mimi.”

  “But I always do, Rosee!” She gave him a generous hug, a kiss on both cheeks. He left without looking back at the watching faces. “Was that goodbye?” she asked as she locked the door and was startled by an afterthought.

  “A temporary one,” Jim Partridge said. He actually meant that, which startled him, too. His promotion was exhilarating, he might as well admit it. But he hadn’t wanted it, not quite this way. He wondered if he’d have the good sense and the guts to step aside like that, let a younger man who could be a competitor take over? Then the weight of the new responsibility hit him, full force. He walked over to the small table, pulled a stool beside it, and sat down to look at the map.

  Duclos was still thinking about Rosie. “Perhaps he was too quick, there. He knows enough dodges to cover up his moves. He didn’t need to—”

  “Didn’t he? I’ll quote you, Yves: ‘If everything goes well, Peter is to set their plan in motion.’ But if they think that we are interested in them, then everything is not going well and Peter will set quite a different plan in motion.” Insarov hadn’t prepared so thoroughly without having some alternative to fall back on. Not Insarov. “You know what that could mean for us.”

  “They win; we lose,” Duclos said soberly. “Are you planning to go to Mykonos yourself or are you sending someone else?”

  Partridge thought of three men who could be sent. And yet, time was short. There would have to be a long briefing, a thorough preparation. “There are so many small pieces to be remembered in this damned jig-saw puzzle,” he said, “and if they are not placed correctly, then—” He searched for a cigarette and lit it.

  “Then,” Duclos finished for him, “the main pieces won’t drop naturally into place?”

  Partridge nodded.

  Duclos placed his finger on Smyrna. “What’s their plan? To make sure of Cyprus, once the UN troops leave it? To play the same game on Rhodes, setting Turk against Greek, and both against the Americans? They tried that before. And when they fail, they wait a little, learn from their mistakes, try another way. Get rid of American bases, isn’t that their purpose?”

  Partridge looked at Duclos’ finger, now tapping Smyrna impatiently. The American base there was NATO’s chief installation in the eastern Mediterranean. “I didn’t think you worried so much about NATO,” he teased gently.

  “I’ve criticised it,” the Frenchman admitted, “and, from our point of view, with justification. But as of this moment, I prefer not to see it castrated.” He relaxed into a smile. “Friends are the only people who can agree to disagree, no? Besides, Jim, it is one thing to give up a base by your own decision; quite another to be forced out of it by your enemy’s skill in psychological warfare. That would only prove to the world that we are very, very stupid. It is not an agreeable label to have hung around our necks.”

  Partridge stubbed out his half-finished cigarette. “Self-defeating,” he admitted. Duclos and I can work together, he thought, and gave thanks. “I wonder if you could handle Milan for us, try to discover where Insarov goes from there?”

  “I’ll talk with Bernard about that.”

  “That would be helpful. It’s just possible that Insarov would discount any co-operation between you and us. Under present conditions,” he added tactfully, not mentioning De Gaulle. “By the way, I think you’d be interest
ed to know that we’ve sent Antonini to the Smyrna base. There is quite a job for him to do there, I hear.”

  “More listening devices—just like those he found in your Moscow Embassy?” Duclos was shocked.

  “Also,” Partridge went on, “Val Sutherland is following him.”

  Duclos stared. He inclined his head, pursed his lips. “Then he is not a journalist? And his Saigon assignment was only a cover story?”

  “It still is. He is supposed to be in Viet Nam, right now, but he will make a long tour of news-gathering in and out of the front lines, which will explain any absence from Saigon. It was thought best to keep his visit to Smyrna quite incognito. You agree?”

  Duclos did agree, emphatically, and with considerable relief. What he had been told was a demonstration of trust. Rosie’s going would not make so much difference after all. “So Sutherland is the man the Communists ought to have tried to question, and not Antonini?” The idea amused him. That had been one small victory, at least.

  “Sutherland is the head of our tear-out-the-walls-and-ceilings experts. He has quite a sense of humour in fixing the Russians’ gadgets so that they don’t know which to trust—or distrust. That can really foul up their calculations. They don’t like to move unless they are really sure—they learned that lesson from Khrushchev’s rockets in Cuba, remember? A big mistake.”

  “A mistake only because it failed,” Duclos said. “We have information that the military will never forgive Khrushchev for that. Another excuse will be found to be used against him in the history books, of course—something more peace-like than charging him with the Cuban failure. It would never do to emphasise how important those rockets in Cuba really were.”

  Partridge looked at Duclos thoughtfully. Rockets in Cuba... rockets in Cyprus? “Do you suppose,” he asked slowly, “that Alex is being sent to Smyrna to learn who Sutherland is and what he has discovered? As I said, one of Sutherland’s jokes is to leave a few of their listening devices working so that we can feed bits and pieces of false information through them. He does this because we can never be sure that we’ve discovered all the gadgets they’ve installed. Yet, if they don’t know what information they can trust, their next big operation may be turned into another fiasco. So they need Sutherland. They have got to have him.”