The Sword and the Net полностью

“No, Captain, we (the real soldiers of the Fuehrer) are all thoroughly spangled with the stars of Liberty and thickly lacquered with the zebra stripes of Democracy. We are, in fact, a daring division of special shock troops wearing the enemy’s uniform and therefore of far greater danger to him than our numbers would suggest. . . .

“This division, of course, is split into many subsidiary units. Each unit, except that its functions are controlled by a central command, is entirely independent of any others; does not, in fact, even know where or what the others may be. I have told you that they exist—and that is all I shall tell you except as regards the one in which you yourself will serve. . . .

“This is—for the time being at least—the most important unit of them all: it is the one which brings about the major acts of general sabotage; I do not mean the destructions caused in particularized places such as factories where the damage can be done by one or two individuals who merely have to seize opportunity, I mean the outside attacks which must be carefully planned and executed by picked bodies of men. A great chain of such major operations has been brilliantly planned—and even begun. It will continue, in mounting importance, over the immensely critical period of the next six months. . . .

“The leader of this unit has been hampered by lack of trustworthy and efficient lieutenants. When you join him—which will be within the next four or five weeks—you will at once become what in this country they would probably call his Chief Executive Assistant. . . .

“That, Captain, will be your duty. It is important work—and you will carry it out efficiently, giving your superior officer all the assistance in your power. . . .

“But there is more to your appointment than this—very much more! While you will work indirectly for the Reich through Rudolph Altinger, you will, also and primarily, work directly for the Reich as an investigator of Rudolph Altinger. . . .

“In other words, Captain, there is doubt in high places concerning Herr Altinger’s personal ambitions—and you are in America primarily to report upon him. You will make such reports to me as and when I order you to, which I shall do either in person or through another of your superiors who will reveal himself to you in the manner you already know. You will never, of course, reveal to any other person the nature of your primary duty. . . .

“That is an outline of your duties, Captain. I will now, more specifically, give you detailed orders. . . .”

“And that,” said Otto, “I think is all.” He had given, carefully and with a slow, deliberate brevity, a recountal of all he had been told. The small room was very quiet, and the smoke from another of her cigarettes hung blue in the silence.

“All right,” she said. “Excellent!” Her voice was freer, softer.

He waited. She was not looking at him now, but he had a curious certainty that, when she did, her eyes would seem yet again to be changed in colour.

She stood up and moved away from the desk.

“Don’t you think,” she said, “that you’ve stood like that long enough?”

She walked past him to a small, deep settee against the wall. She sat back in its softness and pulled a cushion behind her head. Otto moved uncertainly, turning with his back to the desk so that he faced her. He put his hands behind him and leaned upon the desk. He felt oddly conscious of every movement he was making, like a schoolboy among unexpected adults.

She was playing with a bracelet upon her arm and the soft light struck from it flashing little darts of multicoloured flame.

“Open the wine,” she said—and watched him as he took the bottle from the ice-pail and stripped off wire and foil and eased out deftly the swollen, reluctant cork.

With a task to perform the feeling of awkwardness had left him and he moved freely and without thought and set a glass for her down upon the table by the couch and filled it carefully and turned to his own.

A faint smile touched the corners of her mouth. “Nils Jorgensen!” she said, and raised her glass towards him and drank from it.

Otto sat upon the arm of a chair to face her. A fresh wave of uncertainty swept uncomfortably over him. After a moment he raised his glass to her and drank without speaking. She did not seem to be looking at him. He sought desperately for words—any words—but none would come.

“You’re very silent, Otto Falken,” she said suddenly—and the voice was neither the one nor the other of the two extremes he had learned to know, but something which was somewhere in between these two so distant poles.

“I am sorry,” he said carefully, “perhaps I am confused. But the word ‘confused’ is wrong a little.”

“I probably understand.” Again the faint smile at the corners of her mouth. “There’s a lot for you to think about, isn’t there?” She turned more fully towards him, resting upon one elbow and with the other hand holding out her glass. “Refill that,” she said. “And then perhaps I’ll help you.”