Topaz - Leon Uris [84]
“Does he always take the train home on those days?”
“Yes.”
“Did he ever tell you why?”
“He said he gives the car to Madame Jarré on Thursdays for her special shopping.”
“Did you know he was an official of high enough rank to warrant a staff car and chauffeur?” Jasmin asked.
“Yes, I’ve sent for staff cars on a number of occasions. He just told me he liked the commuter train once in a while, and I believed him.”
Justine de Vore was given the secret mission of observing Jarré. The suspect supply room was wired so that use of the Repco machine would automatically light a signal in the office of Colonel Jasmin.
An adjoining closet was fixed with a two-way mirror. Its peephole was impossible to detect from the supply room. At any time Justine de Vore left the building, she first advised Jasmin and the observation closet was immediately manned by security personnel.
The surveillance was carried on with extreme vigor on Thursdays, commuter-train day.
The second Thursday after surveillance began, Henri Jarré copied four secret documents during the absence of his secretary. Marcel Steinberger personally rode the commuter train to Paris in the next seat behind Jarré. He observed a quick switching of attaché cases with a contact. But, under stern orders from his chief, Léon Roux, Steinberger made no arrest.
“Good work, Inspector,” Léon Roux said to Steinberger.
“When will you let me pick the bastard up?” Steinberger demanded.
“Aha!” Roux answered with a twinkle coming to his eye.
“What game are you playing?”
Roux’s prune face contorted into what might have been a smile. “Colonel Jasmin and I are seeing to it that Henri Jarré doesn’t look at anything but fake documents for the next several weeks. So he will be feeding his comrades in Moscow enough false information to confuse their military planning and counterintelligence for a year. At least, let Jarré undo some of the harm. When we feel the Russians have had their bellies full of confusion and are getting onto us, we’ll plant the real articles on Jarré and close the trap ... eh?”
Marcel Steinberger erupted in rare laughter.
“Eh, Steinberger, eh? We’ll show those idiots at SDECE who is better, they or the Sûreté.”
“Incidentally,” Steinberger said, “we will have to pick the woman up. I am afraid Mademoiselle de Vore’s bank accounts and spending and her salary do not jibe. Obviously, she has been in on it with Jarré from the beginning. Shame.”
“Well, she’s given us a hand,” Roux said, “and she’s betrayed Jarré nobly in order to save her own neck. So we’ll see that she gets a light sentence.”
13
COMMANDER FARROW, THE NAVY cardiologist in charge of Boris Kuznetov, left the Russian’s hospital room in concern. He was followed out by Sid Jaffe. They crossed to the doctor’s office, where Dr. Billings, Devereaux, Kramer, and W. Smith waited in a knot. The doctor closed the door behind him.
“He’s bushed, strained. He’s gone through sixty-odd interrogations and needs a complete rest.”
“Is it serious?”
“It will be. If we push him any further, we’re playing, if you’ll pardon the expression, Russian roulette.”
“But, Dr. Farrow,” Jaffe said, “Kuznetov insists he be allowed to speak to us once more.”
The Commander fiddled with his stethoscope. “Once more, in his bedroom, and keep it short. I mean that.”
“Thank you, Doctor. Could we have your office for a moment?” When the doctor stepped out, Jaffe turned to the others. “Kuznetov demanded that Nordstrom, Sanderson Hooper, and the President’s Intelligence Adviser be present today.”
They nodded in agreement quickly. Jaffe put in a call to ININ at Foggy Bottom. “Mike ... Sid Jaffe. Our friend is feeling under the weather. The doctor has given us an okay to visit with him, but he insists you be here with Sandy and Marsh.”
“Right,” Nordstrom answered.
The room was packed with the presence of the seven Americans, Devereaux, and two nurses. One nurse plumped the pillows up behind Boris Kuznetov to enable him to sit and the other repeated the doctor’s restriction and issued a “no smoking” order.
Kuznetov was