Leon Uris

by Topaz

  “False data are invented in Moscow, passed to the Resident in Paris, and given to Topaz agents in the SDECE. From there the information is filtered into the ministries, the Cabinet, or wherever we want it. These lies, stamped with the seal of authenticity by SDECE, are briefed to President La Croix by the man known as Columbine.”

  “How many times have you worked this?”

  “Dozens. Tens of dozens. Nowhere as successfully as in France, the weak link. During the Algerian crisis we were able to implant reports inside the French Cabinet to the effect that the CIA owned the Pepsi-Cola franchise in Algeria as well as several newspapers and used these as fronts to feed money to the Algerian rebels. As you know, gentlemen, many Frenchmen believe America is responsible for Algeria. This is largely the work of Disinformation.

  “Last year,” Kuznetov continued, “during the Generals’ Revolt in Algeria, Soviet Disinformation was able to establish enormous confusion about the threat of the Algerian French generals to land in Paris with paratroops and take over metropolitan France. The reaction of the American President was to offer aid. Thanks to Soviet Disinformation, this offer was interpreted by La Croix as an American attempt to meddle in a French internal affair, even as a springboard to introduce large numbers of American forces into metropolitan France.

  “And so it goes. When President La Croix travels from France, often Soviet Disinformation is fed to him to the effect that the Americans are undermining his visits and plotting anti-French demonstrations. He is positive it is the work of the CIA.

  “As you know, La Croix has very bad eyes and cannot read long documents. Therefore he depends greatly on verbal briefings. This makes him particularly vulnerable. We see to it he gets our share through Columbine.”

  “Who is he?” André demanded.

  “Who knows?” Kuznetov said. “He may be in SDECE, the Cabinet, the military. I only know if we want Disinformation to reach La Croix, he gets it.”

  “My God,” Michael Nordstrom blurted inadvertently.

  “Kuznetov,” Marshall McKittrick said tersely, “did you use Disinformation against us at Suez?”

  Boris Kuznetov smiled. “You are getting the picture. It was one of our greatest triumphs.”

  “Of course!” André cried. “Of course! It was the only way, Marsh. We were tricked.”

  In the hallway, Marshall McKittrick pulled Nordstrom aside. “Get this transcript to me at the White House immediately,” he said with obvious alarm.

  14

  THE PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES reread his letter to the President of France.

  The White House

  October 20, 1962

  DEAR PRESIDENT LA CROIX,

  Sources we consider completely reliable have made us aware of a situation of such gravity I am taking the unusual step of writing this single-copy letter, which will be delivered by my Special Assistant Marshall McKittrick.

  We have been informed of the existence of a vast espionage network of French citizens employed as agents of the Soviet Union. This network operates under the code name of Topaz. It appears they have been successful in deeply infiltrating all branches of government, particularly your Secret Service.

  Employing a unique method termed “Disinformation,” under the direction of Sergei Mikeloff of Soviet KGB and Soviet Paris Resident Gorin, they have been able to direct false information and confusing intelligence into your highest councils.

  It is further revealed to us by our same source that a member, or members, of Topaz are among your personal entourage.

  I urge you to send a team of experts to the United States to study all the information we have gathered and to interrogate our prime source of discovery.

  We understand that the Topaz network is capable of supplying Soviet KGB with secret NATO documents and trust you will employ all deliberate action in joining with us to ferret out and destroy this operation.

  With kindest personal regards,

  The President affixed his signature to the letter and handed it to Marshall McKittrick, who folded it and placed it in his breast pocket.

  “I’ll seal it after Devereaux has read it,” McKittrick said.

  The President nodded. “I’ll be calling the French Ambassador in later today,” he said. “You’ll be on the way to Paris tomorrow.”

  “Right,” McKittrick answered.

  “Lord,” the President said, “I hope La Croix doesn’t take this for another trick.”

  15

  AS THE NIP OF autumn fell on Washington, an outward calm and normalcy blanketed the explosive inner struggle.

  Doves and Hawks swept in and out of the West Wing of the White House in the uninterrupted flow of the hourless days. With the evidence of Soviet missiles in Cuba proved beyond doubt, the crisis heightened.

  The Hawks and Doves debated their points of view; the consultants and appraisers and evaluators and advisers and gatherers of information consulted, appraised, evaluated, advised, and briefed.

  And then the moment of awesome decision fell upon a single man, the President.

  On a wet day late in October, Ambassador of France René d’Arcy received a request to come to the White House. He was passed through the bulwark of security men and receptionists and was led directly to the President’s office.

  The President greeted d’Arcy with warmth, coming from behind his desk and taking him to the comfortable arrangement of chairs and sofas near the fireplace. During the moment of small talk, Marshall McKittrick joined them.

  “For the last several months,” the President said to the Ambassador, “we have suspected and now have gathered irrefutable evidence of the introduction of Soviet intermediate-range missiles into Cuba. You are no doubt aware of this situation through the work of André Devereaux and French Intelligence.”

  “Yes, I am aware,” d’Arcy said, hoping the President would not detect his cigar as Havana.

