The Kremlin Letter (3 page)

“Let me hear.”

“At first I thought Sweet Alice and Uncle Morris were part of an established organization. They could have been code names for a department or even an agent in that organization. The main reason for this was that their names did not correspond with the others in the messages. In other words, names such as Pepper Pot, Annabel Lee and Sam McGee are all descriptive of what that person is. They tell us about his function or specialty. But Sweet Alice and Uncle Morris do not. That's why I assumed that they were special departments or networks of major agencies. They were like a telephone exchange, not a number. In fact I was sure they were not even people.

“But several factors made me realize that they could not be agencies or even agency-controlled. First of all, these are original copies of cablegrams.”

“They could be interdepartmental memos.”

“But they're not. They're the originals. If they were memos they'd be marked ‘top secret' or have some other classification. But none of this material is classified. Yet this is obviously a top-secret case—or even higher. Not only the body of the messages point to that, but the whole method of bringing me here is evidence of great urgency and great secrecy. Classifications such as secret or confidential or top secret or their equivalents are used by every major intelligence operation I've ever heard of. In any of those operations there are so many people involved that you have to specify who will see what. But in this instance no one seems worried about that—because they know just who
will
see it. They don't have the bureaucracy of the major operations. I must therefore assume they are independent of them.”

“That's a nice assumption. But I don't think a lack of classification can really justify your conclusions.”

“That's only part of it,” Rone continued. “The use of cablegrams in the first place is rather unusual. Most major organizations have their own communication facilities. And they are restricted facilities. They're also quite capable of handling both domestic and international traffic. If these organizations were involved why would they bother to risk the faulty security of commercial communications? I don't think they would. These messages are more like two men communicating than two agencies—and they are talking about a highly sensitive case. At times I have the feeling they don't want the major agencies to know anything about it.

“But there's a third thing that convinces me this is not a standard agency procedure. The messages were not in code. The meaning is obscure, but not crypt. Now, on the assumption we are talking about a very big case, a standard organization would send everything in code and the messages would be decoded and classified. The method of communication used in these messages suggests an individual agent who might not have the time or the knowledge to code his message.”

“Did it ever occur to you that the case might not be as important as it seems?”

“I thought of that,” Rone admitted. “But I had to eliminate it on two or three specific counts. First my own discharge. From what I gather, a source above both the Navy and possibly the Defense Department arranged it, and that kind of power is seldom used on routine cases. Why they want me I don't know, but the method by which I was secured is rather revealing.

“Another indication of the importance of the case is that whoever Sweet Alice and Uncle Morris are, they think nothing of swooping down and grabbing personnel from whatever organization they choose. We see that quite plainly in the case of the A&P and the library. If those groups had anybody these two wanted I bet they would have had them with no questions asked.

“The third thing that points to this being an important case are the dates on the messages. Six messages were sent from September 18 to September 20, six messages that required hundreds of hours of research and paperwork. Under ordinary situations this much work would take ten days or, at the least, a week. But this was done in three days. No, when Uncle Morris and Sweet Alice get into the picture things start to happen. And when Uncle Morris tells us that ‘the stew is cooling' I have the feeling something very serious is happening.”

“Then you think that Sweet Alice and Uncle Morris are individual agents?”

“I'm not exactly sure,” replied Rone. “They are either part of a small, powerful organization that behaves very much like an individual agent, or they are individual agents who have the strength and connections of a powerful organization.”

“Why not continue your homework?” said the man, holding out another folder.

Rone opened it.

Rone saw that the situation was getting worse. He turned the page.

The Highwayman was taboo. He wondered who the censors were. Apparently there were forces more powerful than Sweet Alice and Uncle Morris. He turned the page.

Rone noticed that the subject had changed. He also felt that Uncle Morris had made up his mind.

Rone stopped. The censors had said the Highwayman was “burned.” He wasn't sure whether that meant dead, lost or forbidden. He had no idea what “A&P PRO” meant.

He concluded that the censors had claimed the Highwayman was dead, but Uncle Morris could prove that he wasn't. He was calling their bluff. He was officially asking for the Highwayman. Rone wondered why Uncle Morris would know that he was alive, but Sweet Alice wouldn't.

The censors were holding to their story. They still claimed the Highwayman was dead. They also let it be known that even if he was alive three libraries would have nothing to do with him. Three, Rone thought to himself. Three major agencies? CIA, CIC and FBI? That could explain it. But then who are the censors?

Rone had no idea what this meant. He looked over at the man. He was asleep. He turned to the next page of messages.

Rone read the message over, then turned back to the previous page and reread that one as well. Featherless Fred seemed to be the last resort, but either he wouldn't listen to Sweet Alice or Sweet Alice had no way of getting to him. The censors were blocking the way. They were “climbing on his bones” or seducing him. Sweet Alice felt that only Toothless Tony could convince him. But he had no idea who Toothless Tony was, and Featherless Fred was equally obscure.

Toothless Tony was ready, whoever he was. Rone turned the page. There was only one message on it—and it was not a cablegram.

For reasons of national pride Rone was somewhat reluctant to establish the identity of Featherless Fred. If it wasn't who he thought it was he was certainly very close to him. Rone noticed that the letter was classified top secret. This meant that at least one person, maybe more, from a major agency saw it. If Rone's hunch was right then censors were with the agencies or, more likely, over them. But they were definitely not part of the Sweet Alice and Uncle Morris operation. What confused Rone most was that this letter was written to someone at one of the agencies, since it was classified. He wondered what their top-secret material was doing in with Sweet Alice and Uncle Morris information. The major agencies might give up or loan out an agent, but seldom if ever did they like giving out classified documents—especially when they came from the White House. Rone didn't have to guess what was on the next page as he began to turn.

So, Rone thought to himself, Sweet Alice does have a sense of humor. Uncle Morris was right in assuming the Highwayman was still alive, but he was no longer at the library—no longer with his old agency. The main problem was to find him and see if he was still capable of replacing the Pepper Pot.

Rone smiled to himself.

Rone could now see that the Highwayman was earning his name. Whatever he was before, he was a mercenary now. He wondered what the other conditions were.