Berlin, 1979
Ladd Herrington pushed his reading glasses down to the end of his nose and peered at Helen above the frames. He leaned back in his swivel chair, arms crossed, a pose of distance and disdain.
It was nearly noon, but Helen was still waiting for the caffeine to kick in from her belated first cup of coffee. The station chief had summoned her to his office the moment she got to work.
“Robert was in here earlier about you,” Herrington began.
“Gilley, you mean? Kevin Gilley?”
Herrington snatched off his glasses and leaned forward, palms flat on the blotter, a lumpy old toad poised to spring across the desk.
“You’ll refer to him as Robert, if you please. You’re not even cleared for that information!”
Helen shrugged, already regretting that by sleeping late she’d let Gilley get the jump on her, although she was shocked he’d chosen to mention it at all. But if that’s how he wanted to play it, fine. She had the ammo to outlast him. The tape, for starters, her very own nuclear option if push came to shove. But, like all nuclear options, it offered the possibility of mutually assured destruction, so she would first appeal to reason. The challenge would be controlling her temper.
“He said you behaved most inappropriately last night,” Herrington continued. “Violated your own rules, introduced yourself to an agent without authorization, and interrupted a sensitive meeting between a case officer and a contact.”
“Sensitive meeting? Is that how he described trying to fuck one of his agents? And I mean that literally. The figurative sense applies only to what he’s trying to do to me.”
This momentarily put the brakes on Herrington’s offensive. He frowned, backed off a bit, and shoved his specs to the side of the desk. The chair creaked beneath him.
“What are you saying, exactly, Miss Abell?”
“What is he saying, exactly, since he’s the one who chose to make an issue of it? Was I at the safe house unannounced? Yes. So was he. Although I was there in the course of my management duties, on a night when there was no scheduled usage by any case officer. When he and his contact arrived they were unaware of my presence upstairs, a situation I was prepared to suffer in silence, and with all due respect for their operational privacy—until it became clear from all the noise downstairs that he was forcing himself on a young female agent. At that point it became clear to me that their rendezvous had everything to do with Robert’s sexual gratification and nothing to do with Agency sources and methods.”
Herrington opened his mouth to speak, but Helen kept going.
“So, yes, at that point I went downstairs and introduced myself to an agent without authorization, just as he said, but only to put a stop to his misbehavior. Robert and I had a few words, and then he left. He smirked and he snarled, but he left, and he did so without his agent, who by then was in tears. And afterward it was up to me to calm the poor girl down. If anything, I limited the damage he might have caused.”
Herrington exhaled loudly, seemingly as out of breath as Helen. He looked off to the side while fumbling distractedly with a small bronze bust of Lenin that he used as a paperweight. A shiny spot atop Lenin’s bald dome suggested that he rubbed it fairly often, just as he was doing now, either for luck or inspiration. He noticed her watching, set it aside, and glanced toward the shuttered window. She wondered if this wasn’t the first time he’d heard something like this about Kevin Gilley. How had Baucom described the man? Someone in it for himself, yet also a practitioner of the Agency’s darker arts. Sexual predation would hardly seem to be out of the question under that setup.
“Yes, well…Robert did imply you might allege something of the sort. Predictable, I suppose, given your own tendencies.”
“My tendencies?”
“Oh, come on. You can’t be completely oblivious to what people say.”
About her and Baucom, he must have meant. Had to be.
“Last time I checked, sir, all of my intimate relations involved consenting adults, and none with subordinates or direct supervisors. Would you prefer that I sleep with some foreign national who’s never been vetted? Although I’m told that’s quite popular in our office.”
Herrington’s mouth fell open. For a moment he was too shocked to reply. Rumor had it that his latest paramour was a typist at the French consulate.
“Sir, he was raping her, and if you somehow find such behavior excusable in a man of his position, then at least consider the matter pragmatically. Can you imagine the unholy mess if he had been allowed to complete the act, and she had then gone to the authorities? Alleging, no less, that it had happened in one of our very own facilities?”
By the time she finished, Herrington had collected himself for a counterattack.
“Was Robert’s behavior unprofessional? Yes, I suppose so. Assuming you’re telling the whole truth, of course. But your use of the word ‘rape’? Come on, Helen, you know better. Or would if you actually had experience in the field. Relationships between case officers and agents are complex and multilayered. If we start telling our field men exactly how to conduct their business then we might as well shut them down.”
“I know what I saw, sir. I know what I heard. It wasn’t consensual.”
“It didn’t sound consensual, maybe because you’re not familiar with the context of the relationship. You may think you know what you observed, but you don’t, so I urge you to take this no further.”
“Then exactly what did I observe, sir?”
“You’re not cleared for that, Miss Abell. And don’t think I’m not aware of how you must have learned Robert’s real identity.”
“I learned it, sir, not from any pillow talk, but because this entire station leaks like a sieve.”
Herrington reddened.
“As for your own choice of sexual liaisons, Miss Abell, since you did ask for my preference on the matter, what I would prefer is that you were married and stable, with a home life that didn’t so obviously interfere with your official duties.”
Helen’s first impulse was to quit on the spot. Tell him bluntly what she thought of his opinions and leave, never to return. But that was probably what he wanted. It would certainly be the easiest way to make this mess go away.
Her second impulse was to say she’d feel more comfortable working for the Soviets than for someone as clueless and overmatched as Ladd Herrington. But he was just stupid enough to take it seriously, and so were the paranoid snoops in counterintelligence who would zero in on the statement the moment it appeared in her file.
“Very well, sir. In that case, provided I’m able to meet your expectations for my domestic arrangements, just how would you prefer I approach the state of matrimony? Faithfully, or like you?” She stood before he could answer. “And not to worry, sir. I’m quite done with this matter. For now.”
She let the final words hang in the air as she bustled out the door, as angry as she’d been since her arrival in Berlin. She knew it wouldn’t help to slam the door, but she slammed it all the same.
Everyone in the office heard, and everyone saw her leave.