The Berlin Conspiracy Read Free Page B

the larynx to the bronchi, blocking the only air passage to the lungs, causing the subject to suffocate within seconds. Of course, conversation is out of the question in these circumstances, so I never got a chance to say good-bye to Rita.
    We adjourned to the Company car, where I massaged my throat while we waited for Chase. He finally climbed into the front seat beside Powell and reported that our man had disappeared into thin air. I was about to make a comment, but decided to shut up for once.
    “Langley wants a report tonight,” Powell fretted. “How the fuck do I write this up?”
    “Chase got too close, let the subject make us,” Johnson said matter-of-factly. “It was clumsy.”
    Chase turned, gave the kid an icy stare. Even in the dark you could see that this one was dangerous—the kind of guy who could snap at any moment, but you’d never be able to predict when or why. The kid didn’t flinch, though. I was starting to like him, in spite of my sore throat.
    “How about I say the target walked because Jack was hitting on a chick?” Powell looked to me for a reaction.
    “A chick?” I forced a laugh through the bruises on my vocal cords. “Do you know how silly you sound when you say that?”
    “We can’t all be as cool as you, Jack.”
    “I guess that’s right.” I opened the door to get out. “Tell Washington whatever you want. Tell them I was getting a blow job. I didn’t ask for this shit, you guys came to me.”
    “Where the hell do you think you’re going?”
    “To get some fresh air. Don’t bother waiting up.”
    Johnson asked if he should stop me, but Powell was smart enough to know it would only make his report that much harder to write.

TWO
    I stumbled onto a beer hall tucked away in a small side street not far from the rail station. It was called Stru-wwelpeter after the fairy-tale kid who never washed or trimmed his fingernails. A painting of the boy over the door brought back an image from a book my mother used to read to me. Memories of that time were pretty rare for me, so I guess Berlin was jostling something. Anyway, it made me smile.
    The pub was a traditional place—high ceilings, rows of long wooden tables, large fireplace, and a warm atmosphere. About half-full with a cheery crowd. I ordered sausages and a Pilsner, found the
Tribune
in my pocket, and settled in. I felt like a smoke, decided what the hell, and bought a pack of HBs from a machine. It seemed to go with the scene.
    I realized that I’d been sitting on the bench at theplatform for well over an hour staring at the front page of the paper and hadn’t read a word of it. KENNEDY DEPARTS ON EUROPEAN TOUR was the lead item. I read the first paragraph:
    London
—
President Kennedy’s European tour is taking place at a most inauspicious time, according to many diplomats here. In his speech at American University on June í 0, the President set as his goal an easing of rivalries with the Soviet Union. That conciliatory gesture on East-West relations is regarded here as ruling out any possibility of a strong declaration by the United States in support of West Germany, and particularly Berlin, during Mr. Kennedy’s visit. A high-ranking NATO officer said, “President Kennedy wishes to turn back the clock of warfare and stop development of nuclear weapons on earth and in space. But this cannot be done.”
    It’s a trick of journalism that when a newspaper wants to put an editorial on the front page, they simply write an opinion, then go out and find someone to attribute it to. What did “according to many diplomats” mean? It meant the writer had been to a cocktail party full of junior ministers who’d spent the night second-guessing American foreign policy. That’s news? And the “high-ranking NATO officer” was bound to be one of de Gaulle’s cronies. The French president, unable to understand why the world gave Kennedy the adulation that should have been his, took potshots at the president whenever the