He started to reply, then closed his mouth in a hard, angry line. There was no way he could combat the cold, aloof set of her slim shoulders. He went to the window and looked down at the Sunday peace and calm of Annapolis Street. No town in the world could go as dead and quiet as Washington on a Sunday. For once, there was no overt international crisis to disrupt the embassies or the huge State Department building. He knew the people here at K Section had arrived singly and unobtrusively, since not even the residents of the neighboring buildings had any inkling of the true function of No. 20 Annapolis. He lit a cigarette and again started to speak to Sidonie, then decided there was no point to arguing the matter now. He went on up to the third floor, Walking with a long, angry stride. The communications center was manned, and he heard the pinging of a teletype machine and the humming of a computer in the Analysis and Synthesis Department as the weekly summary was prepared for Joint Chiefs. The conference was in McFee’s office, and he nodded to Alex, the brawny young security guard there, and went in.
Fred Holcomb sat at McFee’s desk, a chunky, middle-aged man who smoked a stubby pipe and who looked perpetually worried. Holcomb was a synthesis man, in charge of compiling the weekly estimate of world conditions out of the hundred of reports from all the corners of the world. He looked out of his medium in Dickinson McFee’s small, simple office.
“Good morning, Sam,” he nodded. “How do you feel?” “Like I’ve been shot. Are we ready?”
“Sure. I’m sorry about Deirdre, Sam.” There was a reservation in Fred’s voice, too, and in his manner. His eyes shifted away from Durell’s tall figure and he introduced the others in the room. Patten, from State, McGregor, FBI, a general named Jackson from Pentagon and an unobtrusive, quiet little man representing the White House. Durell felt a prickle of apprehension as he looked at their faces. Something important must have broken to warrant this sort of a meeting. He sensed the same peculiar reserve in their manner as they looked at him, as if he were an object of curiosity, an attitude that was somewhat the same as he had received from Sidonie Osbourn.
Holcomb rapped the dottle of his pipe and cleared his throat. “We’ve had some interesting news overnight, Sam. Rather serious, to say the least. Since McFee put you in charge, we thought you ought to be here to listen in.”
“I haven’t dropped the matter,” Durell said.
“Your orders are to rest for a week,” Holcomb said.
“I’ll use my own discretion about that. What happened?’' McGregor, the FBI man, said: “To put it bluntly, your inquiry about Dr. Tagy surprised us. We thought we had kept the matter quiet. We didn’t want to give our opponents the opportunity of making propaganda capital out of another defection from our scientific ranks.” McGregor was tall and lanky, with a soft voice and a pleasant, tanned face. “Dr. Tagy disappeared from his laboratories almost two months ago."
Durell nodded. “And you haven’t picked up any trace or him?”
“We have a pretty good idea of where he’s gone. Back to Hungary. He has a wife and son in Budapest. We checked his associates carefully to find out if he had been worried about them. It seems that since the uprising in Hungary, he’s been able to talk of nothing else. It’s a pretty fair guess that he somehow managed to go back to them, maybe to try to get them out of the country. But there hasn’t been a sign of him anywhere. If he’s in Budapest, he’s managed to stay well hidden. You say this Bela Korvuth came over here to get him. It could be ironic. Obviously, their secret police don’t know that Tagy is missing. They couldn’t know he’s back in their bailiwick, or they wouldn’t have sent Korvuth here to nab him or wipe him.”
“You sound reasonably sure Dr. Tagy is in Budapest, though.”
McGregor shrugged. “It’s only an assumption, naturally. We traced him to Mexico, and then to Havana, and then to a Greek freighter bound for Athens. After that—nothing. I can tell you this, though. We want him back. He’s needed here; his work is damned important. His associates have tried to finish the lab tests on the experimental lines he laid down for utilizing the hydrogen reaction for power production, but they’re just floundering. Nothing has come of it, and nothing will, unless Dr. Tagy comes back of his own accord, or somebody goes over there to bring him back.”
Durell said flatly: “That can be arranged. We won’t have to worry about Korvuth for a short time, anyway. Maybe a decoy can be set up in the university labs to keep Korvuth from suspecting Dr. Tagy isn’t there.”
