The Broker

He tried hard to linger over his ham and cheese, but he could only stretch it so far. He reminded himself to order fries the next time because fries can be toyed with until long after they’re cold, thus extending the meal far beyond what would be considered normal back home. Reluctantly, he surrendered his table. Almost an hour after he entered the cafe, he left the warmth of it and walked to the fountain where the water had been turned off so it wouldn’t freeze. Luigi strolled up a few minutes later, as if he’d been loitering in the shadows, waiting. He had the nerve to suggest a gelato, an ice cream, but Marco was already shivering. They walked to the hotel and said good night.

Luigi his field supervisor had diplomatic cover at the US. consulate in Milan. His name was Whitaker, and Backman was the least of his priorities. Backman was not involved in intelligence, or counterintelligence, and Whitaker had a full load in those arenas without having to worry about an ex-Washington power broker who’d been stashed away in Italy. But he dutifully prepared his daily summaries and sent them to Langley. There they were received and reviewed by Julia Javier, the veteran with access to Mr. Maynard himself. It was because of Ms. Javier’s watchful eye that Whitaker was so diligent in Milan. Otherwise, the daily summaries may not have been so prompt.

Teddy wanted a briefing.

Ms. Javier was summoned to his office on the seventh floor, to the "Teddy Wing," as it was known throughout Langley. She entered his "station," as he preferred it to be called, and once again found him parked at the end of a long wide conference table, sitting high in his jacked-up wheelchair, bundled in blankets from the chest down, wearing his standard black suit, peering over stacks of summaries, with Hoby hovering nearby ready to fetch another cup of the wretched green tea that Teddy was convinced was keeping him alive.

He was barely alive, but then Julia Javier had been thinking that for years now.

Since she didn’t drink coffee and wouldn’t touch the tea, nothing was offered. She took her customary seat to his right, sort of the witness chair that all visitors were expected to take-his right ear caught much more than his left-and he managed a very tired "Hello, Julia.’

Hoby, as always, sat across from her and prepared to take notes. Every sound in the "station" was being captured by some of the most sophisticated recording devices modern technology had created, but Hoby nonetheless went through the charade of writing it all down.

"Brief me on Backman," Teddy said. A verbal report such as this was expected to be concise, to the point, with not a single unnecessary word thrown in.

Julia looked at her notes, cleared her throat, and began speaking for the hidden recorders. "He’s in place in Treviso, a nice little town in northern Italy. Been there for three full days, seems to be making the adjustment quite well. Our agent is in complete contact, and the language tutor is a local who’s doing a nice job. Backman has no money and no passport, and so far has been quite willing to stick close to the agent. He has not used the phone in his hotel room, nor has he tried to use his cell phone for anything other than to call our agent. He has shown no desire to explore or to wander about. Evidently, the habits learned in prison are hard to break. Pie’s staying close to his hotel. When he’s not being tutored or eating, he stays in his room and studies Italian."

"How is his language?"

"Not bad. He’s fifty-two years old, so it wont be quick."

"I learned Arabic when I was sixty," Teddy said proudly, as if sixty was a century ago.

"Yes, I know," she said. Everyone at Langley knew it. "He is studying extremely hard and making progress, but it’s only been three days. The tutor is impressed."

"What does he talk about?"

"Not the past, not old friends and old enemies. Nothing that would interest us. He’s closed that off, for now anyway. Idle conversation tends to be about his new home, the culture and language."

"His mood?"

"He just walked out of prison fourteen years early and he’s having long meals and good wine. He’s quite happy. Doesn’t appear to be homesick, but of course he doesn’t really have a home. Never talks about his family."

"His health?"

"Seems fine. The cough is gone. Appears to be sleeping. No complaints."

"How much does he drink?"

"He’s careful. Enjoys wine at lunch and dinner and a beer in a nearby bar, but nothing excessive.” "Lets try and crank up the boo2e, okay? See if hell talk more."

"That’s our plan."

"How secure is he?"

"Everything’s bugged-phones, room, language lessons, lunches, dinners. Even his shoes have mikes. Both pairs. His overcoat has a Peak 30 sewn into the lining. We can track him virtually anywhere."

"So you can’t lose him?"

"He’s a lawyer, not a spy. As of now, he seems very content to enjoy his freedom and do what he’s told."

"He’s not stupid, though. Remember that, Julia. Backman knows there are some very nasty people who would love to find him."

"True, but right now he’s like a toddler clinging to his mother."

"So he feels safe?"

"Under the circumstances, yes."

"Then let’s give him a scare."

"Now?"

Chapter Six

"Yes." Teddy rubbed his eyes and took a sip of tea. "What about his son?"

"Level-three surveillance, not much happening in Culpeper, Virginia. If Backman tries to contact anyone, it will be Neal Backman. But we’ll know it in Italy before we know it in Culpeper."

"His son is the only person he trusts," Teddy said, stating what Julia had said many times.

"Very true."

After a long pause he said, "Anything else, Julia?"

"He’s writing a letter to his mother in Oakland."

Teddy gave a quick smile. "How nice. Do we have it?"

"Yes, our agent took a picture of it yesterday, we just got it. Backman hides it in between the pages of a local tourism magazine in his hotel room."

"How long is it?"

"Two good paragraphs. Evidently a work in progress."

"Read it to me," Teddy said as he leaned his head back against his wheelchair and closed his eyes.

Julia shuffled papers and pushed up her reading glasses. "No date, handwritten, which is a chore because Backman’s penmanship is lousy. ‘Dear Mother: I’m not sure when or if you will ever receive this letter. I’m not sure if I will ever mail it, which could affect whether or not you get it. At any rate, I’m out of prison and doing better. In my last letter I said things were going well in the flat country of Oklahoma. I had no idea at that time that I would be pardoned by the President. It happened so quickly that I still find it hard to believe.’ Second paragraph. Tm living on the other side of the world, I can’t say where because this would upset some people. I would prefer to be in the United States, but that is not possible. I had no say in the matter. It’s not a great life but it’s certainly better than the one I had a week ago. I was dying in prison, in spite of what I said in my letters. Didn’t want to worry you. Here, I’m free, and that’s the most important thing in the world. I can walk down the street, eat in a cafe, come and go as I please, do pretty much whatever I want. Freedom, Mother, something I dreamed of for years and thought was impossible.’ "

She laid it down and said, "That’s as far as he’s gotten."

Teddy opened his eyes and said, "You think he’s stupid enough to mail a letter to his mother?"