Free The Kingmaker by Brian Haig

about disclosing such sensitive information. Or conceivably there was something more here.
    He finally replied, “I think Alexi selectively gave us things he considered . . . What’s the best way to put this? If Russia was doing something he felt was morally repugnant, he’d report onthat. But, for example, he never gave us the names of American traitors, like Ames or Hanssen. He gave us no counterintelligence information.”
    “Did he ask you for information?”
    The ugly frown on Morrison’s face implied that he finally realized where this line of query was heading. “Fuck you, Drummond. Of course we discussed things. I always included my responses in my reports, though. I never told him anything that was a betrayal.”
    “You’re sure?”
    “Mary and I were given firm guidance about what we were allowed to disclose. I never went outside those boundaries.”
    Sensing we’d reached an impasse, I said, “Okay, were there others like Arbatov?”
    “For me, no. Mary had others, a lot of them, but my principal duties didn’t involve controlling assets.”
    “Who brought Mary into it?” Katrina asked.
    “He did. After 1991, I had a number of jobs that didn’t allow me to properly control Alexi. He suggested Mary.”
    I considered this and concluded that from Arbatov’s perspective it made sense. It kept it all in the family and limited his risk of exposure. I said, “Think hard. Were there any other Russians you stayed in contact with from 1989 to the present?”
    “None,” he immediately replied, leaving me wishing he’d at least spent a few seconds scouring his memory.
    The molehunters were focused on a trail of espionage that led all the way back to 1988 or 1989. How they came up with those years I didn’t know. I did know this, though: The anonymous leaker said there was only one controller, and by extrapolation that controller had to be acquainted with Morrison from the very beginning.
    So maybe they thought that guy was Arbatov—or maybe someone Morrison wasn’t telling me about. I looked over at Katrina and her eyes were locked on Morrison’s face. The intensity of her stare surprised me. Set aside her appearance, her ballbusting, and her sarcasm, and what you got was a deceptively sharp and determined woman.
    I said, “Okay, General, that’s enough for now. Start mentally organizing the years 1990 through the present. We’ll come again and begin with those years. Okay?”
    Morrison nodded but looked troubled.
    I said, “What? You got something you want to add?”
    “I, uh . . .” He hunched over, as if in pain. “Listen, Drummond. About Arbatov . . .”
    “What about him?”
    “I’m not saying Alexi’s connected to this or anything . . .”
    “But?”
    “Well, it, uh, it might be a good idea to look at him closer.”
    “And how would I do that?”
    “Talk to Mary. See what she thinks.”
    I said that we would, and we then departed, leaving our client chained to the table.

CHAPTER SEVEN
    K atrina and I cloistered ourselves in the living room of our grand office quarters. I had brewed a fresh pot of coffee, tossed a few logs in the fireplace, and lit a big fire before we settled down in righteous style to ponder our next steps.
    I wanted to start with her impression of our client. Lacking a past history with him, she might’ve detected things I was blind to. Doubtful, but worth checking.
    She was still getting comfortable as I said, “Well, isn’t he every bit the asshole I warned you he was?”
    Always helpful to predispose a witness, right?
    She replied, “He, at least, has a good excuse”—intimating, I think, something about me. She added, “It’s this arrested and being charged deal, I suppose. Funny what sets some people off, isn’t it?”
    “Not hah-hah funny, no. He’s even more insufferable than I remember him. How could that be possible?”
    “You tell me. You know him.”
    I struck a thoughtful pose and stroked my chin. “How doesanyone get that