Agent in Place Read Free Page B

so important that it could bring them together like this? “So now you are an expert on food-grains,” Alexis probed.
    “Now, now,” Mischa chided. “You may have been one of my best pupils, but you don’t have to try my own tricks on me.” He was amused. Briefly. “I’ve been following your progress. I have seen your reports, those that are of special interest. You have not mentioned Thomas Kelso in the last three months. No progress there? What about his brother, Charles Kelso—you are still his friend?”
    “Yes.”
    “Then why?”
    “Because Chuck Kelso now lives in New York. Tom Kelso lives mostly in Washington.”
    “But Charles Kelso did introduce you to his brother?”
    “Yes.”
    “Four years ago?”
    “Yes.”
    “And you have not established yourself with Thomas Kelso by this time?”
    “I tried several visits on my own after Chuck left Washington. Polite reception. No more. I was just another friend of his brother—Chuck is ten years younger than Tom, and that makes a big difference in America.”
    “Ridiculous. They are brothers. They were very close. That is why we instructed you to renew your friendship with Charles Kelso when you and he met again in Washington. Five years ago, wasn’t that?”
    “Almost five.”
    “And two years ago, when it was reported that Thomas Kelso needed a research assistant, you were instructed to suggest—in a friendly meeting—that you would be interested in that position. Your reaction to that order was negative. Why?”
    “It was an impossible suggestion. Too dangerous. At present I am making $22,000 a year. Did you want me to drop $14,000 and rouse suspicions?”
    “Was $8,000 a year all he could afford?” Mischa was disbelieving. “But he must make—”
    “Not all Americans are millionaires,” said Alexis. “Isn’t that what you used to impress on me? Sure, Kelso is one of the best—and best-paid—reporters on international politics. He picks up some extra money from articles and lectures, plus travel expenses when he has an assignment abroad. But he lives on the income he earns. That is what keeps him a busy man, I suppose.”
    “An influential man,” Mischa said softly. “What about that book he has been writing for the last two years?”
    “Geopolitics. Deals with the conflict between the Soviet Union and China.”
    “That much, we also know,” Mischa said in sharp annoyance. “Is that all you have learned about it?”
    “It is all anyone has learned in Washington. Do you think he wants his ideas stolen?”
    “You had better try again with Mr. Thomas Kelso, and keep on trying.”
    “But what has this to do with your work in Directorate S?” That was the section of the First Chief Directorate that dealt in Illegals—agents with assumed identities sent to live abroad.
    There was a moment of silence. It was impossible to see Mischa’s expression clearly now. Night had come, black and bleak. Alexis could feel the angry stare that was directed at him through the darkness, and regretted his temerity. He repressed a shiver, turned up his coat-collar. Then Mischa said, “The brash American,” and even laughed. He added, “It has to do with my present work, very much so.” He relented still further, and a touch of humour entered his voice. “Let us say that I am interested in influencing people who influence people.”
    So Mischa had moved over to the First Chief Directorate’s Department A: Disinformation. Alexis was appropriately impressed, but he kept silent. He had already said too much. If Mischa wasn’t his friend, he might have been yanked out of Washington and sent to the Canal Zone or Alaska.
    “So,” said Mischa, “you will persevere with Tom Kelso. He is important because of his job and the friends he makes through it—in Paris, Rome, London—and, of course, in the North Atlantic Treaty Organisation. They trust him there in NATO. He hears a great deal.”
    Alexis nodded.
    “About NATO...” Mischa was too casual,