I’m a guy, and she’s a good-looking girl, so I smiled, which looked pathetically stupid, as my eyes welled up with tears.
“I guess. Anyway, we spent yesterday with your husband.”
“How is he?”
“Angry, but better. He thinks he’s been framed.”
At first, she didn’t reply. She appeared shocked, then curious, then asked, “By whom?”
“He claims to be completely baffled by the whole thing. Mary, he’s just throwing darts in the dark . . . Believe me, we defense attorneys hear it all the time.” Especially from perps who know they’re guilty as hell, I politely failed to mention. “Anyway, we went back over his career. The papers are claiming his betrayal began back in ’88 or ’89.”
She was shaking her head. “I read the articles. It’s ludicrous. It would mean he started within months after we married. It’s impossible, believe me.”
“The articles also mentioned he had a single Russian controller over all those years. We therefore reviewed what he was doing, looking for contacts he made with Russian citizens.”
“That’s a logical approach, but I’m sure you discovered it was hopeless. Our whole careers were centered around Russians.”
I nodded and then paused for a brief moment. “Mary, he told us about Alexi Arbatov.”
Her eyes suddenly widened and her whole body convulsed forward. “Oh my God. Sean, he should never have mentioned that name. You have no business knowing about that. What in the hell is Bill doing?”
“Defending himself. Don’t worry, Katrina and I have proper clearances. Your secret’s safe,” I insisted, conveniently forgetting to mention that little incident about the tapes.
“Your clearances are meaningless. Knowledge about. . . about him is the tightest compartment in the Agency. Less than ten living people know about him. Forget that name. Please.”
I allowed Mary a polite interlude to realize that the cat was out of the bag, so to speak. I had expected her to be uncomfortable, however, she appeared to be almost distraught.
She finally burst out, “You’ll have to be read on to the compartment.”
I chuckled—she didn’t.
“Sean, it’s not funny. This is the most sensitive secret in Agency history. You’ll have to be read on”—she glanced at Katrina and insisted—“both of you.”
“Mary, we’re not going to be read on. We’ll never be allowed to mention anything about this again. This guy Arbatov’s the only Russian your husband knew all those years. He might be a link to what’s going on here.”
“Oh God, Sean, can’t you see what Bill’s doing? He fed you that name because he knew how much it would frighten the Agency. I want him to be innocent, but this is dangerous.”
“Look, what I hoped was, we could have a long, candid conversation about Arbatov. This could be important for you, too. You were meeting with him also.”
“Don’t you understand? . . . I can’t speak with you about . . . well, about this topic.”
“And why can’t you?”
“I take polygraphs. I’m subject to prosecution. If I mentionthat name, I could go to prison. I have two young children. You see that, don’t you?”
I suddenly did—with a clarity that brought a rush of blood to my face. Merely bringing this up, I put her in peril. But then, her husband had to know that, too. So why had that conniving asshole sent me to ask Mary about Arbatov?
While I tried to reason through this, Katrina swiftly asked, “Didn’t Bill take polygraphs also?”
“No. As an Army officer he was immune from that.”
I abruptly stood up and mumbled, “Listen, we’ve got to get going. We’ve got all kinds of things that have to get done.”
Said less adroitly, it was time for a clumsy exit to match the even more clumsy mistake I’d just made. Nobody argued with me. No surprise there, right? Mary politely followed us out and at the doorway, put a hand on my arm and said, “I’m sorry I disappointed you, Sean. I want to help. Please
“I guess. Anyway, we spent yesterday with your husband.”
“How is he?”
“Angry, but better. He thinks he’s been framed.”
At first, she didn’t reply. She appeared shocked, then curious, then asked, “By whom?”
“He claims to be completely baffled by the whole thing. Mary, he’s just throwing darts in the dark . . . Believe me, we defense attorneys hear it all the time.” Especially from perps who know they’re guilty as hell, I politely failed to mention. “Anyway, we went back over his career. The papers are claiming his betrayal began back in ’88 or ’89.”
She was shaking her head. “I read the articles. It’s ludicrous. It would mean he started within months after we married. It’s impossible, believe me.”
“The articles also mentioned he had a single Russian controller over all those years. We therefore reviewed what he was doing, looking for contacts he made with Russian citizens.”
“That’s a logical approach, but I’m sure you discovered it was hopeless. Our whole careers were centered around Russians.”
I nodded and then paused for a brief moment. “Mary, he told us about Alexi Arbatov.”
Her eyes suddenly widened and her whole body convulsed forward. “Oh my God. Sean, he should never have mentioned that name. You have no business knowing about that. What in the hell is Bill doing?”
“Defending himself. Don’t worry, Katrina and I have proper clearances. Your secret’s safe,” I insisted, conveniently forgetting to mention that little incident about the tapes.
“Your clearances are meaningless. Knowledge about. . . about him is the tightest compartment in the Agency. Less than ten living people know about him. Forget that name. Please.”
I allowed Mary a polite interlude to realize that the cat was out of the bag, so to speak. I had expected her to be uncomfortable, however, she appeared to be almost distraught.
She finally burst out, “You’ll have to be read on to the compartment.”
I chuckled—she didn’t.
“Sean, it’s not funny. This is the most sensitive secret in Agency history. You’ll have to be read on”—she glanced at Katrina and insisted—“both of you.”
“Mary, we’re not going to be read on. We’ll never be allowed to mention anything about this again. This guy Arbatov’s the only Russian your husband knew all those years. He might be a link to what’s going on here.”
“Oh God, Sean, can’t you see what Bill’s doing? He fed you that name because he knew how much it would frighten the Agency. I want him to be innocent, but this is dangerous.”
“Look, what I hoped was, we could have a long, candid conversation about Arbatov. This could be important for you, too. You were meeting with him also.”
“Don’t you understand? . . . I can’t speak with you about . . . well, about this topic.”
“And why can’t you?”
“I take polygraphs. I’m subject to prosecution. If I mentionthat name, I could go to prison. I have two young children. You see that, don’t you?”
I suddenly did—with a clarity that brought a rush of blood to my face. Merely bringing this up, I put her in peril. But then, her husband had to know that, too. So why had that conniving asshole sent me to ask Mary about Arbatov?
While I tried to reason through this, Katrina swiftly asked, “Didn’t Bill take polygraphs also?”
“No. As an Army officer he was immune from that.”
I abruptly stood up and mumbled, “Listen, we’ve got to get going. We’ve got all kinds of things that have to get done.”
Said less adroitly, it was time for a clumsy exit to match the even more clumsy mistake I’d just made. Nobody argued with me. No surprise there, right? Mary politely followed us out and at the doorway, put a hand on my arm and said, “I’m sorry I disappointed you, Sean. I want to help. Please
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