Code to Zero

by Ken Follett

  "Harold is a good man," her mother said. "You should marry him soon, before he changes his mind."

  "He won't change his mind."

  "Just don't deal him in before he puts his stake on the table."

  Billie smiled at her mother. "You don't miss much, do you, Ma?"

  "I'm old, but I'm not stupid."

  Billie cleared the table and threw her own breakfast in the trash. Rushing now, she stripped her bed, Larry's, and her mother's, and bundled the sheets into a laundry bag. She showed Becky-Ma the bag and said, "Remember, all you have to do is hand this to the laundry man when he calls, okay, Ma?"

  Her mother said, "I don't have any of my heart pills left."

  "Jesus Christ!" She rarely swore in front of her mother, but she was at the end of her rope. "Ma, I have a busy day at work today, and I don't have time to go to the goddamn pharmacist!"

  "I can't help it, I ran out."

  The most infuriating thing about Becky-Ma was the way she could switch from being a perceptive parent to a helpless child. "You could have told me yesterday that you were running out--I shopped yesterday! I can't shop every day, I have a job."

  Becky-Ma burst into tears.

  Billie relented immediately. "I'm sorry, Ma," she said. Becky-Ma cried easily, like Larry. Five years ago, when the three of them had set up house together, Ma had helped take care of Larry. But nowadays she was barely able to look after him for a couple of hours when he came home from school. Everything would be easier if Billie and Harold were married.

  The phone rang. She patted Ma on the shoulder and picked it up. It was Bern Rothsten, her ex-husband. Billie got on well with him, despite the divorce. He came by two or three times a week to see Larry, and he cheerfully paid his share of the cost of bringing up the boy. Billie had been angry with him, once, but it was a long time ago. Now she said, "Hey, Bern--you're up early."

  "Yeah. Have you heard from Luke?"

  She was taken aback. "Luke Lucas? Lately? No--is something wrong?"

  "I don't know, maybe."

  Bern and Luke shared the intimacy of rivals. When they were young they had argued endlessly. Their discussions often seemed acrimonious, yet they had remained close at college and all through the war. "What's happened?" Billie said.

  "He called me on Monday. I was kind of surprised. I don't hear from him often."

  "Nor do I." Billie struggled to remember. "Last time I saw him was a couple of years ago, I think." Realizing how long it was, she wondered why she had let their friendship lapse. She was just busy all the time, she guessed. She regretted that.

  "I got a note from him last summer," Bern said. "He'd been reading my books to his sister's kid." Bern was the author of The Terrible Twins, a successful series of children's books. "He said they made him laugh. It was a nice letter."

  "So why did he call you on Monday?"

  "Said he was coming to Washington and wanted to see me. Something had happened."

  "Did he tell you what?"

  "Not really. He just said, 'It's like the stuff we used to do in the war.'"

  Billie frowned anxiously. Luke and Bern had been in OSS during the war, working behind enemy lines, helping the French resistance. But they had been out of that world since 1946--hadn't they? "What do you think he meant?"

  "I don't know. He said he would call me when he reached Washington. He checked into the Carlton Hotel on Monday night. Now it's Wednesday, and he hasn't called. And his bed wasn't slept in last night."

  "How did you find that out?"

  Bern made an impatient noise. "Billie, you were in OSS, too. What would you have done?"

  "I guess I would have given a chambermaid a couple of bucks."

  "Right. So he was out all night and he hasn't come back."

  "Maybe he was cattin' around."

  "And maybe Billy Graham smokes reefer, but I don't think so, do you?"

  Bern was right. Luke had a powerful sex drive, but he craved intensity, not variety, Billie knew. "No, I don't think so," she said.

  "Call me if you hear from him, okay?"

  "Sure, of course."

  "Be seeing you."

  "Bye." Billie hung up.

  Then she sat at the kitchen table, her chores forgotten, thinking about Luke.

  1941

  Route 138 meandered south through Massachusetts toward Rhode Island. There was no cloud, and the moon shone on the country roads. The old Ford had no heater. Billie was wrapped up in coat, scarf, and gloves, but her feet were numb. However, she did not really mind. It was no great hardship to spend a couple of hours in a car alone with Luke Lucas, even if he was someone else's boyfriend. In her experience, beautiful men were tediously vain, but this one seemed to be an exception.

