the uniform, though today it was appropriate to the weather—windy, and threatening rain.
“You look well.”
“I look terrible, and so do you,” Andreas shot back, as much to unsettle the man as to state the truth. It had been years since they had last met, and the years had not been kind to Morrison. He had gotten heavy; gone gray at the temples; and his gaze no longer darted so much but had a set, glazed cast about it. Perhaps there had been some unpleasant fieldwork. Perhaps family. Andreas could empathize, but the other man was certain not to speak of whatever it was.
“I’m OK, not enough sleep is all. I am sorry about your boy. Alex, right?”
“You went to the trouble of checking my file. I am honored.”
“Jesus, Andy, I happened to remember. You always insult people you need favors from?”
“Yes, it’s a Greek custom. We hate to be in anyone’s debt, so we offend them right at the start to let them know they do not own us.”
Morrison shook his head, appeased or amused.
“Is that true?”
“No. I am an uncivilized old man, my apologies. Yes, Alex.”
“What’s wrong with him?”
“A blood disorder. You would know the name if I could remember it. Such illnesses are rare in my family, but for one so young…I do not understand.”
“There’s no understanding these things. God works in mysterious ways, the shit.”
Andreas decided that he liked this older, crankier version of Morrison better than the insolently confident fellow he’d known before. A weary, bleached-blond waitress took silent but visible offense at their order of coffee, and the agency man felt compelled to add eggs and toast.
“Haven’t had breakfast.”
“You should always eat breakfast, Robert.”
“I know, my wife tells me every day.”
“Personally, I would not eat breakfast here, but I am very careful about food.”
“I wasn’t actually planning on it.”
“She intimidated you. She is Peloponnesian, that one, fierce. The cook also, not a very clean-looking fellow. And the Mexican dishwasher has a cold. No, I would not eat here.”
“I’ll have an orange juice to kill the germs.”
“Orange juice. Have garlic.”
“In my eggs?”
“Better than in your coffee. I’m looking for a man.”
“Official business?”
“I have no official business any longer. This is, as you say, a favor. I want to know if this man entered the country in the last two weeks. Probably somewhere in the New York region, though possibly farther away. I can give you all of his known aliases.”
“That’s too wide a net. Point of origin?”
“South America. Argentina, but it’s likely he would pass through another country first.”
“So he knows what he’s doing.”
“Yes, but I believe he may have lowered his guard in this instance. He will not expect to be tracked, and he will be in a hurry.”
“Physical description?”
“Medium height, blue eyes. Older, in his eighties.”
“This guy wouldn’t be German by any chance? Dead for about thirty years?”
Andreas leaned back against the creaking imitation leather, disappointed by this development. He had counted on Morrison’s relative youth to keep him in the dark.
“We never spoke of this before.”
“Come on, Andy,” laughed the government man, “it was your obsession. It’s all in your file. But the guy is supposed to be dead.”
“They showed me a grave. A wooden cross and some turned earth behind the last house he owned. I never saw a body.”
“This was Argentinean intelligence?”
“The grave was fresh. No more than a day or two old. They could have dug it an hour before I came up the hill.”
“People do just die, my friend. A lot of those old Nazis managed to die a natural death.”
“It was too convenient. They were protecting him. They still are, I’m sure. Maybe you are, too.”
“Me?” Morrison smiled innocently.
“The fine organization you work for. It’s interesting that my hunt for Müller is so detailed in my
“You look well.”
“I look terrible, and so do you,” Andreas shot back, as much to unsettle the man as to state the truth. It had been years since they had last met, and the years had not been kind to Morrison. He had gotten heavy; gone gray at the temples; and his gaze no longer darted so much but had a set, glazed cast about it. Perhaps there had been some unpleasant fieldwork. Perhaps family. Andreas could empathize, but the other man was certain not to speak of whatever it was.
“I’m OK, not enough sleep is all. I am sorry about your boy. Alex, right?”
“You went to the trouble of checking my file. I am honored.”
“Jesus, Andy, I happened to remember. You always insult people you need favors from?”
“Yes, it’s a Greek custom. We hate to be in anyone’s debt, so we offend them right at the start to let them know they do not own us.”
Morrison shook his head, appeased or amused.
“Is that true?”
“No. I am an uncivilized old man, my apologies. Yes, Alex.”
“What’s wrong with him?”
“A blood disorder. You would know the name if I could remember it. Such illnesses are rare in my family, but for one so young…I do not understand.”
“There’s no understanding these things. God works in mysterious ways, the shit.”
Andreas decided that he liked this older, crankier version of Morrison better than the insolently confident fellow he’d known before. A weary, bleached-blond waitress took silent but visible offense at their order of coffee, and the agency man felt compelled to add eggs and toast.
“Haven’t had breakfast.”
“You should always eat breakfast, Robert.”
“I know, my wife tells me every day.”
“Personally, I would not eat breakfast here, but I am very careful about food.”
“I wasn’t actually planning on it.”
“She intimidated you. She is Peloponnesian, that one, fierce. The cook also, not a very clean-looking fellow. And the Mexican dishwasher has a cold. No, I would not eat here.”
“I’ll have an orange juice to kill the germs.”
“Orange juice. Have garlic.”
“In my eggs?”
“Better than in your coffee. I’m looking for a man.”
“Official business?”
“I have no official business any longer. This is, as you say, a favor. I want to know if this man entered the country in the last two weeks. Probably somewhere in the New York region, though possibly farther away. I can give you all of his known aliases.”
“That’s too wide a net. Point of origin?”
“South America. Argentina, but it’s likely he would pass through another country first.”
“So he knows what he’s doing.”
“Yes, but I believe he may have lowered his guard in this instance. He will not expect to be tracked, and he will be in a hurry.”
“Physical description?”
“Medium height, blue eyes. Older, in his eighties.”
“This guy wouldn’t be German by any chance? Dead for about thirty years?”
Andreas leaned back against the creaking imitation leather, disappointed by this development. He had counted on Morrison’s relative youth to keep him in the dark.
“We never spoke of this before.”
“Come on, Andy,” laughed the government man, “it was your obsession. It’s all in your file. But the guy is supposed to be dead.”
“They showed me a grave. A wooden cross and some turned earth behind the last house he owned. I never saw a body.”
“This was Argentinean intelligence?”
“The grave was fresh. No more than a day or two old. They could have dug it an hour before I came up the hill.”
“People do just die, my friend. A lot of those old Nazis managed to die a natural death.”
“It was too convenient. They were protecting him. They still are, I’m sure. Maybe you are, too.”
“Me?” Morrison smiled innocently.
“The fine organization you work for. It’s interesting that my hunt for Müller is so detailed in my
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