“We’ve already arranged for that, Sam,” Holcomb said. “There’s one other thing you ought to know, though.” Holcomb looked around at the other silent men in the room. He looked harassed and worried, and he picked up his pipe and fumbled with it for a moment and then put it aside with a decisive motion. “Dickinson McFee went to Europe yesterday about this thing. About Dr. Tagy, I mean. We didn’t know at the time, of course, that Dr. Tagy was Korvuth’s objective. But since the two cases tie in, you’re in it now, too. McFee was going to Vienna to see what he could do about locating Tagy and persuading him to come back—maybe help him get his wife and son out of Budapest, if possible.”
“Why didn’t he send someone to do the job?” Durell asked. “It isn’t like McFee to take to the field himself, these days.”
Holcomb shrugged. “In Vienna, he was going to look for the leak that let Korvuth and the people of his apparatus slip through our check lines. He had a feeling it was too delicate to trust to anyone else. He wanted to look around for himself, working out of our Vienna Embassy, before probing Budapest for Dr. Tagy.” Holcomb cleared his throat nervously. “When you reported Bela Korvuth’s objective last night, I cabled London to advise General McFee. He had already arrived and changed planes for Vienna. At least, that’s what Waterman, our London man, said. So I checked Vienna. Less than an hour ago, Sam. McFee arrived there, all right, and he went straight to the border. He hasn’t been heard from since.”
There was silence in the somber, brown office. Durell felt the eyes of the other men in the room fixed on him. He looked at them in turn, angry at their objectivity, at the strange manner in which they regarded him. It could only be because of what had happened to Deirdre, he thought. They considered him something less than human. He heard Holcomb clear his throat again.
“It's in your lap, Sam. McFee left you in charge, and he gave you a free hand. He made that clear to me. Ordinarily, I don’t go along with that kind of assignment. We’re a team, and we’re supposed to work together. You were hurt yesterday, and Deirdre—well, if you want to put someone else on this thing, we’ll understand. You could use the rest.”
“No,” Durell said.
“You don’t have to feel that any of it is your personal responsibility, Sam.”
“It is. I want Korvuth for myself.”
“There’s nothing more you can do, though. The laboratory in California is supplied with a man who looks reasonably enough like Dr. Tagy. The place is staked out, and our people are ready. It’s simply a waiting game, holding on until Bela Korvuth shows up out there.”
“And if he doubles back for Budapest?”
“He doesn’t know Dr. Tagy is missing.”
“He can find out. Don’t underestimate him.” Durell stood up, a tall and angry man. His eyes were dark. “As long as it’s understood that this one is mine, I’m going ahead with it. My way. I take it the girl, Ilona, is still in custody upstairs?” “Yes, Sam. She doesn’t know about Dr. Tagy’s disappearance. We’ve questioned her carefully. It could be that she’s sincere in wanting to switch sides, but we’re not sure.” “Well, we’ll find out,” Durell said flatly. “I’m going to Vienna. If McFee has vanished, it’s because he stumbled onto something over there that’s too hot to hold. I agree with you, we can let Bela Korvuth run himself ragged looking for Tagy in California. It won’t last long, because he’s smart and he’ll soon find out the true score. But it gives us a little time to work on the other end of the rope. Maybe four or five days. With luck, maybe a week. I’m going over the
re and find Tagy. And McFee.”
Nobody said anything. He read disapproval, even surprise, on the grim faces that watched him. It didn’t matter. McFee had made his instructions clear enough before taking off for Europe. It was within his discretion to act as he saw fit.
Holcomb gestured vaguely. “Sam, you’re in no condition to—”
“I am. I’m going.”
“About the girl—”
“I’ll need Ilona with me. My Hungarian is rather rusty. Besides, she knows Budapest, and I don’t. She’s our best bet for finding Dr. Tagy. It has to be done fast, before Korvuth catches the scent and doubles back. It’s a calculated risk, going back there with the girl, but if I’m willing to take it, you gentlemen should have no objections.” Durell turned to the door and paused. “I’d appreciate it, Fred, if you could check with SAC and learn where I might hitch a ride on a jet for Europe.”