  It was taking forever to drive to Newport, but Luke seemed to be enjoying the long journey. Some Harvard men were nervous with attractive women, and chain-smoked, or drank from hip flasks, smoothed their hair all the time and kept straightening their ties. Luke was relaxed, driving without apparent effort and chatting. There was little traffic, and he looked at her as much as at the road.

  They talked about the war in Europe. That morning in Radcliffe Yard, rival student groups had set up stalls and handed out leaflets, the Interventionists passionately advocating that America should enter the war, the America Firsters arguing the opposite with equal fervor. A crowd had gathered, men and women, students and professors. The knowledge that Harvard boys would be among the first to die made the discussions highly emotional.

  "I have cousins in Paris," Luke said. "I'd like us to go over there and rescue them. But that's kind of a personal reason."

  "I have a personal reason too, I'm Jewish," Billie said. "But rather than send Americans to die in Europe, I'd open our doors to refugees. Save lives instead of killing people."

  "That's what Anthony believes."

  Billie was still fuming about the night's fiasco. "I can't tell you how mad I am at Anthony," she said. "He should have made sure we could stay at his friends' apartment."

  She was hoping for sympathy from Luke, but he disappointed her. "I guess you both were a little too casual about the whole thing." He said it with a friendly smile, but there was no mistaking the note of censure.

  Billie was stung. However, she was indebted to him for this ride, so she swallowed the retort that sprang to her lips. "You're defending your friend, which is fine," she said gently. "But I think he had a duty to protect my reputation."

  "Yes, but so did you."

  She was surprised he was so critical. Until now he had been all charm. "You seem to think it was my fault!"

  "It was bad luck, mainly," he said. "But Anthony put you in a position where a little bad luck could do you a lot of damage."

  "That's the truth."

  "And you let him."

  She found herself dismayed by his disapproval. She wanted him to think well of her--though she did not know why she cared. "Anyway, I'll never do that again, with any man," she said vehemently.

  "Anthony's a great guy, very smart, kind of eccentric."

  "He makes girls want to take care of him, brush his hair and press his suit and make him chicken soup."

  Luke laughed. "Could I ask you a personal question?"

  "You can try."

  He met her eyes for a moment. "Are you in love with him?"

  That was sudden, but she liked men who could surprise her, so she answered candidly. "No. I'm fond of him, I enjoy his company, but I don't love him." She thought about Luke's girlfriend. Elspeth was the most striking beauty on campus, a tall woman with long coppery hair and the pale, resolute face of a Nordic queen. "What about you? Are you in love with Elspeth?"

  He returned his gaze to the road. "I don't think I know what love is."

  "Evasive answer."

  "You're right." He threw a speculative look at her, then seemed to decide that she could be trusted. "Well, to be honest, this is as close to love as I've ever come, but I still don't know if it's the real thing."
<
br />   She felt a pang of guilt. "I wonder what Anthony and Elspeth would think of us having this conversation," she said.

  He coughed, embarrassed, and changed the subject. "Damn shame you ran into those men at the House."

  "I hope Anthony won't be found out. He could be expelled."

  "He's not the only one. You might be in trouble too."

  She had been trying not to think about that. "I don't believe anyone knew who I was. I heard one of them say 'tart.'"

  He shot a surprised glance at her.

  She guessed that Elspeth would not have used the word "tart," and she wished she had not repeated it. "I suppose I deserved it," she added. "I was in a men's House at midnight."

  He said, "I don't think there's ever any real excuse for bad manners."

  It was a reproach to her as much as to the man who had insulted her, she thought with annoyance. Luke had a sharp edge. He was angering her--but that made him interesting. She decided to take the gloves off. "What about you?" she said. "You're very preachy about Anthony and me, aren't you? But didn't you put Elspeth in a vulnerable situation tonight, keeping her out in your car until the early hours?"

  To her surprise, he laughed appreciatively. "You're right, and I'm a pompous idiot," he said. "We all took risks."

  "That's the truth." She shuddered. "I don't know what I'd do if I got thrown out."

