Free Three Days of the Condor by James Grady

the FBI. Mitchell held off informing the sister agency of details for as long as he dared, but eventually a deputy director yielded to pressure.
    But the CIA would not be denied the right to investigate assaults on its agents, no matter where the assualts occurred. The Agency has a loophole through which many questionable activities funnel. The loophole, Section 5 of the Act, allows the Agency to perform "such other functions and duties related to intelligence affecting the national security as the National Security Council may from time to time direct." The Act also grants the Agency the power to question people inside the country. The directors of the Agency concluded that the extreme nature of the situation warranted direct action by the Agency. This action could and would continue until halted by a direct order from the National Security Council. In a very polite but pointed note they so informed the FBI, thanking them, of course, for their cooperation and expressing gratitude for any future help.
    The Washington police were left with one corpse and a gunshot victim who had disappeared to an undisclosed hospital in Virginia, condition serious, prognosis uncertain. They were not pleased or placated by assurances from various federal officers, but they were unable to pursue "their" case.
    The jurisdictional mishmash tended to work itself out in the field, where departmental rivalry meant very little compared to dead men. The agents in charge of operations for each department agreed to coordinate their efforts. By evening one of the most extensive man hunts in Washington's history began to unfold, with Malcolm as the object of activity. By morning the hunters had turned up a good deal, but they had no clues to Malcolm's whereabouts.
    This did little to brighten a bleak morning after for the men who sat around a table in a central Washington office. Most of them had been up until very late the night before, and most of them were far from happy. The liaison group included all of the CIA deputy directors and representatives from every intelligence group in the country. The man at the head of the table was the deputy director in charge of Intelligence Division. Since the crisis occurred in his division, he had been placed in charge of the investigation. He summed up the facts for the grim men he faced.
    "Eight Agency people dead, one wounded, and one, a probable double, missing. Again, we have only a tentative— and I must say doubtful— explanation of why."
    "What makes you think the note the killers left is a fake?" The man who spoke wore the uniform of the United States Navy.
    The Deputy Director sighed. The Captain always had to have things repeated. "We're not saying it's a fake, we only think so. We think it's a ruse, an attempt to blame the Czechs for the killings. Sure, we hit one of their bases in Prague, but for tangible, valuable intelligence. We only killed one man. Now, they go in for many things, but melodramatic revenge isn't one of them. Nor is leaving notes on the scene neatly explaining everything. Especially when it gains them nothing. Nothing."
    "Ah, may I ask a question or two, Deputy?"
    The Deputy leaned forward, immediately intent. "Of course, sir."
    "Thank you." The man who spoke was small and delicately old. To strangers he inevitably appeared to be a kindly old uncle with a twinkle in his eye. "Just to refresh my memory— stop me if I'm wrong— the one in the apartment, Heidegger, had sodium pentothal in his blood?"
    "That's correct, sir." The Deputy strained, trying to remember if he had forgotten any detail in the briefing.
    "Yet none of the others were 'questioned,' as far as we can tell. Very strange. They came for him in the night, before the others. Killed shortly before dawn. Yet your investigation puts our boy Malcolm at his apartment that afternoon after Weatherby was shot. You say there is nothing to indicate Heidegger was a double agent?
    No expenditures beyond his income, no signs of