He lifted his hands. “But if you never got that first report…”
“We’ll talk about the report when the major gets here,” Mannington said, almost half musing. “Continue. Tell me what happened next.”
And so he continued, describing the events in the days and weeks that followed. He told of how the resistance movement was trying to find a way to get to Paul Adams and how they had hit on the idea of the approach through his daughter. Thus the false letter from the Ministry of Education.
He talked steadily for the next ten minutes and was just coming to the events of that evening when there was a knock at the door.
The major entered, followed by a lieutenant who looked scared to death. Both were stiff as ramrods as the major handed Burkhart a folder. Bryce tensed and had to forcibly struggle to keep his face calm and outwardly confident. Burkhart opened the folder. The major leaned over and pointed something out to him. Burkhart’s eyes scanned quickly, and he gave a soft grunt.
Bryce felt a sudden, blinding surge of relief. Burkhart was not pleased.
“Well?” Mannington demanded impatiently.
The colonel stepped to the desk and laid it before his boss. Then he whirled back to the lieutenant. “You were the duty officer on the night of the second of September?”
The lieutenant stiffened even more rigidly. “Yes, sir!”
“You took the phone call and made the entry in question?”
“Yes, sir!”
“Were you aware of the standing orders of the minister that any contact from Mr. Sherwood was to be reported directly to him immediately?”
There was a sheen of sweat on the lieutenant’s upper lip. “Sir, as is indicated in the log, I typed the report myself and sent it to the minister’s office, marked for his eyes only.”
“And to whom did you give this report, lieutenant?”
“To one of the couriers, sir. An older man.”
Mannington was reading the log. “A Sergeant Nathaniel Gorham.”
Bryce started slightly, then fought hard to bite back a smile. So that was how Gorham had pulled it off. How he had known enough back then to call in the report baffled Bryce. But then he had once said that time, as Bryce knew it, didn’t hold in the world of spirits.
The lieutenant started to tremble. “Yes, sir. Sergeant Gorham.”
The major was sweating now too. “He had the proper ID and security clearance. That’s noted there too.”
“All right, then get this Sergeant Gorham in here,” Burkhart snapped. “I want to talk with him.”
The major swallowed hard. “There is no such man on the roster, sir.”
Burkhart leaned forward, his mouth open; then his jaw snapped shut.
The major rushed on desperately now. “Lieutenant Royas, as is customary, filed a backup copy of the report.” He handed another folder to Burkhart.
Burkhart opened it, stared for a moment, then swung around to Mannington. “The backup file is properly marked, but there’s nothing in it.”
The major was now about the shade of a casaba melon. “We can only assume the Signals Division has been penetrated, sir. I assure you that whoever is responsible will be found and dealt with.”
Bryce was on his feet, eyes blazing. “You mean someone else knows about this? My cover has been blown?”
Even Colonel Burkhart was deeply shaken now. “I don’t know what this means,” he said in a low, tight voice. “But I will find out.”
The minister of internal affairs stood slowly and leaned over his desk until his face was a few inches from that of his ISD head. “I think that is a very good idea, Anthony,” he said softly. “I want a full report by 7:00 A.M. tomorrow morning.”
As the other three exited, Mannington sat back down, his face flushed and his hands pressed tight against the desk top. Finally he turned to Bryce. “Well, it looks as though I owe you an apology.”
Bryce waved it aside. “My only concern now is, who knows about who I really am?”
“Hopefully, we can find that out.” He sighed. “So what now?”
Bryce took a quick breath. Here came the plunge. “Elliot, I have a suggestion.”
“What?”
“Maybe we can still salvage this. Why don’t you send me back to my cell while Colonel Burkhart tries to track this leak down? And maybe it would be wise to bring in the other prisoners for interrogation as well. That way my being called out won’t look suspicious. Then, come morning, we can decide where to go from there.”
Mannington gave him a long searching look, then finally nodded.
For some time after Bryce left, Mannington sat in his chair, smoking one cigarette after another. Finally he lifted the phone.