  "Study somewhere else, I guess."

  She shook her head. "I'm on a scholarship. My father's dead, my mother's a penniless widow. And if I were expelled for moral transgression, I'd have little chance of getting another scholarship. Why do you look surprised?"

  "To be honest, I'd have to say you don't dress like a scholarship girl."

  She was pleased he had noticed her clothes. "It's the Leavenworth Award," she explained.

  "Wow." The Leavenworth was a famously generous grant, and thousands of outstanding students applied for it. "You must be a genius."

  "I don't know about that," she said, gratified by the respect in his voice. "I'm not smart enough to make sure I have a place to stay the night."

  "On the other hand, being thrown out of college is not the worst thing in the world. Some of the cleverest people drop out--then go on to become millionaires."

  "It would be the end of the world for me. I don't want to be a millionaire, I want to help sick people get well."

  "You're going to be a doctor?"

  "Psychologist. I want to understand how the mind works."

  "Why?"

  "It's so mysterious and complicated. Things like logic, the way we think. Imagining something that isn't there in front of us--animals can't do that. The ability to remember--fish have no memory, did you know that?"

  He nodded. "And why is it that just about everyone can recognize a musical octave?" he said. "Two notes, the frequency of one being double that of the other--how come your brain knows that?"

  "You find it interesting too!" She was pleased that he shared her curiosity.

  "What did your father die of?"

  Billie swallowed hard. Sudden grief overwhelmed her. She struggled against tears. It was always like this: a chance word, and from nowhere came a sorrow so acute she could barely speak.

  "I'm really sorry," Luke said. "I didn't mean to upset you."

  "Not your fault," she managed. She took a deep breath. "He lost his mind. One Sunday morning he went bathing in the Trinity River. The thing is, he hated the water, and he couldn't swim. I think he wanted to die. The coroner thought so, too, but the jury took pity on us and called it an accident, so that we'd get the life insurance. It was a hundred dollars. We lived on that for a year." She took a deep breath. "Let's talk about something else. Tell me about math."

  "Well." He thought for a moment. "Math is as weird as psychology," he said. "Take the number pi. Why should the ratio of circumference to diameter be three point one four two? Why not six, or two and a half ? Who made that decision, and why?"

  "You want to explore outer space."

  "I think it's the most exciting adventure mankind has ever had."

  "And I want to map the mind." She smiled. The grief of bereavement was leaving her. "You know, we have something in common--we both have big ideas."

  He laughed, then braked the car. "Hey, we're coming to a crossroads."

  She switched on the flashlight and looked at the map on her knee. "Turn right," she said.

  They were approaching Newport. The time had passed quickly. She felt sorry the trip was coming to an end. "I have no idea what I'm going to tell my cousin," she said.

  "What's he like?"

  "He's queer."

  "Queer? In what way?"

  "In the homosexual way."

  He shot her a startled look. "I see."

  She had no patience with men who expected women to tiptoe around the subject of sex. "I've shocked you again, haven't I?"

  He grinned at her. "As you would say--that's the truth."

  She laughed. It was a Texan colloquialism. She was glad he noticed little things about her.

  "There's a fork in the road," he said.

  She consulted the map again. "You'll have to pull up, I can't find it."

  He stopped the car and leaned across to look at the map in the light of the flash. He reached out to turn the map a little, and his touch was warm on her cold hand. "Maybe we're here," he said, pointing.

  Instead of looking at the map, she found herself staring at his face. It was deeply shadowed, lit only by the moon and the indirect torchlight. His hair fell forward over his left eye. After a moment he felt her gaze and glanced up at her. Without thinking, Billie lifted her hand and stroked his cheek with the outside edge of her little finger. He stared back at her, and she saw bewilderment and desire in his eyes.

  "Which way do we go?" she murmured.

  He moved away suddenly and put the car in gear. "We take. . . ." He cleared his throat. "We take the left fork."

  Billie wondered what the hell she was doing. Luke had spent the evening smooching with the most beautiful girl on campus. Billie had been out with Luke's roommate. What was she thinking about?

  Her feelings for Anthony had not been strong, even before tonight's calamity. All the same, she was dating him, so she certainly should not be toying with his best friend.

