Siro by David Ignatius (classic novels to read .txt) 📗

someday, when we have a few relaxed hours. It’s quite an interesting story. But this really isn’t the time.”

“Give it a try,” said Anna coolly. “What have you been doing in Afghanistan?”

Stone sighed. “Very well. A teaser. A war is beginning there, my young friends. On one side is the power and ferocity of the Red Army. On the other is a collection of men in funny hats. How do you suppose this ragtag force is getting the ammunition and training to challenge Moscow?”

“From us?”

“Not directly. Not through any channel that would require the sorry characters who inhabit the seventh floor to sign their names. But indirectly, yes. They are receiving support from us.”

“From you?”

“From me, if you like. And from several liaison services. But I’m a suitable culprit.”

“Who authorized it?” asked Anna.

“Ahh. The blessed authorization. What a wonderful notion we Americans have, that any action is moral and legal if someone ‘authorized’ it, and immoral if someone didn’t. We Americans have become paper fetishists, idolaters of official stamps and seals.”

“Who authorized it?” she repeated.

“In this case, if you must know, the National Security Adviser asked me in March to do what I could to demonstrate American sympathy for the mujaheddin. I am sure that there is some piece of paper somewhere attesting to that. Not that any reasonable person should care.”

As Stone spoke, his bloodshot eyes widened and his voice rose. Perhaps it was the fact that he was so tired and unkempt, but it struck Anna, as she watched him, that he was a man at the limit of his physical and emotional resources.

“The Inspector General will care,” she said.

“I wouldn’t worry too much about the Inspector General. He happens to be an old friend of mine who owes me a great many favors. The problem is not the Inspector General but the director, Mr. Hinkle, who has developed the peculiar idea that he works for Congress rather than the executive branch.”

“I hate to break this to you, boss,” said Taylor, “but the IG’s office is already asking questions. They visited my friend George Trumbo in Athens a few weeks ago.”

“I am aware of that,” said Stone.

“You already knew they called George in?”

“Oh yes. Not to brag, but there isn’t much I don’t hear about, one way or another.”

“You should have told me.”

“Why? Why worry you about something that doesn’t matter? I would have let you know if your friend George had said something injudicious that might have caused problems. But he didn’t. His mind seemed to have gone blank.”

“Good old George,” said Taylor. He made a mental note to send Sonia on a visit to Athens.

“Now then,” said Stone. “Have we asked all of our little questions?”

Neither one answered.

“Good. Then let’s talk about termination. As you young wizards of tradecraft are aware, this should be the first topic of discussion when you start any operation—how to turn it off. We’re a bit late in getting to it, but not hopelessly so. Alan, what about your man Munzer?”

“He’s thriving. The local Turkestani émigré community thinks he’s the best thing to hit town since Tamerlane. But he shouldn’t be hard to turn off. When the time comes, we’ll just tell him that the movement needs him back in America and ship him home.”

“What about money?”

“He’s been a good soldier. You should definitely pay him the pension he says we owe him, and if you feel generous, you can keep him on contract for another year. But I wouldn’t worry about him.”

“Will he talk if people begin asking questions?”

“Nope. Not if I tell him not to.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Because Munzer likes me. And he’s afraid of me. He thinks I’m slightly nuts.”

“Clever fellow.”

“There’s one thing I’d like to know,” said Taylor.

“Ask away.”

“What have all our machinations accomplished in Uzbekistan?”

“They have stirred the pot.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Surely you understand, both of you, that this little drama of ours is playing on two screens. One is Central Asia. The other is Afghanistan. The two reinforce each other. Together, they suggest to the men in the Kremlin that they have a ‘Moslem Problem,’ a rather serious one. The delightful thing, from our standpoint, is that Moscow’s cure for this problem will only make it worse.”

“What’s their cure?”

“Invading Afghanistan. When the Soviet troops march in, your Mr. Munzer will know that the real battle has begun. And when they straggle out a few years from now, defeated, he can congratulate himself for having played a small role in one of the great triumphs of the twentieth century.”

He’s possessed, thought Anna. He’s so locked on his target he can’t see anything else.

“What if the Russians win?” she asked.

“They won’t,” said Stone. “I guarantee it.”

He leaned gingerly toward Anna, as if she were a newly frisky animal that had discovered it had teeth and claws. “Now, my dear, what about Mr. Ascari, the Iranian. How are we to terminate him?”

“It shouldn’t be a problem,” said Anna. “He doesn’t like me, and he isn’t afraid of me either. But he’s absolutely terrified of Frank Hoffman. He’ll do whatever Hoffman tells him. If we say stop, he’ll stop. If we say keep going, he’ll keep going.”

“What about severance payments or an annuity?”

“He has nothing to complain about. Frank is paying him a flat sum for each trip across the border. It’s good money, even for a hustler like Ascari.”

“What shall we tell London?”

“About what?”

“About whether to retain Ascari as a regular DDO agent. The last they knew, you were preparing to hand him over to an inside case officer.”

“You want my opinion?”

“Of course.”

“Dump him. He’s a jerk. The best thing to do is throw him to the wolves.”

“I’m not sure they would have him,” said Stone. He smiled amiably. There was a long pause, and Stone seemed about ready to end the discussion.

“Hold on,” said Anna. “What about my Armenian agent?”

“That is the last item on our agenda,” said Stone.

“What Armenian agent?” asked Taylor.

Anna was about to answer, but Stone raised his hand.

“You will recall,” he