Picking it up, he began to stand. “You
leaving
?” Basy asked. Chris didn’t like his tone and started to edge past him to the aisle, muttering, “Excuse me.”
The man’s grip on his wrist was like steel.
“I wouldn’t do that, Barton,” he said.
Chris stared down dumbly at the man. Basy wasn’t smiling now. “Sit down,” he said.
Chris couldn’t move. All he could do was look at the man.
Basy smiled now, a sympathetic smile. “You have to leave the country, Chris,” he said.
Chris’s legs began to give and Basy braced him up, then helped him back down onto the seat. He took the overnight bag out of Chris’s hand and slid it under the seat in front of Chris.
“Now,” Basy said. He looked at Chris, his expression one of slight exasperation. “I wasn’t supposed to let you know,” he said, “but I couldn’t let you leave either. Why were you leaving?”
Chris didn’t know what to say. After a few moments, he reached to his left and tugged on the folded newspaper. He laid it on Basy’s lap, pointing at the article.
Basy winced. “Oh, jeez,” he said, “I didn’t know that. Poor guy.”
“You
know
about him?” Chris demanded, unable to keep the sound of anger from his voice.
“I know you spoke to him and he said he’d help you.”
“He
did
help me,” Chris said tightly. “He got me the ticket for this flight and that bag there.”
“No, we got you the bag,” Basy said. “We would have gotten you the ticket, too, if he hadn’t done it first.”
The vise on his head again.
I’m losing touch
, he thought;
I really am.
“I was sent to go with you to London,” Basy told him. “Help you after you got there.”
Chris drew in a long, wavering breath.
“
What’s going on?
” he asked.
Basy hesitated, then shrugged. “I can’t tell you much,” he said. He held up his hand to stop Chris from breaking in. “For the simple reason,” he continued, “that I haven’t been told that much myself.”
“Is it the project?” Chris asked quickly.
“Bottom line? Of course,” Basy said. “You’re a very important part of it.”
“
Me?
” Chris made a scoffing noise. “I’m just a cog.”
“Don’t underestimate yourself,” Basy said grimly. “You know what your contribution means.”
Chris shrugged. “Well,” he said. “You—” He broke off, looking at Basy with suspicion.
“What?” Basy asked.
“How do I know who you are?” Chris said.
Basy took a billfold from his inside coat pocket and opened it. He pulled out a plastic-covered card and showed it to Chris.
James R. Basy, it read. An operative number. Central Intelligence Agency.
“You know Nelson?” Chris asked uneasily.
“Who?”
Chris told Basy about Meehan and Nelson.
“Well, I never heard of them,” Basy said. “But that doesn’t mean anything. There are a lot of agents in the CIA.”
“All working on my case?” Chris asked edgily.
“No.” Basy smiled faintly.
“You don’t know then whether—” Chris broke off.
“Whether what?”
“Whether they’re really CIA,” Chris lied. He’d been about to ask whether Basy knew if Nelson had survived or not. He’d decided, mid-sentence, not to pursue it. If Basy didn’t know about Nelson, let it stay that way.
“What about Veering then?” he asked, handing back the card.
“Who?”
Chris couldn’t control the groan.
“What’s wrong?” Basy asked.
Chris hesitated, then told him about his conversation with Veering. “And Nelson
mentioned
him,” he added.
“Well, since I don’t know who Nelson is, that doesn’t mean a hell of a lot to me,” Basy said. He grunted with amusement. “This Veering sounds like quite a nut case though.”
“What about the couple in my house?”
“That I know about,” Basy replied. “That’s how I got involved.” He looked around. “Oh, we’re leaving,” he said.
They didn’t speak as the plane backed away from the terminal, then began to taxi along the airfield. Chris
leaving
?” Basy asked. Chris didn’t like his tone and started to edge past him to the aisle, muttering, “Excuse me.”
The man’s grip on his wrist was like steel.
“I wouldn’t do that, Barton,” he said.
Chris stared down dumbly at the man. Basy wasn’t smiling now. “Sit down,” he said.
Chris couldn’t move. All he could do was look at the man.
Basy smiled now, a sympathetic smile. “You have to leave the country, Chris,” he said.
Chris’s legs began to give and Basy braced him up, then helped him back down onto the seat. He took the overnight bag out of Chris’s hand and slid it under the seat in front of Chris.
“Now,” Basy said. He looked at Chris, his expression one of slight exasperation. “I wasn’t supposed to let you know,” he said, “but I couldn’t let you leave either. Why were you leaving?”
Chris didn’t know what to say. After a few moments, he reached to his left and tugged on the folded newspaper. He laid it on Basy’s lap, pointing at the article.
Basy winced. “Oh, jeez,” he said, “I didn’t know that. Poor guy.”
“You
know
about him?” Chris demanded, unable to keep the sound of anger from his voice.
“I know you spoke to him and he said he’d help you.”
“He
did
help me,” Chris said tightly. “He got me the ticket for this flight and that bag there.”
“No, we got you the bag,” Basy said. “We would have gotten you the ticket, too, if he hadn’t done it first.”
The vise on his head again.
I’m losing touch
, he thought;
I really am.
“I was sent to go with you to London,” Basy told him. “Help you after you got there.”
Chris drew in a long, wavering breath.
“
What’s going on?
” he asked.
Basy hesitated, then shrugged. “I can’t tell you much,” he said. He held up his hand to stop Chris from breaking in. “For the simple reason,” he continued, “that I haven’t been told that much myself.”
“Is it the project?” Chris asked quickly.
“Bottom line? Of course,” Basy said. “You’re a very important part of it.”
“
Me?
” Chris made a scoffing noise. “I’m just a cog.”
“Don’t underestimate yourself,” Basy said grimly. “You know what your contribution means.”
Chris shrugged. “Well,” he said. “You—” He broke off, looking at Basy with suspicion.
“What?” Basy asked.
“How do I know who you are?” Chris said.
Basy took a billfold from his inside coat pocket and opened it. He pulled out a plastic-covered card and showed it to Chris.
James R. Basy, it read. An operative number. Central Intelligence Agency.
“You know Nelson?” Chris asked uneasily.
“Who?”
Chris told Basy about Meehan and Nelson.
“Well, I never heard of them,” Basy said. “But that doesn’t mean anything. There are a lot of agents in the CIA.”
“All working on my case?” Chris asked edgily.
“No.” Basy smiled faintly.
“You don’t know then whether—” Chris broke off.
“Whether what?”
“Whether they’re really CIA,” Chris lied. He’d been about to ask whether Basy knew if Nelson had survived or not. He’d decided, mid-sentence, not to pursue it. If Basy didn’t know about Nelson, let it stay that way.
“What about Veering then?” he asked, handing back the card.
“Who?”
Chris couldn’t control the groan.
“What’s wrong?” Basy asked.
Chris hesitated, then told him about his conversation with Veering. “And Nelson
mentioned
him,” he added.
“Well, since I don’t know who Nelson is, that doesn’t mean a hell of a lot to me,” Basy said. He grunted with amusement. “This Veering sounds like quite a nut case though.”
“What about the couple in my house?”
“That I know about,” Basy replied. “That’s how I got involved.” He looked around. “Oh, we’re leaving,” he said.
They didn’t speak as the plane backed away from the terminal, then began to taxi along the airfield. Chris
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