"The call, Geoff's call, wasn't authorized…" Cox fretted.
"All Geoff's done, not that we needed it, is provide further confirmation that Perry's a stubborn fool," Fenton said reassuringly.
"He should have cleared it first," Cox complained.
"The bloody trouble is, and Perry knows it, we cannot abandon him. If the Iranians drop him in the gutter, with half his head missing, they've won, and that is unacceptable." The Branch man gazed at the table.
Cox huffed, "Sounds as if he's deranged, all this rubbish about home and friends."
Fenton said, "I think we should call him up to London, with his wife, give him lunch and the treatment. Plant the doubts in him, scare the daylights out of her. Soften him up."
The Branch man relaxed and grinned.
"Spell it out in words of one syllable that even an engineer can understand."
"A good lunch, a good wine and a good dose of fear should crack him," Fenton pressed on.
"The cost of protection, with no end date, is simply unacceptable." Cox pummelled his hands together.
"But I like what I'm hearing now."
Fenton rocked back in his chair, smiled broadly.
"Get some photographs from the Germans, the French, a few of their corpses courtesy of the Iranians for her to look at while she's eating. Always best to go through the little woman works every time."
"Right, agreed." Cox rapped his pencil on the table.
"We're not criticizing Geoff for his initiative, he was following the agreed line. It's just that he didn't have sufficient weight in his punch. Handle it, will you, Harry?"
The stenographer scribbled briskly. At the far end of the table,
Markham felt like a child brought in to the adults' dinner, not expected to contribute but to be washed, neat and silent. The red-haired woman yawned. The American, who hadn't spoken since his precis of the hospital-bed interview, coughed.
Cox gathered up his papers and stood, content.
"Thank you all for your time the main priority, get him out. A good lunch and lashings of gore to help it down Harry to make the arrange~nents. Thank you.~ The American coughed again, in a more stagy fashion.
"Sorry, Mr. Littelbaum, have we ignored you?" Cox grimaced.
While they were on the move around him, Littelbaum remained still and sitting.
"Just something I'd like to say."
Cox glanced at his watch, then said patronizingly, "Any further contribution you wish to make will be, of course, greatly valued."
Littelbaum smoothed, unsuccessfully, the tangle of his hair. Markham reckoned his hesitation was a good act. He thought the American was as hard as granite.
"That's gracious, much appreciated. It follows on from Mr. Markham's transcript. Quote, "You think I'll run away because of the say-so of those [expletive] bastards? Think again. Get it into your head I make my own decisions. I am not running away", end quote. That's good, excellent, that should be encouraged. The best place for him is at home. What I would urge on you, don't give him lunch and wine and show him photographs, keep him where he is, at home. There are rare occasions, too few for my liking, when we have the chance to win. This is such an occasion.." and I think you should take the opportunity as it presents itself."
Cox was back in his chair. The rest of them listened in silence.
"If you like, I am a surrogate child of Iran. Iran, my parent, feeds me, clothes me, provides my reason for living. Without that parentage I have no life. A child watches every move of its parents. So, I watch Iran… Iran is at war with the United States, with my government, and, if you'd care to recognize it, at war with you too. The weapons they have are stealth, deceit, the probing for weakness. My government, and I believe rightly, calls it state-sponsored terrorism, and every year puts Iran top of the world list. The war, most currently, is being fought on Saudi Arabia's territory. Iran's war aim is, via destabilization, to bring down the government of the kingdom and replace the administration of an ally that irritates us with that of an enemy actively hostile to us. The road to destabilization is through the bombing of the United States' military infrastructure now settled in Saudi Arabia. They are trying to force us out, and if we go the kingdom falls… I don't have to give you the statistics of oil reserves in Saudi Arabia. That country is a vile place, a police state, characterized by medieval cruelty, but it is important to us hear me, important. And it is a most challenging environment for an enemy to operate in. To survive there, to continue to kill, the enemy must be of the highest calibre. Our man rates up there. Each time he strikes he creates further government repression which, night following day, creates further destabilization. He organized the bombing of the National Guard barracks at Riyadh, five Americans dead, and the attack on the Kobar Tower barracks, nineteen Americans dead. Three Americans killed on the road between Dhahran and Riyadh. A Saudi general working with Americans was targeted and killed last year. We had a chance to take him last month, and we missed him. Missing him hurt, because we categorize him as the principal terror criminal confronting us. He was called home from Saudi Arabia, and sent here."
Geoff Markham thought him masterful. Littelbaum's voice was never pushed, he used his hands only rarely and then for the supreme moment of emphasis.
"It bleats, cannot hide, cannot escape. It cries out, attracts the predator, is stalked by the predator. It is watched, dragging at its rope, by the marksmen in the hide. It is the tethered goat…"
Fenton's breath whistled in his teeth. The red-haired woman gazed at the American in fascination.
"If you go with your rifle into the bush or the jungle or the desert then you have very little chance, the slimmest of possibilities, of searching out your predator. But the predator has to be killed. So you find a goat. You put a stake in the ground and a rope around its neck. It will attract the predator. You tie the rope to the stake and you sit in your hide with your rifle, and you watch your tethered goat."
They sat in hushed quiet around the table as if, Markham thought, none of them dared to interrupt the bravado of the proposal.
"Afterwards, when you have shot the predator, you will receive the thanks of the community and you will walk with pride. You don't have to put the body on show. Others won't come, predators learn quickly, others will stay away. Forget your lunch, wine and photographs. Leave Frank Perry in place, where the predator knows he can find him. Make the hide, put good men in it… You are lucky, so lucky, that you have a bait available."
Fenton and Cox spoke at once.
"That is fraught with danger."
"It's brilliant."
The Branch superintendent said there would be minimal risk to his people because the beast would have eyes only for the goat.
The red-haired woman chuckled, said nothing, but she patted the American's hand lightly.
Cox murmured nervously, "But the consequences of such action, they could be dire…"
"Not if the matter is handled with discretion. With the necessary discretion there are no consequences. But, believe me, the necessary message will reach the Ministry of Information and Security -discretion avoids consequences."
"We'll buy that, if there's discretion," Cox said.
"I'll take responsibility for running it," Fenton rasped.
"At the moment we're drifting. This way we have purpose."
"Our discretion is guaranteed, my word on it." Littelbaum spoke with sincerity.
"It's what we'd do, if we'd had the luck that's given to you."
Geoff Markham wanted to ask, and didn't: how long would the marksmen wait before they fired? He held his silence. In the interests of a better shot, would they sacrifice the goat? The American had turned away from his audience and rubbed his poorly shaven chin. Only Markham saw the satisfaction of his smile.