Topaz - Leon Uris [90]
When the Americans balked strongly at sharing intelligence with the French because of leaks inside NATO, Colonel Brune was quietly moved from ININ to the French government as Vice Administrator of SDECE, where he cloaked himself in anonymity.
With access to top secrets and in a position to advise members of the government, Brune could cause unbelievable damage if he was indeed a Soviet agent.
When Pierre La Croix ascended to power, Colonel Brune’s role and power increased. He was constantly at La Croix’s side and had his ear.
The plane arched down toward Paris. André knew that if he made this fight, the chances were it would cost him his life. His foes were vicious and resourceful, and the head of his government was an obsessed, arrogant, aging dictator.
But he knew he would make that fight, regardless.
As land came into view below, André felt a moment of fright. Was this all too late and too useless?
17
GORIN FOUND A PARKING space for his Peugeot in the Place d’Armes facing the Versailles Palace and set out on foot to the broad avenues of gardens and fountains and forests toward the grand canal in this unsurpassed monument to extravagance. As Soviet Resident and head of Russian intelligence in France he was the prime mover of Topaz. His true position was veiled under the cover of the title of Assistant Cultural Attaché.
At the base of the mile-long, man-made, cross-shaped waterway he stopped and looked about to assure himself he was merely another inconspicuous stroller. Satisfied, he headed to the rendezvous.
Behind the Petit Trianon were clipped hedges and English-style gardens, then a maze of wooded paths that insured privacy. Gorin’s pudgy fingers slipped back his shirt cuff. Five minutes to go. The air was chilly, the trees nearly bare. A stiff breeze blew a swirl of leaves around his feet. In the distance he could hear a sound of children running and screaming in their play. Gorin had a massive face and twinkling eyes. He was a gregarious fellow, outgoing. Rather an oddity among his somber colleagues. He slapped his cold hands together, then shoved them in his pockets and looked up the path.
A shadowy figure emerged moving toward him down the tree-lined walkway. It was the familiar figure of Columbine. He was taller than most Frenchmen, the collar of his overcoat turned up and buttoned around his throat to keep out the autumn nip. A dark hat was worn low on his forehead and his gloved hand held an ever-present cigarette. Columbine stopped before Gorin and nodded. The two men continued along the path side by side speaking in practiced softness.
“Something was wrong with the last four NATO documents,” the Russian said. “They’ve caused a great deal of confusion in Moscow.”
“What was the matter with them?”
“KGB thinks they may be fakes. NATO intelligence may be on to Jarré. If so, his usefulness to us could be coming to an end.”
“Jarré is a despicable bastard,” Columbine said. “I’ve never cared for him.”
Gorin took the first of two envelopes from his pocket and gave it to Columbine. “This lists three documents in the NATO fifteen hundred series. Contact Jarré and instruct him to get copies. KGB has seen authentic copies which have come through other sources. If Jarré passes us anything different, we’ll have to do something about him.”
They stopped at a fork in the path and remained silent as an old couple hobbled by, then continued their walk in another direction.
“American U-2 flights over Cuba have been concentrating on the areas where our missile bases are being established,” Gorin said, “they may know.”
“What do you expect them to do?”
“Probably nothing.” Gorin handed Columbine the second envelope. “In the unlikely event the Americans make trouble and stir a crisis, your instructions are in this envelope. Certain disinformation must be fed to La Croix to confuse the issues and create mistrust of American motives. The result is to be to neutralize France. France must not side with the Americans.”
Columbine, a past master in this operation, took his instructions and nodded.
“A final