Topaz - Leon Uris [134]
“But you, André, you puzzle me. You could have had the whole world.”
“But I have had the world I really wanted. I’ve worked with the kind of men and women more beautiful as humans, more courageous, more idealistic, than any others on earth. Only someone with a deep and mystic love for country can serve that way, in silence.”
“Yes,” Jacques said, “but what about the others? The scoundrels, the cutthroats, the double-dealers.”
“I’ve lived with the scum of the earth, too. Traitors always fascinate me. I’ve never stopped wondering how a man is able to turn against his country.”
André set his drink down, clasped his hands behind him and stared past the brocaded drapes to a stand of birch trees in winter bareness. “Some men like Boris Kuznetov cross over out of fear or horrible disenchantment. A Henri Jarré is so consumed with hatred it was no crime in his eyes to spy on NATO because he honestly felt it was in the interest of his country, or rather what he thought France’s interest should be. There are dedicated Communists about us who spy because they believe in Communism, just as we have those who spy for democracy. There are others who feel that Russia is going to win out over the West in the end and they want to get on the right side. There are the little fish caught in the wrong bed or with their hands in the cash till and laid open to blackmail.”
“Well ... no matter. André, the main reason I wanted to see you is to urge you to put this Topaz affair to rest. Frankly, I don’t know if Topaz is real or not at this point, but I do know there’s no way you can win. You’ve hit a blank wall. Let me and the rest of us who are alerted take care of Colonel Brune in our own good time.”
“Brune? I made a mistake about him,” André said.
“What do you mean?”
“I made him much bigger than he is. All he really is is a bureaucrat fighting for his life and afraid of his own mediocrity. He’s played the anti-American, anti-Devereaux game with slanted and distorted reports because he thought it would please La Croix and because he was otherwise advised to do so. But the worst that Brune can be charged with is being a rotten administrator, of playing politics to hang on to his office and of allowing the service to deteriorate. But a Soviet agent? No. Brune is not guilty. When faced with the Topaz scandal he was absolutely forced to discredit me or be drummed out of office in disgrace.”
André turned from the window past Jacques’ magnificent collection of Dumas, Voltaire, Hugo.
“A man like Colonel Brune is easy to manipulate. Like a puppet he has been manipulated by a clever, vicious devil.”
André leaned against the thick Renaissance table. “Too bad you haven’t gotten a good look at America, Jacques.”
“You know how it is. My visits are short and official.”
“Shame. America is a country of unbelievable varieties of physical beauty. I never cease to marvel. Four time zones in one country. Imagine. God-made vistas, man-made miracles. Total splendor. I think I like Colorado best ... yes, I like it best. Great wild mountains. Not with manicured villages like below the Alps but wild and rugged terrain and weathered old ruins of mining towns. Rushing streams filled with trout. In the early summer the high country around Aspen, the valleys and fields, are a veritable carpet of wild flowers.”
“Good Lord, André. What brought on all this nostalgia?”
“The wild flowers.”
Jacques showed a hint of a smile. He set his drink down and sat behind his desk. “Tell me about the wild flowers.”
“Certainly you should know the state flower of Colorado. You have the same name ... Columbine.”
As perspiration popped out on Granville’s lip, he inched the top drawer of his desk open. “You are being highly entertaining,” he said.
“We were talking about traitors,” André continued. “Worse than the whores, the pimps, the paid stranglers. The infinite scum, the most vile being is the man who betrays his country for money.”
Granville’s fingers felt around the drawer and stopped on the cold metal of his pistol. His