Aaron Elkins - Fellowship Of Fear

"I was wondering what you were doing in Sigonella last week."

"I was making my Italian round. Logistics checks out every one of our bases at least once every two years. Looks over the accommodations, settles complaints, makes new contracts, that kind of stuff." He frowned. "Why?"

"Just sorry I missed you," Gideon said. "If you’re going to be down at Torrejon next week, let’s have dinner."

Eric tossed down another slug of coffee, peering suspiciously at Gideon over the rim of the cup. "All right, I just might be there."

"Oh?" said Gideon, feeling his breath quicken.

"Yeah, I’m scheduled to hit Spain and Greece in the next few weeks. Of course, with all the alerts, I don’t know. I’ll give you a call."

As hard as it was to believe, then, everything was beginning to point to this harried, laid-back, not very intelligent administrator. He had been at Sigonella at the right time, and he was going to be at Torrejon at the right time.

Eric drained the last of his coffee and made another face. "Yuck."

Then they sat and looked at each other for a long time. Gideon attempted to read Eric’s expression. Was he trying to stare him down, or did those half-closed, dull eyes reflect no more than a bovine resignation to Gideon’s continued presence? Gideon couldn’t tell.

Finally Eric frowned with the expression of a man who had something to say. He closed his eyes and belched-a remarkably deep, resonant sound, around which he managed to enunciate with great clarity the word "barf."

In the hallway, Gideon’s anticipated elation did not materialize. As telling as Eric’s presence at Sigonella was, as well as his planned trip to Torrejon, Gideon couldn’t bring himself to believe the Californian was a spy. If ubiquity were evidence of spying, then Gideon was a proven spy, too. Interesting thought; in spite of John’s reassurance, it was still possible that NSD’s Bureau Four suspected him, on the same grounds that he suspected Eric. And when they found out-if they didn’t know already-that Gideon was going to be at Torrejon upon his own insistence, and for not terribly cogent reasons, he was going to be even more suspect.

No, the only difference between Eric and him was that Gideon knew he wasn’t a spy, which left Eric as the only other USOC’r, as far as he was aware, to be at the crucial bases at the right times. And yet, Eric just didn’t feel right as a spy. Could spies be that fatuous, that transparent? Moreover, his explanation of Gideon’s routing through Heidelberg had the ring of truth.

All the same, he’d see that the information about Eric got back to Bureau Four if he could. He’d have to do it through John and his "contact." How absurd that he was unable to talk to them himself, but he didn’t know who or where they were, and they weren’t on formal speaking terms with Marks. Ridiculous. It was no way to run a cold war.

"Well, well, Gideon Oliver, talking to himself like a USOC veteran, and after just three weeks. My, my."

Without realizing it, he had entered the faculty library. At a desk behind the counter sat Bruce Danzig, regarding him from beneath eyebrows facetiously raised, lips set in a prim little smirk.

Gideon got quickly to the point. "Hello, Bruce. I wanted to return the books I borrowed before I went to Sicily." He placed the two slim texts on the counter. "I understand you’ve been saving some new ones for me."

"My, aren’t we businesslike today?" Danzig said. Then he deepened his voice in imitation of Gideon’s. "Yes, sir, Professor Oliver, sir!" His chin, never very prominent, disappeared into his collar as he delivered a punctilious mock salute.

Gideon unenthusiastically returned it with a brief, pro forma smile. "If you have the books available, I’d appreciate seeing them."

The frivolity left Danzing’s expression; his voice turned glacial. "I’m afraid I’m not sure to what you’re referring. Did you ask me to hold some books for you?"

Oh Christ, now I’ve hurt his feelings, thought Gideon. He hadn’t meant to; he simply wasn’t in the mood to deal with Danzig’s finical little witticisms. He tried to sound more friendly. "No, but Dr. Rufus mentioned to me that you’d been kind enough to find some books you thought I might use."

"Oh yes, I recall. It was Dr. Rufus, not I." He sniffed; a gesture of disdain, Gideon supposed. "We were looking over the new arrivals, and he-not I-noted some for which he thought you might have some use. Inasmuch as you showed so little interest in our collection before, I must admit I haven’t personally made any great attempt to search out resources for you."

"I think you’ve developed an excellent collection, Bruce. It was simply that I didn’t need anything last time. But now, with this ‘Emergence of Man’ series, I need all the help I can get."

The little librarian was not won over. He continued to watch Gideon coldly.

The hell with it, Gideon thought. "Look, do you want to let me see them…?"

"Of course." With a series of meticulous movements- push the desk drawer closed, delicately move back the chair, swivel to the right-Danzig arose and went to the shelves behind the counter. He found the four books at once and brought them to Gideon with a viperous little smile.

For no reason he could think of, a sudden thought struck Gideon. "I don’t suppose you’re going to be in Torrejon next week?"

"Torrejon? No, why? What would I go to Torrejon for?"

"Oh, I just thought we might get together. Didn’t I hear you were in Sigonella last week or the week before? I missed you then."

"I, in Sigonella? No, you’re confusing me with Bozzini, heaven forbid. Fortunately, my job doesn’t require me to travel. Besides, I detest the Mediterranean. Did you want these books or not?"

Too bad, Gideon thought. Danzig would have made a more satisfactory spy. Glancing briefly at the books, he saw that two were revised editions of old introductory texts, but the third was Campbell’s excellent Human Evolution, and the fourth was a reprint of Weidenreich’s massive, thirty-year-old Skull of Sinanthropus Pekinensis, one of those classics he’d somehow never gotten around to.

"I’ll take these two," he said, signing the cards. "Thanks, Bruce. I’ll see you next week."

"I wait with bated breath."

When Gideon got back to the BOQ at 4:30, Janet hadn’t returned from the Heidelberg University Library yet. He left a note on her door, asking her to stop by, and went to his room. He hadn’t left any slivers or paper clips or hairs in the door that morning-what was the point now?-but he looked carefully through the room, list of articles in hand. Everything seemed as he had left it.

Seemed. He knew, however, that he was dealing with an antagonist more subtle and expert than he had previously thought. Why he had an antagonist at all was the real question. If he knew why Ferret-face was dogging him, why he looked at him with such hatred…but he didn’t know, and it was too late in a long day to do any serious speculation about it.

He poured himself a little Scotch, found three hoary ice cubes in a tiny compartment in the refrigerator, and sat down with the Campbell text-it was good to get the weight off that ankle-for a different sort of speculation. He was, after all, an anthropologist, not a spy, and was soon engrossed in Campbell’s elegant theories on the evolution of bipedal locomotion.

Janet knocked on his door a little before six. His heart gave a little jump when he saw her. Women book collectors or not, she was the most attractive woman he’d seen in a long time. The only one, really.

"Good day at der Bibliothek?" he asked, surprised by a slight thickening of his voice.

She was standing in the doorway, oddly hesitant.

"Come on in," he said. "Have a drink. I might even be able to dig up some more ice."