Free The Once and Future Spy by Robert Littell

buried in computer procurement. We’re a cheap date. Two salaries. One rent. One IBM mainframe. And since we
     never actually phone up anyone, we don’t even have a phone bill outside the basic trunk line fee.”
    “How many phones are you listening in on?”
    “We’re a pilot program, Mr. Rudd. We have one computer and two hundred and fifty trunk lines. At any given moment we target
     roughly two hundred forty numbers. My computer converts the impulses into recognizable speech. Since it would be impossible
     to read through everything—during any twenty-four-hour period we collect a mountain of intercepted conversations—I program
     the computer to scan for key words or phrases. My colleague and I monitor the juicy parts of the conversations.”
    The DDI’s face screwed up so intently it looked as if his skin had been under water too long. “What you’re doing is illegal—the
     Company has no charter to operate in America.”
    “As I understand it, that’s why we’re run on a No Distribution basis and I report directly to you.”
    “That doesn’t get us off the hook.”
    “If it helps any, most of our targets are Russians or East Europeans working out of the United Nations or the various Washington
     embassies.”
    The DDI treated himself to a deep breath. “What kind of stuff have you come up with so far?”
    “Nuggets. For instance, we learned two days ago that Savinkov is getting one of his cipher clerks to sell us the February
     key to the embassy’s class seven messages.”
    “How do you disseminate?”
    “The nuggets I write up so they look as if they come from conventional intercepts. The rest I burn. My problem is to refine
     the computer program so that I get more wheat and less chaff. Your predecessor said that when we got the wrinkles out he would
     push for funds to increase our computer capacity so we could listen in on two thousand five hundred phones at a time. If things
     went well we eventually hoped to target twenty-five thousand.”
    The DDI scratched absently at a very red lobe of a very large ear. The Weeder wondered whether Rudd was a closet drinker;
     if the secrets were too heavy it might be the only way to cope with theworkload. “You mentioned,” the DDI said, “that
most
of your targets were Russians or East Europeans. I’d like to hear about the exceptions.”
    A sheepish grin crept onto the Weeder’s face. “Your predecessor was hauled over the coals once by Senator Woodbridge.”
    “I remember that,” the DDI chuckled. “I was his sword carrier when he went up to the Hill to face the music. Woodbridge must
     have been having his period that day—he was as bitchy as a dog in heat.”
    “I was instructed to add Senator Woodbridge to my list,” the Weeder said. “When I came down to Langley, which was usually
     once every month or six weeks, I gave your predecessor the transcripts.”
    “Did he get anything on Woodbridge?”
    “Nothing he could use.”
    “Any other targets who aren’t Russians or East Europeans?”
    “I have a couple of journalists from
The Washington Post
who were getting too close to some of our Latin American operations—your predecessor wanted to know their sources. I have
     a couple of assistants to the congressmen who control the Company’s purse strings. I have three businessmen who do a lot of
     import-export business with the Saudis. I have two, maybe three, antinuclear types—one’s a well-known movie star. I think
     the late Director himself asked your predecessor to see what we could come up with on her.”
    “That’s it?” Again, a lopsided smile that invited the confession of sins appeared on the DDI’s face.
    The Weeder was on the verge of mentioning Wanamaker. But what could he say? That he had targeted his Yale roommate because
     he once fed LSD to the Weeder’s girlfriend, who then jumped to her death from a fifth-floor window? The DDI, who had fingers
     in a lot of pies, might know that Admiral Toothacher was