“Which was?”
Again Gehlen ignored the question.
“What Dunwiddie suspected was not only possible but likely. Improbable, I had thought at first. Now I thought it was likely. So after the second chat with our friend Konstantin, I asked Chauncey . . .”
“Chauncey?” Frade interrupted.
“. . . how he would suggest I attempt to exploit the window he had opened. He suggested that I permit him to try exploiting what he saw. After some thought, and frankly without a great deal of enthusiasm, I told him to go ahead. So we had our third chat with Friend Konstantin. Two minutes into Chauncey’s interrogation, it was clear that he was right in his assessment of the chink in Orlovsky’s armor—and well on the way to cracking the chink wide open.”
“What chink?” Frade said.
And was again ignored.
“At that point, we stopped. Or I told Chauncey to stop. When we were alone, I told him that what we had to do now was get you to come back. Obviously, we couldn’t discuss this on the telephone. Whoever my traitors are, they are capable of tapping our telephone lines and probably are doing so.
“Chauncey said that the call would have to come from me. That you would not be inclined to either believe him or trust his skill. Or his judgment. So I called. Before he tells you what he has done, and what he believes we should do, I want to say that I called you because I think he’s absolutely right.”
Frade looked at Dunwiddie in the driver’s seat.
“Okay, Dunwiddie, let’s hear it.”
“Major Orlovsky is a Christian, Colonel,” he began.
“We don’t ordinarily think of NKGB officers as being Christians, do we?” Frade asked thoughtfully.
“No, sir. I am presuming his superiors are unaware of it.”
“I presume you’re telling me he takes it seriously?”
“Yes, sir. That’s my take.”
“So what?”
“Two things, sir. He might already be questioning the moral superiority of the Communists.”
“And you believe, I gather, that the Soviet Union is governed by acolytes of Marx and Lenin? Heathen acolytes, so to speak?”
“I know better than that, Colonel,” Dunwiddie said. “What I’m suggesting is that if Orlovsky is a—what?—sincere Christian, then he can’t be comfortable with state atheism and what the Communists have done to the Russian Orthodox Church.”
“I’ve always felt that suppression of the Russian Church was one of the worst mistakes Stalin made,” Gehlen said. “And the proof of that is that he has not been able to stamp out Christianity. After Chauncey brought this up, I remembered that at least half of the people we’ve turned have been Christians.”
“I thought we were listening to what Sergeant Dunwiddie has to say,” Frade said not very pleasantly.
“And if he is a Christian,” Dunwiddie continued, “then he is very much aware of his Christian duty to protect his wife and children. We’ve already seen suggestions of that.”
“We’re back to ‘so what?’” Frade said.
“When the Germans attacked what they believe is Holy Mother Russia—and, tangentially, I’ve always been curious about why an atheist state uses the term ‘Holy Mother Russia’ so often—it was his patriotic duty to defend it.”
“And, at the risk of repeating myself, so what?”
“We’ve done nothing to the Soviet Union, actually the reverse. So why are they attacking the United States? If we can get him to ask himself that, and then prove we’re the good guys by making a bona fide effort to get his family out of Russia . . .”
Frade looked at him a long moment, then said, “Dunwiddie, if you were in Orlovsky’s shoes, remembering you didn’t get to be an NKGB major by being stupid, would you believe General Gehlen or Captain Cronley or me when one of us said, ‘Trust me . . .’ What the hell’s his name? Konstantin. ‘Trust me, Konstantin, if you change sides, we’ll get your family out of Russia and set you up with a new life in Argentina’?”
“I might if a priest told me that,” Dunwiddie said.
“You have two options there, Sergeant, if you think it through. You either dress up some guy as a priest—who your pal Konstantin would see through in about ten seconds—or you find some priest willing to go along with you. How easy do you think that will be?”