A few moments later there was a soft knock at the door, and the guard was there with another of the prisoners.
“Leave him manacled,” Mannington said gruffly. “Return for him in five minutes.”
The guard saluted and exited. As the door shut, Mannington was instantly out of his chair and around the desk, smiling. They shook hands firmly.
Mannington stepped back and looked at the man before him. Agent in place, a mole, a sleeper—those were the terms in espionage parlance. Though this man was listed in the files of ISD’s Special Operations Branch by the code name “Red Fox,” not even Colonel Burkhart knew his real identity. Mannington was his control, his field operations officer, and his one and only contact. It had been thus for nearly six years since Mannington had hand-picked him and sent him out to make his way in a dangerous and clandestine world.
Mannington took the silver cigarette case from the desk and offered it to the other. The man lit up, then took a deep draw, watching Mannington closely, his eyes filled with questions.
The irony of it all made Mannington laugh, for he had been nearly as startled to see this man come out of the safe house as Bryce Sherwood had been to see Mannington step into the light.
He went back around the desk and sat down, lit a cigarette of his own, then laughed again. “Who would have dreamed that you would be caught in a net meant for other fishes?”
The other shook his head in disgust. “Well, you just blew six years of work.”
For a moment Mannington considered telling Red Fox about Bryce Sherwood, then suddenly thought better of it. Mannington was a firm believer in covering every bet. One way to do that was to keep most of the cards to yourself.
He smiled again. “I’ll be sending you for interrogation along with the others. But don’t be dismayed. I think there may be a way to salvage this whole thing without too much damage.”
Chapter 24
By 8:25 the next morning, Bryce had again been hauled out of his cell past the silent, grim faces of the others down the cell block and taken back to Mannington’s office.
The guard shoved him through the door, and then immediately things changed. Mannington was waiting with a smile and a full breakfast spread out on the desk. Bryce tore into it with relish, feeling guilty as he thought of the others, but knowing that refusal to eat would look peculiar. Burkhart came in a few minutes later and stood nearby, watching Bryce as he finished, his eyes brooding.
Burkhart, with occasional glances at Bryce, reported the findings of the night. The lieutenant who had logged in the entry had passed an exhausting and grueling interrogation, including the use of a polygraph. There was no question but what he was telling the truth. His recall of the contents of the report perfectly corroborated Bryce’s story. The investigation Burkhart had thrown over his entire operation was thorough and exhausting, but it turned up nothing. There was no indication of how the reports had disappeared.
Mannington grunted as Burkhart finished, then turned to Bryce. “So, where does that leave us now?”
Bryce sat back and pushed the rest of the breakfast aside. “I’ve been thinking about that all night.” Which was certainly true. He had slept little, elated beyond belief that they had pulled it off, but deeply sobered by the challenges with which it now put him face to face.<
br />
“Go on.”
“My biggest fear is, who took the report? Who knows I am really working for you?”
Burkhart nodded grudgingly. “I also have been asking that question. It doesn’t make sense. If it was the resistance movement, Bryce would not be here now talking to us. He would be dead.”
Bryce gave a quick shudder. “Exactly.”
“So?” Mannington said.
“So,” Bryce plunged in eagerly, “I don’t think I’m blown. That means we may still have an opportunity to let this thing unfold. I have a suggestion. If I can persuade Paul Adams to join us, we could very likely snare every major leader of the resistance movement from all over CONAS, to say nothing of the possibility of exposing the entire network of AIS agents.”
Mannington shook his head slowly. “It would be extremely dangerous for you.”
Just how dangerous you hardly know, he agreed silently.
Burkhart was thoughtful. “But on the other hand, we’ve known about this so-called secret agreement of the Western Alliance. We know they’re anxious to support any movement that will create problems for us.”
Mannington was nodding. “It would be a perfect way to lure those countries into a trap. It would be terribly embarrassing for them. And it could even give us an excuse to retaliate against them in new ways.”
