BOOK I by Genevieve Roland

Author:Genevieve Roland
Language: eng
Format: epub

On the spur of the moment (the question was not in his loose-leaf book!

G. Sprowls asked, "Have you had any contact with agents or representatives of another country?"

Francis face glistened with innocence as he replied, "I have not had any contact with agents or representatives of another country."

G. Sprowls glanced at the technician, who bent over the styluses scratching away in the black box. Finally the technician looked up.

"He's telling the truth," he concluded.

"All of it and nothing but," Francis added cheerfully, "so help me God."

And he added mischievously, "You are barking up the wrong tree."

Carroll didn't fare as well as Francis when G. Sprowls put him through his paces that very same afternoon. "He's lying," the technician announced evenly, staring at the telltale traces through the bottom half of his bifocals.

G. Sprowls cleared his throat. Curiously, he seemed embarrassed for Carroll, almost as if he had stripped him of his clothing. "So you are up to something after all," he said.

A muscle twitched in Carroll's cheek. "We are not up to anything we should not be up to," he declared.

"Whatever you're doing," G. Sprowls filled in the gap, "you have authorization to do it?"

"We are good soldiers," Carroll insisted, his eyes staring vacantly at some point on the far wall. "We are patriots-the word is not used lightly. We serve the best interests of our country in ways that our superiors indicate to us." Unable to control himself any longer, Carroll burst out, "The first war I fought in was the wrong war. The next one will be the right war. We must at all costs be prepared for it."

"I see," G. Sprowls said, although he didn't see at all what Carroll was getting at. He decided to let the business of wrong wars and right wars go for the moment, and concentrate on the question of authorization. If he could discover who Carroll thought had given him authorization, perhaps he could uncover what Carroll felt authorized to do.

"It is fairly simple," Carroll replied in answer to another question. He seemed eager to justify himself, "Things were said by highly placed people in public places-at in-house pours, at a reception for a British colleague, at a medal-pinning ceremony honoring the fellow down the corridor from us who was retiring."

G. Sprowls appeared to sympathize completely with Carroll. "You read between the lines," he suggested in a slow drawl.

"The Director was obviously in no position to give an explicit order,"

Carroll said. "So he did the next best thing. It is out of the realm of possibility that he would have said what he did if he hadn't expected someone to take his words to heart; and if he hadn't expected someone to act on them." He arched his neck to relieve the pressure from his starched collar. "We are, Francis and I, old hands. We were, as Francis likes to say, pointed in the right direction. Where is the crime if we marched?"

"When you marched," G. Sprowls drawled softly, his half-smile

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