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

finished, they will realize how awkward this whole business is for all concerned. Not just for you and me, but for the director, the President, even a few members of Congress. Then they’ll come to their senses and the whole thing will gradually fade away. Take my word. I’ve seen it happen before.”

“I’m sure you have.”

“What questions did the interrogators ask you?”

“I’m not supposed to talk about it.”

“Oh, they always say that. They want to isolate people and intimidate them. Don’t worry. You can certainly tell me. I already know all the information.”

“They wanted to know about the Armenian operation. They seemed to have most of the details about everything else.”

“What did you tell them?”

“Not much. My lawyer told me not to, at least not yet.”

“Lawyers always say that.”

“Look, I don’t want to talk about the investigation. Not because of the lawyers, but because it depresses me. The only reason I came to see you was because Alan said you had something you needed to tell me.”

“So you’ve seen Alan?”

“No. I don’t want to see him. I talked to him briefly on the phone.”

“Did he tell you what I was going to say?”

“No. He just said it was important.” She looked at Stone. He had that Palm Beach undertaker’s look. It was obvious he had bad news.

“It’s something that concerns you,” he said softly.

“Let’s stop beating around the bush. It’s about the Armenian doctor, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“What’s happened to him?”

“Nothing, yet. But it appears that the Soviets have learned a good deal about our activities. So there is every likelihood that your friend Antoyan will be apprehended when he tries to pick up the shipment we’ve sent him.”

Anna shook her head, as if to shake off what she had just heard, but the words stayed in the air. It took a moment to match them with her memory of the real person, the deep brown eyes and determined voice of the man she had said goodbye to in Paris a few weeks before. For the first time since they came to get her in Deauville, Anna felt like crying. But not now, not in front of Stone. She struggled to control her emotions, so that she might do something useful to help the Armenian doctor. She cleared her throat.

“How did the Russians find out?” she asked.

“I’m not sure,” said Stone, not quite truthfully. “Perhaps one of Ascari’s smugglers got caught and confessed. Maybe Ascari himself defected. You always said he was unreliable. But I don’t really know. All I’m sure of is that the KGB has pulled its people out of Istanbul, and that they’re conducting an investigation.”

“What can we do to help Antoyan?”

“Nothing, I’m afraid.”

“That’s bullshit, Mr. Stone. I knew you’d say that. But it can’t be right. There has to be something.”

“There isn’t. I’ve checked with Hoffman. The shipment has already left Iran. It’s on its way. There’s no way to call it back.”

“What about Moscow station? Headquarters can cable them and have them send someone down to Armenia to warn Antoyan.”

“The director would never approve it. Why should headquarters help us? In any event, it wouldn’t work. It might make you feel better, but it would only put your man in greater jeopardy.”

“Why? Why can’t Moscow station pass a simple message, for God’s sake? Why is everything that’s obvious always impossible?”

“Because our case officers in Moscow are all blown, my dear. The Soviets have identified every one of them. Anyone who tried to go to Yerevan would be under heavy surveillance the moment he left Moscow. It would only make things worse for your Armenian friend. The Soviets would think he was a real agent, rather than a young dissident who managed to charm an overeager young female case officer.”

Stone’s last remark silenced Anna. She wanted to curse him, to tear the seamless mask from his face. But she knew that what he had just said was true. The recruitment of the Armenian doctor was Anna’s responsibility. She had no business asking Stone, or anyone else, to fix what had gone wrong. It was her problem to solve, and she would somehow have to do just that. Stone could continue circling forever in his moral cul-de-sac if he liked. But Anna wasn’t chained to the seat with him.

“I need some air,” she said. “I’m going to take a walk.”

“I’ll join you,” said the old man.

“No, you won’t. I want to be alone for a little while. I need to think.”

“I’ll wait for you.”

“Suit yourself,” she said.

She was gone for nearly an hour. She walked along the service road next to the interstate highway, oblivious to the rush of the traffic, turning over in her mind the situation facing Aram Antoyan and the possibilities for escape.

Anna found herself wondering, reflexively, what her father would have done. But that thought passed out of her mind. That yardstick, against which she had measured so much of her life and surroundings, no longer fit. A few months ago, Anna would have recast the question: What would Edward Stone do? How would the old boys, the glistening heirs of 1945, cope with such a dilemma? But Anna had discerned a truth about them. Over the years, while they were toasting their famous victories at the Athenian Club, they had tended to abandon the little people in places like Laos and Vietnam, the mountains of Kurdistan, the Bay of Pigs. They had a nasty habit of leaving their agents hanging. And Anna, however green she might be, didn’t intend to make the same mistake.

A last model went fleetingly through Anna’s mind. It was ill formed, impulsive, full of daring but weak on delivery—all qualities shared by the person Anna had in mind. What, she wondered, would Alan Taylor do in a situation like this? Or more precisely, what would he think was the right thing to do, even if he was prevented by some missing spark plug of the soul from carrying it out?

Anna continued walking, moving her feet through the rough pebbles