Sustenance (7 page)

“That’s interesting,” said Bereston, making a quick recovery from his surprise. “What do you think of our notion, a man in your position, titled and all?”

“I am also an exile, Mister Bereston; my title is merely a courtesy now. It is useful in getting good seats at the opera and prompt attention at the bank.” This was not quite accurate but near enough to the truth to make his answer acceptable. “I think your Constitution is a laudable document, and I hope many of its principles are embraced by other countries, but I also know that not all countries seek that manner of order among their own peoples,” said Szent-Germain. “Writers and publishers need the protection your First Amendment provides, but it must apply to all to have any lasting impact, wouldn’t you say?”

“We like to think so, though we are careful about what we decide to publish. With all the turmoil in the world, we have a responsibility not to add to it,” said Bereston, his demeanor more tense, his eyes hard upon his host. “But it takes time to prepare to offer such protections.”

Now Szent-Germain was being very watchful, although little changed in his outward manner. “How could that be? What preparation is there needed?”

Bereston gave a small cough. “There are subjects that, even with freedom of speech, need to be approached with utmost caution, especially in times like these, when, as you say, much propaganda is presented to the public in the guise of art. You must be aware, Grof, that the irresponsible distribution of social theories and financial schemes can only bring about dissension and unrest; this is a ticklish time in our dealings with Europe, and we must proceed with care. We’re aware of that. Such material as might contribute to social turmoil must be handled circumspectly, some tracts and analyses delayed, and a few rejected for the good of the people. For everyone’s benefit.”

“I don’t see that,” said Szent-Germain, still speaking affably. “Nothing in the language of the First Amendment suggests that such standards can be imposed on original thought and its distribution. Such restrictions obviate all the guarantees of the Constitution.” He reached out and picked up a small brass bell which he rang.

“It’s not in the specific language, but it is
implied
by other provisions in the Constitution, and it is the policy of the United States to adhere to decisions that support the public good rather than encouraging—”

“—irresponsibility, yes, I heard you.” He looked up as Rogers came into the room. “Be good enough to bring our guest another pot of coffee, if you would.”

“With cream?” Rogers inquired.

“Yes.” He turned back to Bereston. “I’m sorry you aren’t interested in something stronger, but I surmise that the purpose of your visit makes it unwise to risk the slightest clouding of your intellect.”

“It is an important issue, and deserves the whole of my concentration,” Bereston said curtly. “I don’t know how to explain it to you, Grof, but if you have any hope of working with American publishers—as I and others trust you do—then we must determine the sorts of work you are planning to introduce to our people.” He sighed and sat more stiffly in his chair. “It isn’t easy for those of you who are devoted to the European way of life to comprehend how we Americans understand the limits of freedom.”

“The limits of freedom,” Szent-Germain repeated. “An … interesting concept.”

There was a blustery gust of wind that set the shutters to rattling.

“You understand the reasons for it, surely?” Bereston said, his face a mask of goodwill. “Precarious governments will need to protect their populations from—”

“I’m afraid I don’t—understand the reasons,” said Szent-Germain. “Perhaps I have not grasped your purpose in all this?” He spoke mildly, but he was aware of Bereston’s antagonism behind his smile.

“If you can spare me an hour, I’ll be more than happy to explain it to you in detail,” Bereston offered.

“Alas, I think not,” said Szent-Germain, as courteously as if he approved. “Since I have plans to go to Amsterdam, then to Copenhagen, and Paris in the next two weeks, I haven’t the time to give your venture the close attention it deserves. When I return here, we can set up an appointment for a proper discussion.”

“If that’s all you’re willing to do, why didn’t you refuse to see me?” Bereston demanded, then visibly calmed himself.

“I had insufficient information to know whether or not to hear you out; you will agree that your business card provides very little about your work beyond the most elementary outline. I am not a credulous man, Mister Bereston, and I would need much more than your assurances to support this plan you are planning to impose upon the world. It
is
the world you’re aiming for, isn’t it.” He rose. “If you will let Rogers know when you will be available for a meeting after I return, then I will have a better idea of your undertaking, and will be more prepared to respond to your plans appropriately.”