  "Why did you do that?" Luke said angrily.

  "I don't know," she said. "I didn't intend to, it just happened. Slow down."

  He took a bend too fast. "I don't want to feel like this about you!" he said.

  She was suddenly breathless. "Like what?"

  "Never mind."

  The smell of the sea came into the car, and Billie realized they were close to her cousin's home. She recognized the road. "Next left," she said. "If you don't slow down, you'll miss it."

  Luke braked and turned onto a dirt road.

  Half of Billie wanted to arrive at the destination and get out of the car and leave behind this unbearable tension. The other half wanted to drive with Luke forever.

  "We're here," she said.

  They stopped outside a neat one-storey frame house with gingerbread eaves and a lamp by the door. The Ford's headlights picked out a cat sitting motionless on a windowsill, looking at them with a calm gaze, disdainful of the turmoil of human emotion.

  "Come in," Billie said. "Denny will make some coffee to keep you awake on the return trip."

  "No, thanks," he said. "I'll just wait here until you're safely inside."

  "You've been very kind to me. I don't think I deserve it." She held out her hand to shake.

  "Are we friends?" he said, taking her hand.

  She lifted his hand to her face, kissed it, and pressed it against her cheek, closing her eyes. After a moment she heard him groan softly. She opened her eyes and found him staring at her. His hand moved behind her head, he pulled her to him, and they kissed. It was a gentle kiss, soft lips and warm breath and his fingertips light on the back of her neck. She held the lapel of his rough tweed coat and pulled him closer.
If he grabbed her now, she would not resist, she knew. The thought made her burn with desire. Feeling wild, she took his lip between her teeth and bit.

  She heard Denny's voice. "Who's out there?"

  She pulled away from Luke and looked out. There were lights on in the house, and Denny stood in the doorway, wearing a purple silk dressing gown.

  She turned back to Luke. "I could fall in love with you in about twenty minutes," she said. "But I don't think we can be friends."

  She stared at him a moment longer, seeing in his eyes the same churning conflict she felt in her heart. Then she looked away, took a deep breath, and got out of the car.

  "Billie?" said Denny. "For heaven's sake, what are you doing here?"

  She crossed the yard, stepped onto the porch, and fell into his arms. "Oh, Denny," she murmured. "I love that man, and he belongs to some woman!"

  Denny patted her back with a delicate touch. "Honey, I know just how you feel."

  She heard the car move and turned to wave. As it swung by, she saw Luke's face, and the glint of something shiny on his cheeks.

  Then he disappeared into the darkness.

  8.30 A.M.

  Perched on top of the pointed nose of the Redstone rocket is what looks like a large birdhouse with a steeply pitched roof and a flagpole stuck through its center. This section, about 13 feet long, contains the second, third, and fourth stages of the missile--and the satellite itself.

  Secret agents in America had never been as powerful as they were in January 1958.

  The Director of the CIA, Allen Dulles, was the brother of John Foster Dulles, Eisenhower's Secretary of State--so the Agency had a direct line into the administration. But that was only half the reason.

  Under Dulles were four Deputy Directors, only one of whom was important--the Deputy Director for Plans. The Plans Directorate was also known as CS, for Clandestine Services, and this was the department that had carried out coups against left-leaning governments in Iran and Guatemala.

  The Eisenhower White House had been amazed and delighted by how cheap and bloodless these coups were, especially by comparison with the cost of a real war such as that in Korea. Consequently, the guys in Plans enjoyed enormous prestige in government circles--though not among the American public, who had been told by their newspapers that both coups were the work of local anticommunist forces.

  Within the Plans Directorate was Technical Services, the division that Anthony Carroll headed. He had been hired when the CIA was set up in 1947. He had always planned to work in Washington--his major at Harvard had been government--and he had been a star of OSS in the war. Posted to Berlin in the fifties, he had organized the digging of a tunnel from the American sector to a telephone conduit in the Soviet zone and had tapped into KGB communications. The tunnel remained undiscovered for six months, during which the CIA amassed a mountain of priceless information. It had been the greatest intelligence coup of the Cold War, and Anthony's reward had been the top job.