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«I see you also received several decorations.»

«They were unit citations, battalion commendations. Not individual.»

«You were hospitalized for a period of three weeks in St. Lô. Was this a result of wounds?»

Tanner looked momentarily embarrassed. «You know perfectly well it wasn’t. There’s no Purple Heart on my Army record,» he said quietly.

«Would you explain?»

«I fell out of a jeep on the road to St. Lô. Dislocated hip.»

Both men smiled.

«You were discharged in July of 1945 and returned to Stanford the following September?»

«I did… To anticipate you, Mr. Fassett, I switched from an English major to the journalism school. I graduated in 1947 with a Bachelor of Arts degree.»

Laurence Fassett’s eyes remained on the folder in front of him. «You were married in your junior year to one Alice McCall?»

Tanner reached for his switch and shut off the machine. «This may be where I walk out.»

«Relax, Mr. Tanner. Just identification… We don’t subscribe to the theory that the sins of the parents are visited upon their daughters. A simple yes or no will suffice.»

Tanner started the machine again. «That is correct.»

At this point, Laurence Fassett picked the cord off the desk and pushed the OFF switch. Tanner watched the reels stop, and then looked at the C.I.A. man.

«My next two questions concern the circumstances leading up to your marriage. I presume you do not care to answer them.»

«You presume correctly.»

«Believe me, they aren’t important.»

«If you told me they were, I’d leave right now.» Ali had been through enough. Tanner would not allow his wife’s personal tragedy to be brought up again, by anyone.

Fassett started the machine again. «Two children were born to you and Alice Mc … Tanner. A boy, Raymond, now age thirteen, and a girl, Janet, now eight.»

«My son is twelve.»

«His birthday is day after tomorrow. To go back a bit, your first employment after graduation was with The Sacramento Daily News.»

«Reporter. Rewrite man, office boy, movie critic and space salesman when time permitted.»

«You stayed with the Sacramento paper for three and a half years and then obtained a position with The Los Angeles Times?»

«No. I was in Sacramento for … two and a half years—I had an interim job with the San Francisco Chronicle for about a year before I got the job at The Times.»

«On The Los Angeles Times you were quite successful as an investigative reporter…»

«I was fortunate. I assume you’re referring to my work on the San Diego waterfront operations.»

«I am. You were nominated for a Pulitzer, I believe.»

«I didn’t get it.»

«And then elevated to an editorial position with The Times?»

«An assistant editor. Nothing spectacular.»

«You remained with The Times for a period of five years…»

«Nearer six, I think.»

«Until January of 1958 when you joined Standard Mutual in Los Angeles?»

«Correct.»

«You remained on the Los Angeles staff until March of 1963 when you were transferred to New York City. Since that time you have received several promotions?»

«I came east as a network editor for the seven o’clock news program. I expanded into documentaries and specials until I reached my present position.»

«Which is?»

«Director of News for Standard Mutual.»

Laurence Fassett closed the folder and shut off the tape recorder. He leaned back and smiled at John Tanner. «That wasn’t so painful, was it?»

«You mean that’s it?»

«No, not … it, but the completion of the identity section. You passed. You gave me just enough slightly wrong answers to pass the test.»

«What?»

«These things,» Fassett slapped the folder, «are designed by the Interrogations Division. Fellows with high foreheads bring in other fellows with beards and they put the stuff through computers. You couldn’t possibly answer everything correctly. If you did it would mean you had studied too hard… For instance, you were with The Sacramento Daily News for three years almost to the day. Not two and a half or three and a half. Your family moved to San Mateo when you were eight years, two months, not seven years old.»

«I’ll be Goddamned…»

«Frankly, even if you had answered everything correctly, we might have passed you. But it’s nice to know you’re normal. In your case, we had to have it all on tape… Now, I’m afraid, comes the tough part.»

«Tough compared to what?» asked the news editor.

«Just rough… I have to start the machine now.» He did so and picked up a single sheet of paper. «John Tanner, I must inform you that what I am about to discuss with you comes under the heading of classified information of the highest priority. In no way is this information a reflection on you or your family and to that I do so swear. The revealing of this information to anyone would be against the interests of the United States Government in the severest sense. So much so that those in the government service aware of this information can be prosecuted under the National Security Act, Title eighteen, Section seven-nine-three, should they violate the demands of secrecy… Is everything I’ve said so far completely clear?»

«It is… However, I am neither bound nor am I indictable.»

«I realize that. It is my intention to take you in three stages toward the essential, classified information. At the end of stages one and two you may ask to be excused from this interview and we can only rely on your intelligence and loyalty to your government to keep silent about what has been said. However, if you agree to the third stage, in which identities are revealed to you, you accept the same responsibility as those in government service and can be prosecuted under the National Security Act should you violate the aforementioned demands of secrecy. Is this clear, Mr. Tanner?»

Tanner shifted in his seat before speaking. He looked at the revolving wheels of the tape recorder and then up at Fassett. «It’s clear, but I’ll be damned if I agree to it. You don’t have any right calling me down here under false pretenses and then setting up conditions that make me indictable.»

«I didn’t ask if you agreed. Only if you understood clearly what I said.»

«And if that’s a threat, you can go to hell.»

«All I’m doing is spelling out conditions. Is that a threat? Is it any more than you do every day with contracts? You can walk out any time you like until you give me your consent to reveal names. Is that so illogical?»

Tanner reasoned that it wasn’t really. And his curiosity now had to be satisfied.

«You said earlier that whatever this thing is, it has nothing to do with my family? Nothing to do with my wife?… Or me?»

«I swore to it on this tape.» Fassett realized that Tanner had added the «or me» as an afterthought. He was protecting his wife.

«Go ahead.»

Fassett rose from the chair and walked toward the window shades. «By the way, you don’t have to stay sitting down. They’re high-impedance microphones. Miniaturized, of course.»

«I’ll sit.»

«Suit yourself. A number of years ago we heard rumors of a Soviet NKVD operation which could have widespread, damaging effects on the American economy should it ever amount to anything. We tried to trace it down, tried to learn something about it. We couldn’t. It remained rumor. It was a better-kept secret than the Russian space program.

«Then in 1966 an East German intelligence officer defected. He gave us our first concrete knowledge of the operation. He informed us that East German Intelligence maintained contact with agents in the West—or a cell—known only as Omega. I’ll give you the geographical code name in a minute … or maybe I won’t. It’s in step two. That’s up to you. Omega would regularly forward sealed files to East German Intelligence. Two armed couriers would fly them to Moscow under the strictest secrecy.