A Despicable Profession
“said Victor Jacobson, looking up from his desk in the garage. He had a phone cradled to his ear and a cigarette in his hand. I waited until he finished his call.
“Bit by a dog sir.”
“On the nose?”
“It’s a long story.”
The CO didn’t ask further, which was jake by me. “How did the Committee meeting go?”
“Very well.”
“What did you learn?”
“A good deal.”
Jacobson blew smoke through his nostrils. “Well?”
“I learned that the Committee to Free Berlin is a Soviet front just like Hilde said it was. I le...arned that because a founding member greeted me warmly after the meeting adjourned.”
Jacobson balled up his cheeks. “If the Committee’s a front they’d keep their distance.”
“They did. They acted like I smelled bad. All except this founding member.”
The CO stubbed out his cigarette. You could have bought a small house in the country with what was in that ashtray. Something was up.
“I don’t have time to play Twenty Questions Schroeder. Bill Donovan is flying in tomorrow.MoreLess
“Bit by a dog sir.”
“On the nose?”
“It’s a long story.”
The CO didn’t ask further, which was jake by me. “How did the Committee meeting go?”
“Very well.”
“What did you learn?”
“A good deal.”
Jacobson blew smoke through his nostrils. “Well?”
“I learned that the Committee to Free Berlin is a Soviet front just like Hilde said it was. I le...arned that because a founding member greeted me warmly after the meeting adjourned.”
Jacobson balled up his cheeks. “If the Committee’s a front they’d keep their distance.”
“They did. They acted like I smelled bad. All except this founding member.”
The CO stubbed out his cigarette. You could have bought a small house in the country with what was in that ashtray. Something was up.
“I don’t have time to play Twenty Questions Schroeder. Bill Donovan is flying in tomorrow.MoreLess
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