Disorderly Elements by Bob Cook Page B

Between 1977 and 1980 he continued in the CIA/NSA liaison, but this time he was based in the US Embassy in Moscow. By then, however, the KGB had amassed a large and disturbing file on Rawls, and it was decided that an agent of such alarming efficiency could be tolerated no longer. In September 1980 Rawls was expelled from Moscow, and he returned to CIA headquarters at Langley, Virginia.
    Rawls had now become something of an embarrassment to his masters. Clearly he was one of their top field operatives, but his usefulness at home was another matter. He could no longer be placed in embassies abroad without exciting comment, and he was becoming too old for the kind of spectacular clandestine work in which he had once excelled.
    He was therefore put into the tender care of Milton K. Nagel, the head of Anglo-US Intelligence Liaison. Nagel’s official brief was to ensure the free flow of intelligence between the CIA, the NSA, MI5 and MI6. Unofficially, his job was simply to extract the intelligence that the UK preferred to hide from the US. To do this, Nagel exploited every goodwill mission made by American officials to Britain, and he tapped every British phone call that the NSA could unscramble.
    Rawls did not like his boss. Nagel was a loud-mouthed slob who ate hamburgers instead of taking baths. Unlike Rawls, he had a coarse, resonant sense of humour, and he was entirely open about his contempt for “smart-assed prima donnas”, of whom Rawls was one. He was short, fat and sweaty, and he disliked Rawls’ penchant for vigorous efficiency.
    â€œGood morning,” he said, as Rawls closed the door. “Take a seat.”
    Nagel leaned back in his swivel-chair and put his feet on the desk, knowing that this would irritate Rawls.
    â€œGot a job for you,” he said.
    Rawls nodded.
    â€œSome two-bit hood by the name of Grünbaum got himself arrested and killed in the DDR. It seems that this boy ran a Brit-sponsored network over in Thuringia, or somewhere like that.”
    â€œSo?”
    â€œSo people are asking questions about it.”
    â€œWhat people? What questions?”
    â€œThe Brits have put some guy named Wyman onto it. For some reason they’re worried by Grünbaum’s getting blown, and they want to know how it happened. Christ knows why they’re so upset. This kind of thing goes on all the time, and nobody gets screwed up about it.
    â€œFunny thing is, instead of making the routine inquiries, Wyman’s been avoiding the Firm altogether. Six days ago he got in touch with Frank Schofield in Rome.”
    â€œWho?”
    â€œFrank Schofield. Old-time Kansas newspaper hack. Did some work for us during the war, and after that he used to help us out from time to time. He’s retired now, but he still knows a lot of the old crowd, so he’s still a good vehicle for discreet inquiries into the Company. Or so Wyman thinks.”
    â€œWhat happened?”
    Nagel gave a frog-like smile.
    â€œSchofield got in touch with one or two people over here, hoping that everything would be nice and quiet. In fact, our people gave him virtually nothing, and then they told me what was happening. Wyman was taking a stupid risk asking Schofield for help. He should have known that we’d find out about it.”
    â€œWho is this Wyman? How come he knows Schofield?”
    â€œWyman is a typical English cocksucker. I think he’s a professor of philosophy, or something like that. He’s pretty amateur, even by Brit standards, and that’s saying something. Anyway, he met up with Schofield in Rome in the mid-fifties when he worked at the British Station. They’ve been good buddies ever since.”
    â€œOkay,” Rawls said. “So what do I do?”
    â€œIf Wyman is avoiding routine lines of inquiry, it means something funny is going on. If something funny is going on, I want to hear the joke. I mean, if you want to know why some op. has just got burned in