Bereston glowered briefly, then forced his face into yet another smile. “If that’s the best you can—” He stopped, and when he spoke again it was calmly, with what might have been a touch of self-deprecating humor. “I made a mess of this, didn’t I? And you’ve been so courteous. Okay. We’ll talk later, when you return from Paris and I’m back from Washington.”

“Very good.” He held out his hand. “I have to bid you good-bye for now. Rogers will see you out when you’re ready to go. If you want to remain where you are until you have had the last of your coffee, my staff will be pleased to accommodate you.” He inclined his head, then left the morning room.

Rogers was waiting for him at the edge of the loggia. “What have you learned?” he asked in Egyptian Coptic.

Szent-Germain answered in the same language. “He’s up to something; you’re right about that.”

“What would you like me to do?”

After the greater part of a minute in thought, Szent-Germain said, “I don’t know yet. Let me think about it.”

TEXT OF A REPORT FROM NATHAN SINCLAIR WATERS ON ASSIGNMENT IN AMSTERDAM TO D. PHILETUS ROTHCOE IN LIEGE, BELGIUM; CARRIED BY DIPLOMATIC COURIER AND DELIVERED TWENTY-NINE HOURS AFTER BEING WRITTEN.

October 27, 1949

D. Philetus Rothcoe

Hotel Saint-Sulpice

Room 34

17, Rue de Saule

Liege, Belgium

Dear Phil,

This is my preliminary assessment on the group known as the Ex-Pats’ Coven, operating out of Paris, with members in France, England, the Netherlands, Belgium, Spain, and Switzerland whom we have positively identified. I send this to you now so that you may inform me of what you would like me to pursue before I submit my year-end evaluation of their activities and their capacity to do our diplomacy harm.

You have already asked me to help identify any members of this group who have business and personal connections to any European doing business in the United States. I have enclosed a list for your perusal. Let me draw your attention to Boris King, who has a number of relatives in Belgium and France, who is rumored to have fled the Russian Revolution at the end of W W I; I personally doubt the story—it’s too pat, but in case you run into one of Broadstreet’s crowd, bear this in mind; they think spying ought to be like the movies. Also, you may be interested in the meeting between Grof Szent-Germain and Charis Treat in Copenhagen earlier this month. As far as I can determine, Doctor Treat has submitted a manuscript to Eclipse Press for publication, and that would seem to be the extent of her ventures there. A few of the rest of the so-called Coven are looking into the possibility of publication with Eclipse, even though Professor Treat has received no response in regard to her manuscript so far, but it is generally acknowledged that Eclipse takes an average of four months to decide on any title, according to their own catalogues. Others in the Ex-Pats’ Coven may follow her example, but again, there appears to be no political or philosophical connection, only a simple attempt to have a work published. Given the group’s circumstances, you cannot be surprised that they seek publishers. What the work may contain, and how it is to be distributed if it is contracted for, I cannot say, and it may be a moot point if the manuscript is rejected. The same goes for the rest of the Coven.

I have a copy of Paul Blount’s report on the Ex-Pats’ Coven based on the two months he was allowed to participate in their Parisian meetings. I would advise you to bear in mind that Paul is very annoyed that he was so quickly identified as a spy in their midst, and is blaming others for his failings; I wouldn’t put much credence in his assertions that the Coven gets its orders from Moscow, though most of the Coven are in favor of socialism as a way of providing economic parity for all those participating in it. Blount’s ticked off because he isn’t going out on a win, and this is his way of pouting.