Chapter Nine
I urell drove to the hospital from the conference, through -L-y the Sunday calm of Washington’s streets. It had taken twenty minutes of insistence before the others had yielded to his determination. There had been two lengthy telephone calls to State, and the man from the White House had also used a phone, speaking quietly to someone unidentified for five minutes before he hung up with a quiet nod. Durell had gone up to the small apartment on the top floor of No. 20 Annapolis and talked to Ilona while the issue was still in doubt. There was an extensive wardrobe in the rooms where she was held in custody, outfits of both men’s and women’s clothing, and he told the red-haired girl to pick a few incon-spicious items of dress and be ready for him when he returned.
‘‘You trust me this far?” she asked quietly.
“Only if you’re willing to go back to Budapest with me,” he told her. “It will be more dangerous for you, if the AVO picks you up there, than it will be for me.”
"I will not deny that I am afraid,” she whispered. “I had hoped to stay here in this country.”
“You’ll come back with me after we’re successful."
“And if we do not succeed?”
Durell shrugged, watching and weighing her. She had looked rested and relaxed from a night’s sleep when he first came in, outfitted in a skirt and green sweater she had borrowed from the wardrobe. In the clear morning light he saw that her face was sensitive and delicate, with a rather wide, generous mouth that contradicted the trained wariness of her large brown eyes. She had smiled and been cheerful when he came in, and then as he explained what he wanted her to do, the lines of strain reappeared in her young face, and a shadow touched her expression.
“This is voluntary on your part, Ilona,” Durell said. “Please don’t think I’m putting any pressure on you to do it. On the contrary, you understand how much I trust you and believe in your new allegiance to democracy when I ask you to come with me. My life will be in your hands many times.” He had smiled wryly. “I’m not the one to make speeches, Ilona. But I need you with me. You can help tremendously. If you think it’s too dangerous for you, of course, you are free to stay here.”
“And will I be put in prison?”
“I doubt it. You will be in protective custody, of course, until a thorough investigation has been made and various people are convinced you mean what you say about staying over here and making a new life for yourself in America.”
“It is what I want,” she said quietly. “But if I can help you, I will go back with you. If you promise to take me with you when you return.”
“I promise,” he had told her solemnly.
“Then I will get ready now.”
Durell could only guess at what the decision had cost the girl. He had given her little time to think about it. Assuming her motives were what he hoped and believed them to be, she was literally walking back into the jaws of death with him. He wished he had had time to learn more about her, to know the sort of person she really was. Perhaps the change of heart she claimed to feels was purely an act to cover a deeper and deadlier motive. He couldn’t be sure. You could never be sure, in his business. Yet he needed her, because time was important, and there was little hope that he could do what had to be done if he went alone.
He parked his car in the hospital parking area and went in through the emergency entrance. The wind was cold. The Sunday quiet had pervaded the hospital corridors, too. The nurse at the reception desk looked at him curiously when he asked to see Deirdre Padgett, and she opened her mouth as if she were going to object; then she met Durell’s dark gaze and shrugged and scribbled on a card and gave it to him, and he went up in the elevator to the fourth floor.
Art Greenwald was just coming out of the room as Durell turned the corridor corner. Rosalie, Art’s wife, was with him. Greenwald was a chunky, dark-haired man and Rosalie was always plump and cheerful. Durell had worked with the electronics man for a long time, and had helped Art’s brother in the Stella Marni case. They were close friends.
“Cajun, wait a minute,” Art said. He looked embarrassed and glanced at Rosalie for support. “Does Deirdre know you’re coming?”
“She ought to know me well enough to expect me.” “Sam, she’s in a pretty bad frame of mind, right now. She feels as though you—as if you let her down.” Art looked harassed. “Maybe you ought to wait a few days.”
“I can’t wait,” Durell said. “I’m leaving the country, and I don’t know when—or if—I’ll be back.”