  McKittrick gave a detailed briefing of the sites, range, and estimations of Soviet strength now footed in the hemisphere. When he finished his dissertation, the President continued. “We have examined the situation from every possible angle. A decision has been reached. I have notified the British Ambassador, and within thirty-six hours we will have advised all our NATO Allies and then I will inform the American public.”

  D’Arcy felt fright, for the man before him could well be announcing a war.

  “The most favorable course of action in my opinion will be a naval quarantine of Cuba for the present.”

  “Do you mean a blockade, Mr. President?”

  “A quarantine ... not a blockade of peaceful cargo, but to stop, search, and prevent further introduction of offensive weapons.”

  Perhaps it was the most temperate method, but nonetheless the fuse would be lit, and unless men became reasonable quickly, a hostile confrontation at sea or an air strike at a Cuban missile site could lead to the shaking of fists, an invasion of Cuba, and a prelude to a world holocaust.

  D’Arcy knew that General La Croix would fume in anger at the unilateral action of the Americans, for they were dictating life-and-death policy without consulting their allies.

  “What do you expect of France?” he asked.

  “To look on our situation with sympathy, respect the quarantine, and share our point of view that we are in danger.”

  And drag France into a war against her will, d’Arcy thought without putting it into words.

  “I am sending Mr. McKittrick as my personal representative to inform President La Croix, and the British Prime Minister. We ask you keep the matter secret until he reaches Paris.”

  D’Arcy said he would comply.

  “One more thing,” McKittrick said. “Because of André Devereaux’s intimate involvement in the missile business, I would like to have him present in Paris. There is also an additional matter regarding Intelligence affairs that requires his presence.”

  “Yes, you may have Devereaux.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Ambassador. I’ll be leaving by Air Force je
t from Andrews in about two hours,” McKittrick said.

  As Marshall McKittrick and André Devereaux boarded the plane, great armed forces lumbered into position, poising along the eastern coast of the United States, and the fleet swung out into the Atlantic to cut off the sea lanes to Cuba. In the air, the bombers of the Strategic Air Command circled in readiness to unleash their atomic warheads, and in their earthen silos the awesome arsenal of missiles was alerted, with preselected targets in the Soviet Union, all prepared to unleash the most terrible catastrophe ever known to man.

  16

  THE AIR FORCE COURIER jet streaked past land’s end. Marshall McKittrick showed André the letter he was to deliver to Pierre La Croix. André read it and passed it back without comment.

  Drinks and snacks were served, then a card table was set up. With a crewman as his partner, André gave McKittrick and the steward a sound thrashing in a rubber of bridge.

  “Where the hell did you learn to play like that?” McKittrick asked.

  “Once I used to play for a living, or at least to survive. On a good night we usually took in enough to buy bread and wine for a dozen comrades. Sometimes we could afford an extra pair of shoes,” André answered.

  “Where was that?”

  “When I was interned in Spain. As a matter of fact, I met Nicole then,” he said with a catch, for he realized he was heading toward her. “It’s a long, long story, Marsh.”

  They were pensive for a time, neither of them broaching the gnawing thoughts, the implications of the trickery unearthed by Kuznetov’s story.

  “I’ve never carried on my work in vengeance,” André said at last, “but for this, someone is going to pay. I’ll find him and expose him if it’s my last act on this earth.”

  “Watch out for yourself,” McKittrick answered and went across the aisle to his own seat. He opened his attaché case, sealed the letter to Pierre La Croix, and placed it among his papers.

  André warmed himself on cognac and became caught up watching the jet plunge into night. It was that time of transformation in an airplane when the liquor and the altitude and the sense of detachment have dulled and mellowed one enough to plunge him into a sense of timelessness.

  Since learning of the Topaz conspiracy, André Devereaux’s nights had been spent in restless fits of semisleep and angry pacing, in torment over the treachery of his countrymen. His own years of devotion and pain, born of love for France, had been vomited upon by men who would destroy her out of ignorance or sinister choice.

  What nest of serpents would he have to do battle with now in Paris? Soon the trap would close on Henri Jarré, but there was another, above him ... Columbine. Come heaven or hell, he was determined to flush out the supreme traitor.

  The name of one man turned over and over in his mind, that of Colonel Gabriel Brune, a Vice Administrator of SDECE. With the revelation of Disinformation and how it had been used at Suez, the behavior of Colonel Brune had to make him the leading suspect.

  André glanced over to Marsh McKittrick, who was dozing. How strange, he thought. It was seven years ago, almost to the day, that he and McKittrick had played out an almost identical drama during the Suez crisis.

  The Israelis had poured into the Sinai Peninsula toward the Canal. André was in Paris at the time on other affairs. Because of his intimate relations with the Americans he was brought into the picture. After his briefing, they sought his counsel. André knew that Marshall McKittrick was in Rome on Presidential business and asked him to come to Paris.

  October, 1956

  André Devereaux and United States Ambassador Rawlins met Marshall McKittrick at Orly Field. The matter was so urgent that the two Americans were briefed in the limousine en route to Paris.

  “In four hours,” André said, “we are issuing a joint ultimatum with the British for Egypt and Israel to cease fire and recognize a demarcation line ten kilometers from the Canal.”

