walked to the door and knocked for the outer guard to open. “I’m quite tired. I’ve worked forty-eight hours on end over the Parra papers. I’ll let you know about going to Cuba.”
“By the way,” Nordstrom said, “I saw Kuznetov yesterday. He sends his regards. He’s making an excellent recovery.”
“I’m not certain whether he’s lucky or not,” André said.
The three Americans were unable to look at each other for some time after André departed.
“Jesús Christ!” Nordstrom finally sputtered. “I hope to God we can make it right for him someday.”
11
U NLIKE HIS DELICATE PERFORMANCE at the Legion of Honor dinner, Ambassador René d’Arcy bit off the end of his cigar, spit it into an ashtray and lit it with quick, violent puffs. SDECE had contacted him regarding André’s pending mission to Cuba, and the French President’s office was pressuring him to influence Devereaux to change his tack.
“I must say, Monsieur Devereaux, I personally frown on your going to Cuba.”
“Are you frowning officially or unofficially?”
“Well, the gist is that this is solely an affair between the Cubans and the Americans.”
“Perhaps ... perhaps not. I have a different interpretation, Monsieur l’Ambassadeur. There is an apparent threat to a NATO ally. France is still in NATO, you know. Unless you are ready to issue me orders on the matter, I intend to go forward with my plans.”
D’Arcy rolled his cigar in pudgy fingers and bolted out frustrated puffs of smoke across his desk to where André sat unmoved.
Despite Devereaux’s unfortunate leanings, one would have to think more than twice about removing him from office. The skilled organization he had built in the hemisphere could collapse in lesser hands. Certainly Devereaux was one of the most competent intelligence officers in the SDECE. Furthermore, the Americans would turn completely cold to a new man. The pendulum had swung, sweeping away key personnel, and the pendulum had returned with La Croix people. André Devereaux had withstood the purges without politicking or kowtowing to the personal regime of a French President who was still under the influence of his personal sensitivities from twenty-five years earlier and his extraordinarily parochial advisers.
D’Arcy folded, unfolded his hands, tapped his fingers, balked. A large portrait of Pierre La Croix hovered behind him, glowering down on his back. “This whole undertaking is solely in the interest of the United States. I am going to be candid, Devereaux.”
“That should be novel.”
“There are unpleasant rumblings in both SDECE and the President’s office about your overt pro-American attitude. The entire orientation of your office calls for a drastic change of thinking.”
“Just what kind of change do you have in mind, Monsieur l’Ambassadeur?”
“To certain basic facts. France will not have her life and death dictated to by the Americans. France is the mistress of her own destiny.”
“Or, better spoken, the master of her own destruction.” André held up a hand to halt D’Arcy’s rebuttal. “No nation on this earth with a population of fifty million has the slightest chance of defending itself without an alliance with one of the two major powers. Without NATO and America we have nothing to deter a Soviet move on us.”
“You call our force de frappe nothing?”
“France has an atomic popgun,” he answered with disdain, flicking an imaginary fly from his wrist. “It cannot be taken seriously, despite the ill-spent billions.”
“And you call the Western European Alliance nothing!”
“An archaic dream of two old men. A daydream of forming a third power in Europe that calls for us to sleep with the Germans. Are you ready to sleep with Germany after what they have done to France in this century? Ah, Monsieur D’Arcy, but even if we are ready to deceive ourselves into believing that we could control a Franco-German union, the Germans are not so ready to
“By the way,” Nordstrom said, “I saw Kuznetov yesterday. He sends his regards. He’s making an excellent recovery.”
“I’m not certain whether he’s lucky or not,” André said.
The three Americans were unable to look at each other for some time after André departed.
“Jesús Christ!” Nordstrom finally sputtered. “I hope to God we can make it right for him someday.”
11
U NLIKE HIS DELICATE PERFORMANCE at the Legion of Honor dinner, Ambassador René d’Arcy bit off the end of his cigar, spit it into an ashtray and lit it with quick, violent puffs. SDECE had contacted him regarding André’s pending mission to Cuba, and the French President’s office was pressuring him to influence Devereaux to change his tack.
“I must say, Monsieur Devereaux, I personally frown on your going to Cuba.”
“Are you frowning officially or unofficially?”
“Well, the gist is that this is solely an affair between the Cubans and the Americans.”
“Perhaps ... perhaps not. I have a different interpretation, Monsieur l’Ambassadeur. There is an apparent threat to a NATO ally. France is still in NATO, you know. Unless you are ready to issue me orders on the matter, I intend to go forward with my plans.”
D’Arcy rolled his cigar in pudgy fingers and bolted out frustrated puffs of smoke across his desk to where André sat unmoved.
Despite Devereaux’s unfortunate leanings, one would have to think more than twice about removing him from office. The skilled organization he had built in the hemisphere could collapse in lesser hands. Certainly Devereaux was one of the most competent intelligence officers in the SDECE. Furthermore, the Americans would turn completely cold to a new man. The pendulum had swung, sweeping away key personnel, and the pendulum had returned with La Croix people. André Devereaux had withstood the purges without politicking or kowtowing to the personal regime of a French President who was still under the influence of his personal sensitivities from twenty-five years earlier and his extraordinarily parochial advisers.
D’Arcy folded, unfolded his hands, tapped his fingers, balked. A large portrait of Pierre La Croix hovered behind him, glowering down on his back. “This whole undertaking is solely in the interest of the United States. I am going to be candid, Devereaux.”
“That should be novel.”
“There are unpleasant rumblings in both SDECE and the President’s office about your overt pro-American attitude. The entire orientation of your office calls for a drastic change of thinking.”
“Just what kind of change do you have in mind, Monsieur l’Ambassadeur?”
“To certain basic facts. France will not have her life and death dictated to by the Americans. France is the mistress of her own destiny.”
“Or, better spoken, the master of her own destruction.” André held up a hand to halt D’Arcy’s rebuttal. “No nation on this earth with a population of fifty million has the slightest chance of defending itself without an alliance with one of the two major powers. Without NATO and America we have nothing to deter a Soviet move on us.”
“You call our force de frappe nothing?”
“France has an atomic popgun,” he answered with disdain, flicking an imaginary fly from his wrist. “It cannot be taken seriously, despite the ill-spent billions.”
“And you call the Western European Alliance nothing!”
“An archaic dream of two old men. A daydream of forming a third power in Europe that calls for us to sleep with the Germans. Are you ready to sleep with Germany after what they have done to France in this century? Ah, Monsieur D’Arcy, but even if we are ready to deceive ourselves into believing that we could control a Franco-German union, the Germans are not so ready to
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