The Twentieth Day of January

beaten up by the French police during the student protests in Paris in May 1968. An American named Kleppe got them out of jail after your embassy had refused to help. We were suspicious of Kleppe at the time but we never proved anything, and after I went back to London it was left to the Sûreté and the Dutch police to follow up. I don’t know if they ever did.”
Nolan looked over the top of his coffee cup before he drank.
“Why hasn’t this come through official channels?”
“Like what channels?”
“Foreign Office to Secretary of State, for instance.”
“The Minister was asked. He said your people would either ignore it, or think that the British were crying wolf to square things off for when you froze out Philby.”
“So why tell us anyway?”
“I suggested to Magnusson that you may not know. It’s over ten years ago. It happened in Europe, not here. We made the same mistake with Philby. He was married to a Party member in Vienna. It kind of got lost in the wash when he was being investigated, even after Burgess and Maclean lit out to Moscow and he was suspect.”
Nolan leaned back in his chair, his eyes avoiding MacKay as he sucked a hollow tooth reflectively. Then he turned back and looked at the Scot.
“How long are you staying for?”
“Until you tell me you don’t want me to hang around any more.”
“Let’s go back to Langley.” He turned and waved to a waiter.
Morton Harper had come to the CIA from teaching law at Yale, and in the early days there were those in CIA and the Washington jungle who thought the professor was going to be an easy ride. His moon face and plump body had added their weight to the theory.
In less than two months they had learned how wrong they were. There had been new brooms and axemen before, and the CIA knew how to absorb them; but this time it had been more like a scalpel. There had been almost no pain, and Old China Hands and the inefficient had gone first; and there was a feeling among the survivors that Morton Harper had some sort of bullshit detector. A lie, a cover-up, a snow-job was fatal. Somehow he knew, and you never got a second chance. No record, no medals would protect you. There were no explanations, no taking you apart. You just went. That was not to say that the CIA had suddenly changed its style. Just that the Director had to know—everything. If he was to carry the can he wanted to see the rough edges.
Harper sat at his desk as Nolan told him the brief facts. When he had finished Harper was silent for what seemed an eternity, then he reached forward and touched the long curving ash of his cigar to the crystal ashtray, watching it bend, fracture and fall in one piece. Then he looked up and across at Nolan.
“Have you checked our files on Dempsey?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What have we got?”
“Nothing, sir. It’s just press clippings. But I’ve checked with our Paris embassy and they do have a record of a request from Dempsey for help for himself and the girl. There’s a handwritten minute on it—a negative.”
Harper leaned back in the big leather chair and sighed.
“What was the girl’s name?”
“Halenka Tcharkova.”
“Anything on file about her?”
“No, sir. Nothing.”
Harper swivelled his chair to look at MacKay.
“Why wasn’t this information given to the FBI? It’s more their area than ours.”
“I think there are several reasons for that, sir. The first one is that it’s not official. As Mr. Nolan said, the Minister thought it would be tactless, and he wasn’t all that impressed with the facts. Our analysis was that the events concerned took place in Europe and that that made it a CIA responsibility. Magnusson felt it should be kept on a very low level with nothing official and nothing in writing.”
Harper’s face showed no response, and something compelled MacKay to continue.
“And we don’t have a good relationship with the FBI at the moment.”
“How long are you here for?”
“I’ve got a week’s leave, sir. But I shall stay until you tell me to go.”
Harper leaned forward, his arms folded on the desk as he looked from one to another of the two men.
“Let me tell you what we shall do. Between now and election day I should like more information on Mr. Dempsey, the girl, and Mr. Kleppe. And let me emphasize something. These are routine inquiries of no special significance. They have no political significance. They are not connected with the election campaign. They concern private citizens in their private capacity. Despite what I have just said you will not reveal to anyone the purpose of your inquiries. If Logan Powell is not elected President I shall pass this information to the FBI. If he is elected then I shall need to consider the situation and possibly seek the advice of others.”
He stood up and walked round his desk to open the door. As they made to leave Harper said, “The Agency will pick up Mr. MacKay’s tabs, Mr. Nolan, you see to that.”

CHAPTER 2
The empty plates had been pushed to one side, and Nolan and MacKay sat facing each other at the long table in Nolan’s office.
“How about you cover Dempsey’s girlfriend and I cover Dempsey and Kleppe?”
“I’d need to go to Paris.”
“How long would you need?”
“A day each way and probably two days there. Maybe three.”
“Can you spare the time?”
“I’ll have to fix things with Magnusson first.”
“D’you want to get Harper to do that?”
“That could help.”
Nolan walked across the room and into the small hallway. MacKay could hear Nolan’s voice as he spoke on the phone, but he couldn’t hear the words. He realized that Nolan had been very cautious in dividing up the responsibilities. They didn’t want a foreigner investigating American citizens so he got the girl. On the other hand it was better that way. They didn’t have his contacts in Paris, and he didn’t