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“Sam thinks it’s no coincidence. Thinks either Minstrel knew it was slated for a certain day and released his identification too late for the Brits to get their man, or we have a leak.”
“Bullshit to both.”
“He favors the first option. Thinks Minstrel works for Moscow Center.”
“Mr. Sam Smartass McCready offer you any hard evidence for this?”
“No. I asked him specifically if he had an asset inside Moscow who had denounced Minstrel. He denied it. Said it was just his people’s analysis of the product.”
There was silence for a while, as if Bailey were deep in thought. Which he was. Then: “Did you believe his denial?”
“Frankly, no. I think he was lying. I suspect they’re running someone we know nothing about.”
“Then why don’t the Brits come clean?”
“I don’t know, Calvin. If they have an asset who has denounced Minstrel, they’re denying it.”
“Okay, listen, Joe, You tell Sam McCready from me, he has to put up or shut up. We have a major success in Minstrel, and I’m not about to let a sniping campaign out of Century House wreck it all. Not without hard evidence, and I mean really hard. Understood, Joe?”
“Loud and clear.”
“One other thing: Even if they have been tipped off that Orlov is phony, that would be standard Moscow Center practice. Moscow lost him, we got him, the Brits’ noses were put out of joint. Of course Moscow would leak to the Brits that our triumph was hollow and useless. And the Brits would be susceptible to that scam because of their annoyance at not getting Minstrel to themselves. So far as I am concerned, the British tip-off is disinformation. If they have a man, it’s their man who is lying. Ours is on the level.”
“Right, Calvin. If it arises again, can I tell Sam that?”
“Absolutely. That is Langley’s official view, and we’ll defend it.”
Neither man bothered to recall that by now the vindication of Orlov was linked to both their rising careers.
“Sam had one success,” said Joe Roth. “He came at Minstrel hard and strong—I had to pull him out of there twice—but he got Minstrel to come up with a new name. Gennadi Remyants.”
“We run Remyants,” retorted Bailey. “I’ve had his product coming across my desk for two years.”
Roth went on to reveal what Orlov had
said about Remyants’s true loyalties to Moscow and McCready’s suggestion that the simple way to clear the whole thing up would be to pick up Remyants and break him.
Bailey was silent. Finally he said, “Maybe. We’ll think it over. I’ll talk to the DDO and the Bureau. If we decide to go with that one, I’ll let you know. In the meantime, keep McCready away from Minstrel. Give them both a break.”
Joe Roth invited McCready to join him for breakfast the following morning at Roth’s apartment, an invitation McCready accepted.
“Don’t worry about it,” said Roth. “I know there are some fine hotels nearby, and Uncle Sam can afford breakfast for two, but I make a pretty mean breakfast myself. Juice, eggs over easy, waffles, coffee suit you?”
McCready laughed down the phone. “Juice and coffee will do fine.”
When he arrived, Roth was in the kitchen, an apron over his shirt, proudly demonstrating his talent with ham and eggs. McCready weakened and took some.
“Sam, I wish you’d revise your opinion about Minstrel,” said Roth over the coffee. “I spoke with Langley last night.”
“Calvin?”
“Yep.”
“His reaction?”
“He was saddened by your attitude.”
“Saddened, my butt,” said McCready. “I’ll bet he used some nice old-fashioned Anglo-Saxon language about me.”
