The Secret Lovers by Charles McCarry Page B

fountain. The rush of water nearly drowned their low
voices, and Christopher moved a step closer to his companions.
    “I was surprised to learn that Otto knew Horst Bülow so well.” Christopher said. “He never mentioned it to me before.”
    “Did you ever mention Bülow’s name to
him?
” Maria asked.
    “No.”
    “Then the question wouldn’t arise, would it? I’ve learned not to be surprised when Otto turns out to have known someone. He knows everyone.”
    “Did you know he knew Horst?”
    “No. Even when I was Otto’s case officer, we spent very little time bandying names. He only talks about the people who are in play at the moment. He’s an activist, not a
raconteur.”
    “I wonder why he kept telling me how irrelevant Horst and his death were,” Christopher said.
    Maria made an abrupt movement with her hand, slapping the empty air sharply; it was another of Otto’s gestures, and Christopher saw that Patchen noticed, too. Maria turned her back;
Christopher tapped her on the shoulder and she spun on her heel and faced him.
    “Because the murder of Bülow is not irrelevant at all,” he said. “Otto of all people must realize that.”
    The tone of Christopher’s voice had drawn Maria into a silence. She was too well trained to show hostility. She was trying to show nothing. Patchen watched her intently.
    “There’s only one way for Headquarters to read Bülow’s being killed as he handed me Kamensky’s manuscript,” Christopher said. “That the opposition killed
Horst. That the opposition knows we have the book.”
    “All right, Paul,” Maria said. “I see your point.”
    Christopher smiled at her; she moved back slightly, like a woman discouraging a kiss.
    “If the opposition
knows
,” he said, “then every reason for protecting Kamensky is removed. We have to assume they’ll kill him, no matter what we do. Why
didn’t Otto see that, when it’s so plain to all the rest of us?”
    Maria gave Christopher a defiant look, but when he took her hand and led her to an empty bench, she went with him unresisting.
    “David wants to talk to you,” Christopher said.
    4
    Patchen and Maria sat on the bench, with Christopher on the grass beside them, facing the other way so that he could watch for listeners behind them. Patchen turned his calm
face toward Otto Rothchild’s wife.
    “What I want you to understand,” he said, “is that I wish Otto to have this last success. We all do. But this is going to be a sensitive, difficult operation. Otto hasn’t
the powers he used to have.”
    “He does, you know.”
    “No, Maria, he doesn’t. He’s lost his bodily functions and some of his mental functions, and it scares him. He’s not the man he was.”
    “Still,” Maria said, “he’s better than almost anyone.
    “Granted. Otto is adaptable. He’s survived a lot in his life. As he’s always telling us, he’s lost things before—his money, his country, his politics. He’s
changed when he had to, always.”
    “David, you’re contradicting yourself.”
    “I’m describing Otto, so contradictions are bound to creep in,” Patchen said. “What I believe, what makes me anxious, is that Otto is adapting. He’s developing new
powers.”
    Christopher saw a remark occur to Maria; it was reflected in her eyes, she parted her lips to speak, but kept silent.
    “Otto has set things in motion,” Patchen said. “He’s created an operation. I’ve never seen him want anything as much as he wants this. I’m going to give it to
him because the target is irresistible. But I am not going to let him control it.”
    “Otto knows that.”
    “Yes, he does. And that’s why he’s struggling with me. I want you to help me to do him the kindness of letting him believe that he’s running things.”
    “You want me to report on him.”
    Another man, having been Maria Rothchild’s friend for years, might have put a hand on her arm. Patchen did not even raise his voice. “Yes,” he said.
    “And