The Bergamese Sect (32 page)

‘
Not this time, Ted. Remember, I was in the CIA; I have connections. There’s no involvement of the Agency in this particular society. Unfortunately, I didn’t get all the files from the intelligence network computers, so I don’t know what these irregularities were exactly, nor why Sewell wanted to keep it hushed up. But it’s clear Sewell’s involved in something funny. And I think I know what it is.’

Daintry made a dismissive expression with his mouth and coughed. ‘Sorry, Larry,’ he said, ‘that proves nothing. If that’s evidence of Sewell’s subversive activities, I’m a moose!’

‘
It doesn’t sound much on the face of it.’

‘
No shit!’

Walsh was beginning to tire of Daintry’s attitude. ‘I haven’t finished yet,’ he said. ‘I made a few calls. Turns out there’s no record of those orders from the DCI. The investigations were shut down illegally.’

‘
So what?’

‘
You’re still not intrigued?’

‘
As I said, it proves nothing. Sewell might have responsibilities we could never even imagine.’

‘
Covering up his involvement with a known activist, preventing investigation of a society of which he’s a member. Is that responsibility?’

‘
He’s a member?’

‘
Yeah. I’ve been busy on my way up here to find you. A few dollars thrown over a bar in New York can tell you a lot.’

‘
Well, why shouldn’t he be a member? What kind of society is it?’

‘
They’re a bunch of literary men. They’re interested in biblical writings.’

Daintry coughed a laugh. ‘That doesn’t sound very subversive to me,’ he said.

‘
It’s a front, Ted. I met with one of them in New York, tried to get some background. At first, he seemed helpful, but when I mentioned Sewell, he told me he couldn’t discuss individual members and left in a hurry. But he did tell me something interesting; the society’s biggest benefactor is Peter Jordan.’

Daintry looked disdainful again. ‘C’mon, Larry,’ he said, ‘there’s nothing suspicious in any of this. It just sounds like paranoia to me. You’re supposed to be a professional, not Nancy Drew. I think the Sebastian case is giving you delusions.’

‘
I don’t really care what you think, Ted. I’m just giving you the opportunity to see the truth. I
know
Sewell’s the saboteur. No question. He told me so himself, just before he tried to kill me. And he’s certainly got something to hide – something to do with this society. My guess is that they know the truth. Perhaps they’re even responsible. Sebastian was one of them and now he’s gone renegade, threatening to reveal what he knows. They want him found, want him silenced, before we get to him. The man who is supposed to be guiding us to the truth is actually hiding it from us.’

‘
Bullshit!’

Walsh felt his patience snap. ‘Okay,’ he said, ‘I was hoping you’d play along, give me the benefit of the doubt, but obviously that’s not going to happen. I didn’t want this to get personal, Ted.’

A glimmer of concern crossed Daintry’s face. ‘What do you mean?’

‘
If you won’t help me voluntarily, I’m prepared to force you.’

A smile broke Daintry’s concerned expression. He stared at Walsh’s jacket pocket, the gun trained on him stretching the fabric. ‘I’ve been in far worse situations than this, Larry,’ he said. ‘I’d rather get a bullet in the chest than betray the world to the wrong man.’

‘
Sure, wouldn’t we all,’ Walsh replied, his voice steady, unperturbed by Daintry’s stubbornness. Then Walsh gave a wicked grin. ‘But there’s always something that’ll make your man play ball,’ he said, ‘and I’m prepared to use any means to protect the innocent.’

Daintry frowned. ‘What means?’ he said.

‘
Phuong Huang
.’

Walsh’s words had an immediate effect on Daintry. The look of concern returned, but this time it screwed his face up grotesquely.

‘
What about it?’ Daintry asked.

‘
You think what you did went unnoticed?’

‘
I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘
Sure you do.’ The wicked look was still on Walsh’s face. ‘Do you want me to spell it out for you?’

Daintry’s face remained blank.