“Sam, please,” Rosalie murmured. “Spare yourself.”
“I’ve got to talk to her,” Durell said.
He went in and quietly closed the door behind him. Something wrenched inside him when he saw Deirdre’s pale face and quiet figure on the hospital cot. His roses had arrived and they had not been rejected. Oxygen tanks stood by the bedside, and an intravenous glucose injection against shock was being administered. Durell moved around so that Deirdre could look at him, standing with his back to the bright window overlooking the barren little park across from the hospital. “Hello, Dee. How do you feel?”
She looked at him as if he were a stranger.
He pulled a chair to the bedside. “May I sit down?”
Her eyes were dark and gray. “As you wish,” she whispered. “Dee, aren’t you going to try to understand?”
“I understand everything.”
“I don’t think you do. What happened last night makes you think I can’t possibly love you. But I do. More than I can ever tell you in words.” Durell touched her hand. She drew it away and turned her head aside so he could not see her face. Her dark hair looked soft and glossy against the antiseptic white of her pillow slip. “You’re going to be all right, Dee. There’s nothing to worry about. It’s the way you feel about me that’s troubling me. There’s nothing more important to me than you. Surely you know that.”
“No. That’s not true. You proved that last night,” she murmured.
“There was nothing else I could do,” he said helplessly. “Look, don’t think about anything but getting well, right now. Don’t shut me out for good. I have to go away, Dee. Abroad. I should be back in a week, with luck. I had to tell you this, so you’d know why I won’t be able to see you.”
“I don’t care,” she said. “Nothing will ever be the same.” “Yes, it will. I’ll make it so.”
She shook her head slowly and looked away from him again. A nurse opened the door and stood there, waiting, her face bland and impersonal. Durell thought of a dozen phrases to pursue his argument with Deirdre, to try to make her understand. He spoke none of them. Her face and her mind were closed against him. There was a finality to the way she looked at him that created an abyss that his pride could not cross. He stood up slowly.
“Wish me luck, anyway, Dee.”
“Yes.”
She was not interested. She had no questions about where he was going or what he was going to do. She did not want to see him again.
He drove his car back to his apartment and changed his clothes, choosing a suit of European make from which all the labels had
been removed, an English shirt and necktie, a pair of Russian-made black shoes. He arranged for his car to be taken to the garage, drew the blinds in his rooms, washed the coffee pot and dishes from his breakfast. He worked quickly, trying not to think or remember Deirdre’s face as he last saw it. He checked with Sanderson and learned that the SAC bomber for Germany would leave from Florida in four and a half hours. An MATS plane was ready and waiting at the Washington airport to take him down there with the girl, to make his connection. There was an urgency in him now as he ended his preparations and took a cab to Annapolis Street to pick up Ilona. It was as if all the little chores of preparation had closed door after door behind him.
The girl was ready and waiting. Her face was pale and set, and she walked quietly with him out of the sanctuary of Annapolis Street. She was silent in the cab and silent in the airport. She had put on the same clothes he had first seen her wearing, a tweedy skirt and sweater, and the beret with the metal insigne on it. Her shoes were low-heeled brown oxfords, good for walking, and she carried a small, anonymous overnight case. On the MATS plane flying south, Durell checked the contents of her case and found only simple cotton underthings, nothing nylon which might bring disaster to them behind the Iron Curtain.
“You won’t have to worry about me,” she said. “I know what to do.”
He had told her briefly what he was going to try to accomplish: to find Dr. Tagy, trace McFee, and begin the investigation at the American Embassy in Vienna and the Refugee Committees for the traitor. She had listened quietly and then shook her head.
“You don’t know what it is like over there, now.”
“Are you afraid to go back?”
“Yes. Very much afraid. They will kill me.”
“You still have your AVO contacts?”
“Yes. They are the ones who will happily see me dead, if they know I have turned traitor.”
He said sharply: “You shouldn’t think of yourself as a traitor. There are thousands, millions of Hungarians, who think as you do. What you are doing is for Hungary, for the freedom and dignity of your own people.”
Assignment - Budapest Page 8
