Ken Follett - Code to Zero (2000)

Anthony said: 'But you're right I'm sticking my neck all the way out If something goes wrong, Hobart won't miss a chance to chop my head off.'

'That's what I thought'

'Then we'd better make sure nothing goes wrong.'

Pete went out. Anthony watched the phone, making himself calm and patient Office politics infuriated him, but men such as Hobart were always around. After five minutes the phone rang and he picked it up. 'Carroll here.'

'You've been upsetting Carl Hobart again.' It was the wheezy voice of a man who has been smoking and drinking enthusiastically for most of a lifetime.

'Good morning, George,' said Anthony. George Cooperman was Deputy Chief of Operations and a wartime comrade of Anthony's. He was Hobart's immediate superior. 'Hobart should stay out of my way.'

'Get over here, you arrogant young prick,' George said amiably.

'Coming.' Anthony hung up. He opened his desk drawer and took out an envelope containing a thick sheaf of Xerox copies. Then he put on his topcoat and walked to Gooperman's office, which was in P Building, next door.

Cooperman was a tall, gaunt man of fifty with a prematurely lined face. He had his feet on his desk. There was a giant coffee mug at his elbow and a cigarette in his mouth. He was reading the Moscow newspaper Pravdea he had majored in Russian literature at Princeton.

He threw down the paper. 'Why can't you be nice to that fat fuck?' he growled. He spoke without removing the cigarette from the corner of his mouth. 'I know it's hard, but you could do it for my sake.'

Anthony sat down. 'It's his own fault. He should have realized by now that I only insult him if he speaks to me first'

'What's your excuse this time?'

Anthony tossed the envelope on to the desk. Cooperman picked it up and looked at the Xerox copies. 'Blueprints,' he said. 'Of a rocket, I guess. So what?'

'They're top secret. I took them from the surveillance subject He's a spy, George.'

'And you chose not to tell Hobart that'

'I want to follow this guy around until he reveals his whole network - then use his operation for disinformation. Hobart would hand the case over to the FBI, who would pick the guy up and throw him in jail, and his network would fade to black.'

'Hell, you're right about that Still, I need you at this meeting. I'm chairing it But you can let your team carry on the surveillance. If anything happens they can get you out of the conference room.'

'Thanks, George.'

'And listen. This morning you fucked Hobart up the ass in front of a room full of agents, didn't you?'

'I guess so.'

'Next time, try and do it gently, okay?' Cooperman picked up Pravda again. Anthony got up to leave, taking the blueprints. Cooperman said: 'And make damn sure you run this surveillance right. If you screw up on top of insulting your boss, I may not be able to protect you.'

Anthony went out He did not return to his office right away. The row of condemned buildings that housed this part of the CIA filled a strip of land between Constitution Avenue and the mall with the reflecting pool. The motor entrances were on the street side, but Anthony went out through a back gate into the park.

He strolled along the avenue of English elms, breathing the cold fresh air, soothed by the ancient trees and the still water. There had been some bad moments this morning, but he had held it together, with a different set of lies for each party in the game.

He came to the end of the avenue and stood at the halfway point between the Lincoln Memorial and the Washington Monument This is all your fault, he thought, addressing the two great presidents. You made men believe they could be free. I'm fighting for your ideals. I'm not even sure I believe in ideals any more - but I guess I'm too ornery to quit Did you guys feel that way?

The presidents did not answer, and after a while Anthony returned to Q Building.

In his office he found Pete with the team that had been shadowing Luke: Simons, in a navy topcoat, and Belts, wearing a green raincoat. Also there were the team that should have relieved them, Rifenberg and Horwitz. 'What the hell is this?' Anthony said with sudden fear. 'Who's with Luke?'

Simons was carrying a grey Homburg hat, and it shook as his hand trembled. 'Nobody,' he said.

'What happened?' Anthony roared. 'What the fuck happened, you assholes?'

After a moment, Pete answered. 'We, uh...' He swallowed. 'We've lost him.'

*

PART 2

9 A. M.

The Jupiter C has been built for the Army by the Chrysler Corporation. The large rocket engine that propels the first stage is manufactured by North American Aviation, Inc. The second, third and fourth stages have been designed and tested by the Jet Propulsion Laboratory in Pasadena.

Luke was angry with himself. He had handled things badly. He had found two people who probably knew who he was - and he had lost them again.

He was back in the low-rent neighbourhood near the gospel shop on H Street. The winter daylight was brightening, making the streets look more grimy, the buildings older, the people shabbier. He saw two bums in the doorway of a vacant store, passing a bottle of beer. He shuddered and walked quickly by.

Then he realized that was strange. An alcoholic wanted booze any time. But to Luke, the thought of beer this early in the day was nauseating. Therefore, he concluded with enormous relief, he could not be an alcoholic.

But, if he was not a drunk, what was he?

He summed up what he knew about himself. He was in his thirties. He did not smoke. Despite appearances, he was not an alcoholic. At some point in his life he had been involved in clandestine work. And he knew the words of 'What a Friend We Have in Jesus.' It was pathetically little.

He had been walking around looking for a police station, but he had not come across one. He decided to ask for directions. A minute later, as he passed a vacant lot fenced with broken corrugated-iron sheeting, he saw a uniformed cop step through a gap in the sheeting on to the sidewalk. Seizing the chance, Luke said to him: 'How do I get to the nearest precinct house?'

The cop was a beefy man with a sandy moustache. He gave Luke a look of contempt and said: 'In the trunk of my cruiser, if you don't get the fuck out of my sight.'

Luke was startled by the violence of his language. What was the man's problem? But he was tired of tramping the streets, and he needed directions, so he persisted. 'I just need to know where the station house is.'

'I won't tell you again, shitbrain.'

Luke was annoyed. Who did he think he was? 'I asked you a polite question, Mister,' he snapped.

The cop moved surprisingly fast for a heavy man. He grabbed Luke by the lapels of his ragged coat and shoved him through the gap in the sheeting. Luke staggered and fell on a patch of rough concrete, hurting his arm.

To his surprise he was not alone. Just inside the lot was a young woman. She had dyed blonde hair and heavy make-up, and she wore a long coat open over a loose dress. She had high-heeled evening shoes and torn stockings. She was pulling up her panties. Luke realized she was a prostitute who had just serviced the patrolman.

The cop came through the gap and kicked Luke in the stomach.

He heard the whore say: 'For Christ's sake, Sid, what did he do, spit on the sidewalk? Leave the poor bum alone!'

'Fucker has to learn some respect,' the cop said thickly.

Out of the corner of his eye, Luke saw him draw his nightstick and raise it. As the blow came down, Luke rolled to one side. He was not quite fast enough, and the end of the stick glanced off his left shoulder, numbing his arm momentarily. The cop raised the nightstick again.

A circuit closed in Luke's brain.

Instead of rolling away, he threw himself towards the cop. The man's forward momentum brought him crashing to the ground, and he dropped the nightstick. Luke sprang up nimbly. As the cop got up, Luke stepped close to him, waltzing inside his reach so that the man could not punch him. He grabbed the lapels of the uniform coat, pulled the man forward with a sharp jerk, and butted him in the face. There was a snapping sound as the cop's nose broke. The man roared with pain.