‘
Okay,’ said Walsh, ‘let’s try a little game. Let’s imagine a dossier arrives on the desk of a state prosecutor somewhere. It’s a military history of someone working in the intelligence community. Someone who wields a lot of power, who’s in a position of real responsibility. Someone like you, Ted. Except, this dossier contains an extra page, a page not found in the government repositories, in the official copies. A page that’s just been added. Not a fabrication, mind you, but something that’s only just come to light. Some details of the man’s career that have mysteriously appeared – were lost for thirty years.’

‘
Get to the point.’

‘
Sure. In 1972, this person was a twenty-four year-old Army intelligence officer in Vietnam. A well-respected soldier. One of his duties was to direct provincial reconnaissance units in the hunt for civilian members of the National Liberation Front. Project Phoenix, Daintry. Remember that?’

‘
Sure, it’s a policy none of us are proud of.’

‘
How could we be? The indiscriminate murder of thousands of suspected communists. Without trial, or indeed any evidence. It’s best forgotten. That’s why it causes such a lump in the throat when anyone brings it up.’

‘
What’s that got to do with me?’

‘
This extra page. It’s very interesting stuff. Turns out this guy was secretly informing the Vietcong of the movements of the PCUs, allowing the rebels to escape into the jungle. And at the same time, the CIA were receiving misleading, deliberately falsified reports of the enemy’s whereabouts from this intelligence officer. Perhaps he was a communist sympathiser. Whatever.’

Daintry’s face was turning a shade of grey. ‘You can’t prove any of that,’ he said nervously.

‘
Oh, but I can, Ted. I’m a supreme collector of information. It’s what my agency does to keep itself funded. There’s no one better at it anywhere on the planet. You wouldn’t believe the library of information we keep in the basement at Fort Meade. Staggering. And very enlightening if you take the time to sift through it. I have statements from three former Vietcong. They’re still alive, and willing to testify. They don’t need much inducement. The operational reports of the time speak for themselves. I’m surprised the military didn’t spot what you were doing.’

Walsh hunched his shoulders against the ocean breeze. ‘Perhaps you’re not aware of this,’ he said, ‘but treason still carries the death penalty in this country.’

Daintry had broken out into an unhealthy sweat. ‘No jury would convict me of any crime,’ he blurted out. ‘I was trying to save the lives of innocent people.’

‘
Sure, I realise that. It’s even admirable in some way. But those innocent lives were our enemy back then, and aiding or comforting the enemy is a treasonable crime. Besides, how many servicemen lost their lives because you failed to reveal what you knew? How many were slaughtered because the Vietcong knew where they were? Because you told them. I’m sure their families wouldn’t be impressed. Nor would your superiors. And I’m sure the press would love this one too.’

‘
It would never get to court.’

‘
It wouldn’t have to. I’m not threatening you with death, Ted. If I thought that threat would make you help me, I’d just hold this gun to your head. But think what would happen if that dossier we talked about got into the wrong hands. Into the hands of the
Washington Post
for example? Hell, they’ve been waiting for this one since Watergate. You’d be finished. And not only that, your family too. Your life would be over. You’d be ostracised, disabled, disgraced. You could say goodbye to the holiday home in Maine. You’d be lucky to get a logger’s shack in Alaska! That’s far worse than a bullet in the chest, isn’t it Ted?’

It was all Daintry needed. He looked at the sand, then out across the shifting water, a despondent look in his eye. ‘What do you want me to do?’ he said.

Walsh grinned. He didn’t often have to do it, but the sharpness of blackmail’s blade always impressed him. It could slice through the human conscience, through personal convictions, like a surgeon’s scalpel. When you blackmailed someone, you bargained not with a life, but with everything that made that life worth living.

‘
I’m not asking for much,’ Walsh said. ‘I just want to get a message to my men in the field. I’ve lost touch with them, for obvious reasons, and they’re in great danger from Sewell and his men. I just want to warn them.’

‘
Why do you need me for that?’

‘
Sewell’s shut me down. He’ll be watching for me to attempt contact. I need to warn those agents and I need to do it without Sewell’s knowledge.’

‘
I don’t have the means to contact your men.’

‘
I know, but I want you to go to someone who does. I can’t go myself; I can’t risk being seen. But you could have a legitimate reason for visiting him and you shouldn’t arouse suspicion.’