“So,” Bryce said quietly, “isn’t that worth the risks?”
“Yes,” Mannington said, suddenly decisive. “Yes, it is.”
“You said you had a suggestion,” Burkhart spoke up. “Why don’t you lay it out for us?”
And so Bryce proceeded to tell them what he thought they should do.
An hour later, as the first steps of Bryce’s plan were being put into motion, Colonel Anthony Burkhart came back into the office of Elliot Mannington, Minister of Internal Affairs.
Mannington gestured to a chair, then took out the cigarette case and extended it to the other. Finally, Mannington spoke. “So, Anthony, tell me how you peg this whole affair.”
The other was silent for a time, brooding again. He took a deep breath, shook his head. “I don’t know. Too many things don’t make sense. I have the nagging feeling that something isn’t right, but I just can’t put my finger on it.”
Mannington nodded. “Exactly.” He paused, thoughtful. “I have three theories.”
Burkhart straightened a little to watch his boss more closely.
“One, there is a conspiracy within ISD, of which you are aware and with which you, Colonel Burkhart, are in collusion.” He laughed softly at the sudden paleness on Burkhart’s face. “That’s the least likely, of course.” But his voice suddenly hardened. “But if it proves to be true, it would show you to be a very foolish man, Anthony.”
Burkhart did not respond. Denials would be seen only as weakness.
“Second possibility. There is outside penetration into ISD or possibly an internal conspiracy of which you know nothing.” He puffed deeply and blew the smoke into the air above his head, watching it idly. “But that doesn’t add up either. Why would Bryce Sherwood be in on such a conspiracy? The ISD is not his bag. Nor is he theirs. In fact, few people except you and the prime minister even know of him. I like it that way. Keeps him low key. Allows him to do some critical things for me. But he knows very few ISD people, rarely even goes over there.”
“Besides,” the colonel finished for him, “what has he to gain? Only the top three or four people in my organization are as high as he is now. The risks would be tremendous for very little gain.”
“Right again, so theory two seems weak. Unless, of course, the conspiracy has nothing to do with Sherwood, and the disappearance of his report just happens to be one tip of an iceberg we accidently discovered.”
Mannington puffed on his cigarette, then stubbed it into an ashtray. “Theory three is that somehow Bryce is up to something and has managed to pull off a very, very clever deception.”
“But how? I’ve gone over and over that possibility. There’s no question but what the duty officer is telling the truth. He did get that report. And what is most puzzling, who was this Gorham? And even if he was working with Bryce, how could Bryce ensure that he would be the one to get the report? There are always three or four couriers on duty, and they rotate as the messages come in. There’s no way Bryce could control that.”
Mannington was pulling at his lip, equally troubled, but pleased that his ISD commander had been thinking about this as much as he had.
“And here again,” Burkhart was saying, “there seems to be no motive. Unless it’s to somehow to pull a coup against you, but that doesn’t make much sense either. That would take the subversion of the entire ISD, plus he would have to have the support of others on the Central Committee, and there is not the slightest hint he has been working with them.”
“So,” Mannington concluded, “what is the answer?”
The colonel shook his head, and both men fell silent for a long moment before Burkhart responded. “Isn’t there a fourth possibility?”
“What?”
“That Sherwood is telling the truth exactly as it happened and that he has given us the opportunity of a lifetime.”
Mannington smiled—a brief, humorless smile that did not touch his eyes. “Of course. That is the most likely. And we must proceed on that assumption.”
“Of course,” Burkhart said evenly.
“It answers the most questions.”
“Yes, it does.”
Mannington formed a steeple with his fingers and peered into it moodily. “But as you know,” he said slowly, “I never like to sit with my back to an open window.”
“Only the foolish do,” Burkhart agreed. “What would you like me to do?”
“Let it run as Bryce has outlined it. But I want a detailed contingency plan on my desk by tomorrow morning. How do we guarantee that Bryce is not going to hand us any little surprises?”
Burkhart rose. “You’ll have that today.”
