The Infant of Prague

“He’s in Brussels for an affair, something about the International Society of Filmmakers. He’s supposed to get an award. Apparently, everyone makes movies in Prague now because of the costs and because the city looks… well, European. The way Europe used to look.”

Devereaux said, “He travels abroad?”

“All the time. He’s very connected. Sort of an impresario.”

“Who works for the government.”

“That’s the way they do things over there.”

“He goes to New York,” Devereaux said. “Why doesn’t he defect in Bloomingdale’s?”

Hanley pursed his lips. “There are complications.”

“I thought it was a simple matter.”

“Your name was selected by… by the director.” Hanley referred to Mrs. Neumann, the new Section chief.

“I’m flattered,” Devereaux said. “How much more complicated does it get?”

“The complications are all outside, they don’t involve you.”

Devereaux turned. He stared at Hanley and his gray eyes glittered in the candlelight. There was something dangerous in those eyes and Hanley wanted to turn away but he could not.

“The complication is outside,” Hanley repeated. “Our competition at Langley. Langley was interested in Miki before we were. Perhaps they tried too hard. Miki has made it clear that he doesn’t trust Langley in this.”

“But he trusts Section.”

“Apparently.”

“Is any of this certain? Or is Section depending on astrology again?”

Hanley winced. It had been an unfortunate matter and no one mentioned it anymore. Somehow, a clerk rose to GS-15 inside Section. He had complete clearance to the level of Q. And he was in charge of processing new code names for the permanent files of senior field officers. Instead of making random selections, however, he studied astrology charts and imprinted all the agents with names that — given their birth dates and other astrological data—“augured well for Section.” So one became Aries and another became Tuesday and another was called Midnight. And the man who spoke to Hanley now was known on the permanent files as “November,” though he used other names as well.

“There is a certainty that the risk of snatching Miki is small, compared with potential rewards. He’s a top man in the Prague bureaucracy and he knows secrets and we want them. All Miki wants is a snatch — this is not a defection. He wants to be obliterated by us and buried in an empty grave.”

Devereaux sighed. “A new name and identity. The country is going to become full of people with new names and new fingerprints, and no one will ever know who they really once were.”

“Miki is afraid of Langley and that makes him all the more important to us,” Hanley went on. “He hints he has a bit on Langley’s dealings with the Czechs as well.”

“Hints,” Devereaux said. He used the word with contempt. He was tired of Hanley, tired of traveling. They had telephoned the number in Lausanne and the message had been waiting for him in a folded-up copy of the Journal de Genève at the train station. He had traveled all night and all day, doubling back on himself to make certain he was safe. And Hanley had merely slipped out the back door of a Paris hotel to do the same thing.

“And what if it’s not what it appears to be?” Devereaux asked. The tone of his voice had not changed, but Hanley felt on guard.

“There is no risk,” Hanley said.

“Everything is a risk. Did Miki dictate the terms of his escape?”

“Not the terms. He doesn’t know the train or the route. He only knows the time. Twenty-one hundred tomorrow at the Grand Place in Brussels. You’ll be out of it less than two hours later. And back home to sleep in Lausanne.”

“You want him for what he might have on Langley,” Devereaux said, falling into the Section slang term for Central Intelligence Agency. “Just another bit of interagency competition.”

“The pig that doesn’t fight doesn’t get to feed at the trough,” Hanley said. “Everything is competition in the end.”

“And what if the business fails? And Miki is part of a trap? Who gets the blame?”

“It can’t fail,” Hanley said. In the silence, they could hear the clear voice of the Englishman behind them. He was describing the work of lifting stones upon wooden scaffolds to the top of the church.

“Who gets the blame if it fails?”

“Whoever kidnapped Miki,” Hanley said.

There it was between them. November was the sleeping agent, stricken from active files, and yet he was useful in a situation like this. Once a spy, always a spy; it was the rule and they both knew it could never be broken or altered in any way.

“Not Section,” Devereaux said then. He had the truth at least. Stowe and Eurodesk Section were bypassed because what was about to happen in Brussels would never be traced back to Section if things went wrong.