  “A unilateral action?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you in league with the Israelis?”

  “I don’t know,” André answered. “I am advising you that if the cease-fire is not accepted, a joint French-British Expeditionary Force, now gathering in Cyprus, will move in and seize the Canal.”

  The reaction of the Americans was to accept the news with studied calm and to digest it in terms of their own situation. France and Britain could well be dragging America into a war without consultation.

  “You people might have given us a day’s notice,” McKittrick said at last.

  “I would suspect we didn’t want to be talked out of the action,” André answered.

  “Well, we’ve got a busy afternoon,” the Ambassador said.

  “What is expected of the United States?” McKittrick asked.

  “As an ally, to recognize our position and understand that we do this in the international interest.”

  As Ambassador Rawlins and Marshall McKittrick plunged into the business of advising Washington and awaiting instructions, André reported to a Vice Administrator of SDECE, Colonel Gabriel Brune, that the United States had been informed of the pending action.

  As one of the last shows of naked, old-fashioned imperialism shaped up, the information reached the President of the United States, who hastily summoned his advisers.

  The position seemed clear. France and Britain were traditional allies, who needed international controls returned to the Suez Canal or continue to be at the mercy of the Egyptian dictator, Gamal Abdel Nasser. France had further brief to overthrow Nasser for his overt sympathy and help to the Algerian rebels.

  The West, in general, was deeply concerned over Nasser’s flirtation with the Soviet Union, the massive importation of Soviet arms to Egypt, and the frightening specter that the Soviet Union would break through to the Mediterranean.

  As for Israel, the invasion of Sinai became a necessity for national survival, to stop the harassments from Egypt and to check the buildup of Soviet-supplied weapons. And finally, Israel needed to break open the blockade of the Red Sea for use as a sea lane to Asia.

  The entire operation smelled of collusion between French-British interests and Israel. But this, obviously, was to remain a secret and a mystery for another decade.

  Three and a half hours after his arrival in Paris and a half-hour before the cease-fire ultimatum, André Devereaux entered the Ambassador’s office in the American Embassy.

  “The position of the United States,” the Ambassador said, “is to act as though we have not been informed of your intention to seize the Canal. After the cease-fire ultimatum and your invasion we will officially pronounce surprise and indignation. In any event, we must not appear partners to this venture. This will allow us the freedom to stand off the Soviet Union as fellow neutrals.”

  “Now for Christ’s sake,” McKittrick added, “take that god-damned Canal in the next seventy-two hours. It must be an accomplished fact, because after that we’ll have to back any United Nations aggression charges against you. Get that Canal first and then we can talk it to death.”

  The American position was reported to Colonel Brune at almost the same moment the cease-fire ultimatum was being delivered to Nasser and Ben-Gurion.

  Nasser rejected the ultimatum, and a war fever swept London and Paris as British and French planes bombed the Egyptian airfields in prelude to invasion while their joint expeditionary force set sail from Cyprus.

  André’s personal knowledge of these events ended with his delivery of the message from the Americans.

  These were the days before La Croix’s formal ascent to power. Although the official heart of the executive lay in the Premier’s office, La Croix maneuvered behind the throne. In his nondescript post he was surrounded by a personal army of military leaders and Secret Service and ambitious flunkies who read the future and jumped aboard the bandwagon in preparation for a La Croix takeover.

  His advisers were faithful to him ahead of the government, and as often as not La Croix was consulted even before the Premier
.

  As the Anglo-Franco forces neared the Canal, Colonel Brune asked for an urgent appointment with La Croix. Brune, a member of the General’s clique, was La Croix’s main source of power and information within the SDECE.

  Jacques Granville, Pierre La Croix’s personal aide, ushered Brune into the General’s office at the moment of invasion.

  “We have been following a desperate situation for several hours,” Brune said. “I’ve been waiting for confirmations. We have them. Messages started coming into SDECE from our military and naval Intelligence shortly after midnight to the effect that American warships of the Seventh Fleet picked up our expeditionary force. Throughout the night destroyers followed us and their airplanes put us under surveillance. This morning as we entered Egyptian territorial waters warning shots were fired by the Americans over the bow of our troopships.”

  Without visible reaction Pierre La Croix took the dispatches, all stamped with the authenticity of the SDECE, and thumbed through them.

  “Has the Premier been advised?” he asked.

  “No,” Brune replied.

  La Croix nodded. “The Premier is so pro-Israeli we will have to act on this information without his knowledge.”

  “Yes, sir. But I can’t believe it. The Americans gave their word.”

  “It’s obviously a double cross,” Colonel Brune said.

  “I just can’t believe it,” Granville repeated.

  Ambassador Rawlins was summoned to the Prime Minister’s after he was finally informed. The messages of American treachery were shoved unceremoniously into the Ambassador’s face, followed by an undiplomatic Gallic outburst by the Prime Minister.

  Rawlins was thoroughly confused. With normal communications on Suez deliberately cut off, Marshall McKittrick was dispatched to Washington for clarification. It took several days to ascertain that there had been no American action against the expeditionary force and that the reports received by French SDECE had been false.