Free The Debriefing by Robert Littell

looking around the room, “that these rumors are completely false. To my way of thinking, we may have the most difficult brief in the intelligence establishment—preparing for something that may never happen, sharpening a knife that may never cut. But the option is everything. Penetration is an option that the Joint Chiefs want to keep open.”
    The old man with white hair nods slowly in agreement. Stone has told him what he wants to hear.
    “Admit it, Stone,” Thro whispers. She presses the buzzer to the apartment just under Topology’s in the Georgetown town house. “Admit I changed your life.”
    “I admit it,” Stone whispers back sarcastically. “I give credit where credit is due. You changed my life. I’ll give you an affidavit if you want one. Thro changed Stone’s life. Signed, Stone.’ I’m not the man I was. At the ripe age of forty-four, I’ve given up pajamas completely and wake up every morning with a serviceable erection.”
    “That’s not what I mean,” hisses Thro furiously. “You distort every word I say.”
    Stone can see Cross bouncing across the room, his latchkey thrust forward, to open the glass door with “John Pierce Associates Inc.” stenciled in gold letters on it. “Words awaken other words”—Stone reverts to Russian—“like ants touching antennas.”
    Cross, who is the business manager of John Pierce Associates, flings open the door. Once again Stone is struck by his appearance; seen in three-quarters profile, Cross is the spitting image of Harry Truman, so much so that Cross was once called uponto portray Truman in a television semidocumentary about the Korean War. “Ah, Stone, if you knew how delighted I am to see you.” Cross’s voice even has something of Truman’s nasal twang to it. “Good of you to squeeze in time … absolutely essential … taken on items … anxious for you …” Disjointed phrases spill from his chapped lips as he leads Stone through a maze of rooms. Cross is one of those people who fall just short, not for any lack of trying, of being eccentric. At any given moment he generally has more solutions than there are problems. But he produces a profit, and doesn’t interest himself in where the money goes when it is siphoned off. “Yes, indeed, now look at this … going to star them in our next catalogue … yes, indeed.” He produces for Stone a glossy soft-cover booklet entitled “Everything You Want to Know About Mushrooms,” then a second volume, thinner than the first, with the words “Body Hair” printed boldly on the cover, and finally a boxed three-volume soft-cover series with the title “E-Z Guides to Theosophy, Anthroposophy and Pyramidology.” “I’ve already had half a dozen phone calls on body hair,” boasts Cross. “Word of mouth will make a volume like this … surprised if it became a best seller … yes, indeed, ah.”
    Later, at the apartment they share, Thro teases Stone about Cross. “From Topology to body hair in one easy leap. The eclectic mind takes it all in its stride.”
    “Don’t knock Cross or John Pierce Associates,” Stone says. “It pays for the farm. And speaking of the farm, that’s where we’re going to be for the next few weeks.”
    “You got the warm body?” Thro is surprised. “Will the CIA sit still for that?”
    “They’ll sit still for the admiral,” says Stone. “You’ll be in charge of resettlement. I’ll give him to you for an hour every afternoon. Use any Topology facilities you need when it comes time to work up a new identity for him.”
    “What about settlement money?” Thro asks.
    “A lot will depend on how valuable the paper he brought with him turns out to be. We’ll decide that later.”

    “He’s going to want to know right off,” Thro says. “They always ask about money first.”
    “You can say there’ll be a pension, plus a lump sum in a bank somewhere. But stay vague on the numbers until we come up with some.”
    After dinner, which they both eat in