the weaponry, but those slimy Guiberts got to them first. But we can make them sell the guns to you at a price.’ ”
So that was the plan. Nicholai, under the cover of “Michel Guibert,” would be inserted into Beijing to conclude an arms deal with the Chinese, under the pretext of then turning around and selling the guns to the Viet Minh.
“That gets me into Beijing,” Nicholai said, “but how does it get me into, shall we say, ‘operational proximity’ to Voroshenin?”
Haverford shrugged. “You’re the Go master.”
13
J OHN S INGLETON RECEIVED word of the failed attempt on the asset Nicholai Hel with little surprise and measured satisfaction.
After all, if Hel could be killed so easily he was not the man for the job after all — Yuri Voroshenin would be no easy prey. The fact that Hel had dispatched his would-be killers with apparent ease boded well for the mission.
But Diamond, Singleton thought as he moved a white stone into its new position, is so predictable, and disappointingly so. That, combined with his seeming lack of creativity, created some concern about his suitability for the Indochinese posting.
However, the old Go maxim, “Defeat a straight line with a circle, a circle with a straight line,” held a great deal of truth. Diamond, for all his many shortcomings, was certainly a straightforward type, who at least would not trip himself up by overthinking a situation.
Then there was the “circle,” Haverford, nuanced to a flaw. Singleton was reminded of the old saying that “a liberal is a man who will not take his own side in an argument,” and that certainly described Ellis Haverford. But would he have the courage to choose a course of action and take it?
We shall see, Singleton thought as he turned the go-kang around.
That is the wonderful thing about playing both sides of the board.
You never lose.
14
D IAMOND SMASHED the wall with his fist.
It hurt.
Examining his scraped knuckles, he cursed again. Two on one, a surprise attack, and the goddamn Chinese screw it up. At least they had the decency to get themselves killed in the process.
A jolt of fear sickened his stomach.
Hel is the real deal. You’ll have to find a better way to get to him.
15
S OLANGE CAME through the door.
Nicholai got up and helped her put the groceries away.
Haverford noticed the little domestic tableau and it worried him. Due to the previous night’s attempted assassination, they had accelerated the schedule for Hel’s departure. He’d mastered the French dialect, absorbed everything they’d given him in an amazingly short time, and recovered his fitness. It was time to move, and he didn’t want his agent balking now because he’d found love. Although, he admitted, what man wouldn’t fall in love with Solange?
“Did I interrupt something?” she asked.
“No,” Nicholai answered quickly. “Haverford is just dropping off a file for me to read.”
He stressed the “read” to let the American know that he didn’t want to be “briefed” anymore and was capable of digesting the file himself.
Haverford smiled. There was always a power struggle between an operative and his handler; it was to be expected and even encouraged. He was glad to see Hel’s emerging assertiveness — confidence was a good thing in an operative. To a point. But the wise handler knew when to negotiate, when to insist, and when to yield.
“I was just leaving,” Haverford said, getting up from the table. “The croissants were, as always, très délicieux .”
“Merci.”
After Haverford left, Solange turned to Nicholai and asked, “Does it bother you?”
“What?”
“That I was a prostitute.”
The question surprised him. “It is an honorable profession in Japan.”
“It isn’t in France.”
“I’m not French,” Nicholai said. “There’s nothing about you that I find to be anything but a delight, a joy, and an honor.”
Solange came into his arms, kissed him lightly on the neck, and said
So that was the plan. Nicholai, under the cover of “Michel Guibert,” would be inserted into Beijing to conclude an arms deal with the Chinese, under the pretext of then turning around and selling the guns to the Viet Minh.
“That gets me into Beijing,” Nicholai said, “but how does it get me into, shall we say, ‘operational proximity’ to Voroshenin?”
Haverford shrugged. “You’re the Go master.”
13
J OHN S INGLETON RECEIVED word of the failed attempt on the asset Nicholai Hel with little surprise and measured satisfaction.
After all, if Hel could be killed so easily he was not the man for the job after all — Yuri Voroshenin would be no easy prey. The fact that Hel had dispatched his would-be killers with apparent ease boded well for the mission.
But Diamond, Singleton thought as he moved a white stone into its new position, is so predictable, and disappointingly so. That, combined with his seeming lack of creativity, created some concern about his suitability for the Indochinese posting.
However, the old Go maxim, “Defeat a straight line with a circle, a circle with a straight line,” held a great deal of truth. Diamond, for all his many shortcomings, was certainly a straightforward type, who at least would not trip himself up by overthinking a situation.
Then there was the “circle,” Haverford, nuanced to a flaw. Singleton was reminded of the old saying that “a liberal is a man who will not take his own side in an argument,” and that certainly described Ellis Haverford. But would he have the courage to choose a course of action and take it?
We shall see, Singleton thought as he turned the go-kang around.
That is the wonderful thing about playing both sides of the board.
You never lose.
14
D IAMOND SMASHED the wall with his fist.
It hurt.
Examining his scraped knuckles, he cursed again. Two on one, a surprise attack, and the goddamn Chinese screw it up. At least they had the decency to get themselves killed in the process.
A jolt of fear sickened his stomach.
Hel is the real deal. You’ll have to find a better way to get to him.
15
S OLANGE CAME through the door.
Nicholai got up and helped her put the groceries away.
Haverford noticed the little domestic tableau and it worried him. Due to the previous night’s attempted assassination, they had accelerated the schedule for Hel’s departure. He’d mastered the French dialect, absorbed everything they’d given him in an amazingly short time, and recovered his fitness. It was time to move, and he didn’t want his agent balking now because he’d found love. Although, he admitted, what man wouldn’t fall in love with Solange?
“Did I interrupt something?” she asked.
“No,” Nicholai answered quickly. “Haverford is just dropping off a file for me to read.”
He stressed the “read” to let the American know that he didn’t want to be “briefed” anymore and was capable of digesting the file himself.
Haverford smiled. There was always a power struggle between an operative and his handler; it was to be expected and even encouraged. He was glad to see Hel’s emerging assertiveness — confidence was a good thing in an operative. To a point. But the wise handler knew when to negotiate, when to insist, and when to yield.
“I was just leaving,” Haverford said, getting up from the table. “The croissants were, as always, très délicieux .”
“Merci.”
After Haverford left, Solange turned to Nicholai and asked, “Does it bother you?”
“What?”
“That I was a prostitute.”
The question surprised him. “It is an honorable profession in Japan.”
“It isn’t in France.”
“I’m not French,” Nicholai said. “There’s nothing about you that I find to be anything but a delight, a joy, and an honor.”
Solange came into his arms, kissed him lightly on the neck, and said
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