“Good.”
As the colonel exited, Elliot Mannington sat back, making the steeple again, staring into nothingness. He had not come to this position by being careless nor by ignoring his instincts. And every instinct was whispering that something wasn’t quite right.
As the heavy army truck leaned slightly into a curve, Bryce let the motion carry him enough to bump Jessie Lambert’s shoulder. They were headed up a sizable grade, and the engine was in a high-pitched roar. For the first two and a half hours out of Washington, the two guards riding in the back with their prisoners had stayed completely alert, watching for the slightest provocation, jabbing hard with a gun barrel to emphasize their grunted commands for silence. But for the last fifteen minutes, the monotony of the ride had started to tell. Bryce saw that the larger man was fighting a valiant battle against heavy eyelids.
“I’m going to try to take the guard’s weapon,” he whispered loudly, though he almost could have shouted it and not been heard over the roar of the truck’s engine. Jessie’s head barely came up, but he saw the alarm in her eyes. There was an almost imperceptible shake of her head, which he answered with an emphatic nod.
The five of them were chained together with leg irons, and also individually handcuffed. Bryce, Jessie, and Wesley Quinn were down one side of the canvas-covered back, and Neal and Lewis were on the other. In addition to the guards back with them, there was another in the cab of the truck, and the driver was armed as well.
“Tell Wes to take the other one once it starts.”
Though she obviously did not approve, Jessie waited until the truck lurched again, then passed the message on to Quinn. Out of the corner of his eye, Bryce caught the AIS agent’s quick nod. Within moments, Neal and Lewis had read the unspoken warning in Bryce’s eyes. They were ready, though for exactly what they weren’t sure.
Somehow sensing that the mood in the truck had changed, the one guard’s head came up, and he eyed them warily. Bryce leaned forward to look directly into the eyes of the man. “Where are y
ou taking us?” he shouted.
The second guard came back to full alertness as the first waved the muzzle of his rifle in Bryce’s direction. “No talking!”
“We have a right to know where we are being taken.”
This time the muzzle came up level, and steady as a rock. “Shut up! Do not talk!”
“Is it to the Blue Creek Work Camp like they say? We have a right to know.”
Bryce took a quick breath. He had finally persuaded Mannington that the guards should not be informed about what was going to happen lest things look too pat. When the time was right, Bryce would tell the others about his involvement with Mannington, but in the meantime he didn’t want to be shot by a suddenly suspicious group of resistance fighters.
For the same reason, he had insisted that the guards carry live ammunition. It greatly increased the risks, but again, blanks would be a dead giveaway. He pulled a face at the lousy pun. He had finally agreed to one concession. The guards had been given the strictest orders that none of the prisoners were to be harmed. He hoped that would be enough of an edge to carry the day. That was assuming, of course, that Colonel Burkhart had passed on those instructions.
Bryce felt a sudden lurch in his stomach, for Colonel Burkhart was not the highest man on his list of those he could trust.
The nearest guard had lumbered to his feet and was coming toward Bryce, his eyes murderous. The second man was standing now too, weapon raised. The guard stopped in front of Bryce, coming down into a half crouch. He jammed the muzzle hard against Bryce’s ribs. “I said no talking!” he screamed into Bryce’s face.
Bryce raised both hands into the air, the fear suddenly as much real as pretended. “We have a right to know where we are going,” he said stubbornly.
The man, face flushed with anger, reached out with his free hand and grabbed Bryce by the throat, his fingers digging viciously into his windpipe. “Shut your mouth! Do you hear me!”
Bryce brought his hands down with all the power he could muster, letting the chain of the handcuffs catch the man squarely on the bridge of his nose. At the same time, he thrust his body to the side and away from the man’s rifle. There was a scream of pain, a deafening blast, and Bryce felt the bench at his side splinter. At that moment, the second man made his mistake. He leaped forward to help his partner. Lewis and Wes Quinn were up and clubbed him from behind simultaneously. He went down hard, the rifle clattering away.
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