Is there any way you could get our department to extend my assignment here until May, or longer? I don’t want to be posted back to Washington quite yet, not while we have so many unresolved cases before us. I am certain I am making some headway with Tolliver Bethune, and that should gain us valuable intelligence. Bethune, aside from being part of the Ex-Pats’ Coven, has other connections as well that are most promising. Give me six more months—eight if you can manage it—and I know you won’t regret it. I, too, would like to leave on a win, and as you may not be aware, I’ll be retiring on the 1
st
of January, 1951. I don’t like the feeling that I’ve spent the last five years spinning my wheels with intra-agency cat-fights. The war felt worthwhile, bloody yet the right thing to do, but so much of what we’re dealing with now is petty—like changing the Central Intelligence Group to the Central Intelligence Agency? Please tell me when have better use we can make of our time. I wonder what Wild Bill Donovan thought of that little fracas.

From this end, the bomb that blew up that bus in Grenoble was confirmed as Jimmy Riggs’ work. He’s left Europe by now, of course, and is back lounging on a beach in Mexico. That man truly loves to blow things up, doesn’t he?

Wishing you a happy Thanksgiving, although we’re far from home, and the joys of Christmas and the New Year,

Sincerely,

Nate

(Nathan S. Waters)

NSW/js

enclosures

3

A pair of barges were dredging at the far end of the canal, pulling up the broken remains of shallow-draft attack boats that had lain on the bottom of the canal for a decade, and were now being removed as a traffic hazard. Amsterdam looked like a sepia print in the veils of fog that shrouded the city, blending with the water, still as a whisper. In his office on the ground floor of his canal-side house, Szent-Germain was gazing out the window at the barges, his thoughts on the comments on Charis Treat’s manuscript that he had received from three of his five reviewers. So far the reports were generally favorable, which pleased him for several reasons, not the least of which was that the accuracy of her depictions of communes brought back many memories of Padova and Saunt-Cyr and Montaubine. He took a sheet of cream-laid writing paper with the Eclipse Press letterhead from his desk drawer, removed his Mont Blanc pen from his waistcoat-pocket, unscrewed its cap, and began to write in his small, flowing, precise script:

2 November, 1949

Professor Charis Treat

Hotel Louis XII

23 Rue d’Ete Blanche

Paris, France

My dear Professor Treat,

Despite my delays, for which I apologize, I am at last bound for Paris. I would appreciate it if you would be willing to join me at dinner on November 10
th
at eight o’clock to discuss your manuscript. If this is not convenient, will you advise me on when and where you would prefer to meet? If you have a favorite restaurant, I would be pleased to reserve a table for us on the date of your choosing at the hour you select. I plan to be in Paris through the New Year, and at present have few engagements on my calendar.

Whichever arrangement is satisfactory to you, please reply to me at Eclipse Press in Amsterdam, which I have on my enclosed business card; your letter or telephone call will reach me promptly.

I look forward to our meeting.

Most sincerely.

Ragoczy Ferenz,

Publisher, Eclipse Press

Grof Szent-Germain

He read over the letter, then took an Eclipse Press envelope and copied her address onto it, slid one of his cards into it, then sealed it. Setting this aside, he got up from his chair and paced his room, pausing at the bookcases that held the publications of Eclipse Press through the last five hundred years. He regarded most of them with an affectionate pride, a few with dismay. So many books had been damaged or destroyed over those centuries, and the twentieth was no exception. Books, like art, he reminded himself in a language that no one but himself and Rogers spoke anymore, were vulnerable and defenseless but for the esthetics and curiosity of living human beings. What was this obsession about destroying books? Or paintings, scrolls, tapestries, or musical scores? The question nagged at him as it had done over more than three millennia; his long memories stirred and he again recalled the lessons of the priests at the Temple of Imhotep, who had unknowingly reawakened his humanity in his long centuries of service there.

The bleat of a tugboat jarred him out of his contemplations, and he shook himself out of his perplexity. He glanced once at the fading photograph of a girl on the edge of puberty in garments of about twenty years ago, and felt her loss almost as keenly as he had that unspeakable day in Munchen when she had been killed during a riot; he had not been able to look at any image of Laisha, his ward, for more than a decade after the event.