something hot, and Kator didn’t deal in peanuts. The question was how to pull a bluff with a man as sharp as Kator.
When it came to him he laughed, it was that simple. He’d get what he wanted in the strangest way of all. He’d level with Kator. He’d pump the man and turn him inside out, and then, by God, he’d give that pig a lesson in the fine art of promotion.
Kator had watched the laugh, and turned glum. Jesso’s kind was new to him. The well tried ways of his particular training hadn’t worked. This man was truly from another world, with no conception of his standing, not frightened for his creature comforts, and above all he seemed invulnerable in a strange belief that there was always one more chance. It made Kator wary. While he rarely underestimated an opponent, he found in this case that his estimate needed constant sharpening, changing. This was more painful because Kator felt he knew the kind of man he was dealing with: a standard product of a gutter, born in a standard country. A country that had never learned to breed an elite. What he faced in Jesso was an insult to his background, his career. His Pomeranian family was old, producing without change only the finest and the sternest of Germany’s leaders. Even poverty never changed that. The ancient tract of land where Kator had been born lay large and useless, and in the winter the dank estate house had three rooms with heat, while the rest lay cold and unused. But Kator, like the ordained, followed his mission. His special twist of mind made the Kaiser’s intelligence service his proper place. And then empire and state collapsed, and a different order hardly worth the name took hold.
When Kator’s special twist of mind produced his next profession, he did the same as he’d always done. There was no geographic limit to his territory; his brain was his chief tool, and Kator stayed in the invisible leadership of one of those organizations that ferret, steal, and always find the kind of information that every government conceals and every government will buy. Like Jesso, Kator was on his own. Like Jesso, Kator had no outside loyalties. But unlike Jesso, Kator had a trick of thinking that his work was a service, as if his wealth were only a side issue to his work, as if there were some extra-human dedication to his energies. It gave Kator some imaginary edge, making no one his equal. He never flaunted it, but it was always part of his stance. It always worked, because the mark of the elite was seldom questioned.
“Reach me that coffeepot, Kator, will you?”
He pushed it over.
Jesso poured and said conversationally, “First I’ll tell you what I want, Kator, and then I’ll try to tell you what you want. Fair enough, Baron?”
“Jesso, if you imagine that delaying tactics—”
“You said you had nine days, didn’t you. Tell me, are you a baron?”
“Jesso—”
“I bet you’re a Nazi, though. You a Nazi, Kator?”
There was no answer.
“A Communist?”
When Jesso made no sign of interrupting, Kator took the time to answer.
“My business, Jesso, is conducted on a level where temporary political affiliations have no meaning. Not that I expect you to understand, but there are loyalties that transcend—“
“Why, Kator, you’re making a speech!”
It was true. Kator appeared angry and his eyebrows went up. Kator could raise his eyebrows without ever showing the upper lids. The heavy fold of skin over his eyes stayed down, making the face emotionless and calm.
Jesso laughed again. “You’re a Nazi either way, Kator, but like you said, right now we’ll have some bigger kinds of loyalties. Let’s talk about what I want.” Jesso crossed his legs and watched his foot bob up and down. “First of all, I get safe conduct. Where are we landing, Kator?”
“Hamburg.”
“I want off at Hamburg. I want five hundred bucks in one pocket and a passport in the other. And a visa. I think I need a visa. That’s cheap for what
When it came to him he laughed, it was that simple. He’d get what he wanted in the strangest way of all. He’d level with Kator. He’d pump the man and turn him inside out, and then, by God, he’d give that pig a lesson in the fine art of promotion.
Kator had watched the laugh, and turned glum. Jesso’s kind was new to him. The well tried ways of his particular training hadn’t worked. This man was truly from another world, with no conception of his standing, not frightened for his creature comforts, and above all he seemed invulnerable in a strange belief that there was always one more chance. It made Kator wary. While he rarely underestimated an opponent, he found in this case that his estimate needed constant sharpening, changing. This was more painful because Kator felt he knew the kind of man he was dealing with: a standard product of a gutter, born in a standard country. A country that had never learned to breed an elite. What he faced in Jesso was an insult to his background, his career. His Pomeranian family was old, producing without change only the finest and the sternest of Germany’s leaders. Even poverty never changed that. The ancient tract of land where Kator had been born lay large and useless, and in the winter the dank estate house had three rooms with heat, while the rest lay cold and unused. But Kator, like the ordained, followed his mission. His special twist of mind made the Kaiser’s intelligence service his proper place. And then empire and state collapsed, and a different order hardly worth the name took hold.
When Kator’s special twist of mind produced his next profession, he did the same as he’d always done. There was no geographic limit to his territory; his brain was his chief tool, and Kator stayed in the invisible leadership of one of those organizations that ferret, steal, and always find the kind of information that every government conceals and every government will buy. Like Jesso, Kator was on his own. Like Jesso, Kator had no outside loyalties. But unlike Jesso, Kator had a trick of thinking that his work was a service, as if his wealth were only a side issue to his work, as if there were some extra-human dedication to his energies. It gave Kator some imaginary edge, making no one his equal. He never flaunted it, but it was always part of his stance. It always worked, because the mark of the elite was seldom questioned.
“Reach me that coffeepot, Kator, will you?”
He pushed it over.
Jesso poured and said conversationally, “First I’ll tell you what I want, Kator, and then I’ll try to tell you what you want. Fair enough, Baron?”
“Jesso, if you imagine that delaying tactics—”
“You said you had nine days, didn’t you. Tell me, are you a baron?”
“Jesso—”
“I bet you’re a Nazi, though. You a Nazi, Kator?”
There was no answer.
“A Communist?”
When Jesso made no sign of interrupting, Kator took the time to answer.
“My business, Jesso, is conducted on a level where temporary political affiliations have no meaning. Not that I expect you to understand, but there are loyalties that transcend—“
“Why, Kator, you’re making a speech!”
It was true. Kator appeared angry and his eyebrows went up. Kator could raise his eyebrows without ever showing the upper lids. The heavy fold of skin over his eyes stayed down, making the face emotionless and calm.
Jesso laughed again. “You’re a Nazi either way, Kator, but like you said, right now we’ll have some bigger kinds of loyalties. Let’s talk about what I want.” Jesso crossed his legs and watched his foot bob up and down. “First of all, I get safe conduct. Where are we landing, Kator?”
“Hamburg.”
“I want off at Hamburg. I want five hundred bucks in one pocket and a passport in the other. And a visa. I think I need a visa. That’s cheap for what
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