‘
Who is it?’

‘
A man called Greg Chapman. He’s at Fort Meade.’

Daintry crossed his arms, began rubbing the goose-pimply flesh. ‘What should I tell him?’

‘
All the usual means of communication will have been cut or will be watched by Sewell. But there’s one method that can’t be switched off. That’s a general service broadcast.’

Daintry frowned. He wasn’t the kind to know about operational procedures. Walsh explained that this was an ingenious method of reaching compromised agents. If an enemy was able to decipher specific instructions to agents, then the solution was to become vague and general. Transmit a coded message to all operatives, on an unsecured radio band, picked up by a standard release receiver, and the enemy would likely dismiss the message as irrelevant. The vagueness of the instructions would also confuse the enemy. But since the message could only be understood by the specific agent, it would be just as effective as a direct secured command. It was the oldest cryptologic method in the book. No need for complex ciphers. Just speak a language your enemy didn’t understand.

‘
I want you to get to Greg Chapman and tell him to transmit a message for me,’ Walsh said.

‘
Okay,’ Daintry said grudgingly. ‘What’s the message?’

‘
Commit it to memory, don’t write it down.’

Walsh dictated the words several times, making Daintry repeat them until they were etched on his mind.

‘
I want you to leave right away,’ Walsh said. ‘Tonight. You can get to Fort Meade by morning. Your identity card will get you in with no problems. The desk clerk will point you to Chapman. He’s not expecting you, but don’t announce yourself until you’re alone. Mention my name only to him. He’ll ask for some confirmation that the message is really from me. Whatever question he asks you, he’ll be expecting to hear the word ‘Westport’ in the answer. That’s all he’ll need. Then give him the message, exactly as I’ve given it to you, and leave immediately.’

Daintry was just nodding, staring at the wet, grey rocks.

‘
Don’t talk to anyone else. And just so we understand each other, I’ve left a copy of that missing page from your official dossier with a good friend of mine. A lawyer. If he doesn’t hear from me within two weeks, he’ll be mailing copies to a carefully chosen group of men. Some very influential men. Don’t think I won’t follow through on this.’

Daintry looked up from the rocks. His silence said everything.

‘
It’s called blackmail,’ Walsh said. ‘Ugly, isn’t it? Once I hear from my men and I know they’re safe, just one call from me will get you off the hook. Got the picture?’

Daintry nodded again. ‘Sure,’ he said.

‘
Good. I’m glad we understand each other. I’m not asking for much in return for my silence. Needless to say, we never had this meeting, and if you follow my instructions and don’t slip up, we can keep
Phuong Huang
off the nightly news.’

Daintry grumbled something inaudible.

‘
Enjoy your dinner,’ Walsh said. He took his hand out of his pocket, zipped up his jacket and started to back away across the rocks.

Daintry looked up at him, still hugging his arms against the breeze. ‘Aren’t you going to give me a lift back?’ he shouted after Walsh.

Walsh had already turned, was hopping over the rocks. His reply floated over the noise of the waves. ‘Walk it, it’ll do you good.’

Chapter 19

The beam of Matt’s flashlight bounced across a patchwork of half-melted snow and thick tufts of hardy grass. In the gloom ahead, he could see the snow line, the northern edge of the Asulkan glacier. Henric was racing ahead.

‘
It’s dark,’ Matt shouted after him. ‘Shouldn’t we wait till tomorrow?’

‘
No time,’ Henric bellowed.

As they approached the ice, Matt could hear the tinkling of running water. Suddenly they came across a deep channel strewn with boulders. A gush of creamy-white melt water raced from beneath an overhanging crest of ice at the base of the glacier. Henric jumped up onto the ice, crunching across it with his heavy boots. Matt followed, pulling his coat together at the neck to block the chilling breeze.

The climb was difficult, worsened by Matt’s swollen arm. The gradient was steep and the surface wet and slippery. They dragged themselves up, sometimes clinging to the ice itself, occasionally stamping their boots to gain a footing. But soon the gradient lessened and the ice became firmer. Eventually, they were standing on a wide expanse of solid ice, the slope gently rising toward the Asulkan Pass above.