The Doomsday Conspiracy

He was the only one that day who had successfully avoided surveillance.

The jargon taught at the Farm was a language unto itself.

“You probably won’t use all these terms,” the instructor told the class, “but you had better know them. There are two different kinds of agents; an ‘agent of influence’ and an ‘agent provocateur’. The agent of influence tries to change opinion in the country where he operates. An agent provocateur is sent to stir up trouble and create chaos. ‘Biographic leverage’ is CIA code for blackmail. There are also ‘black bag jobs’, which can range from bribes to burglary. Watergate was a black bag job.”

He looked around to make sure that the class was paying attention. They were spellbound.

“From time to time some of you may need a ‘cobbler’ – that’s a man who forges passports.”

Robert wondered whether he would ever use a cobbler.

“The phrase to ‘demote maximally’ is a nasty one. It means to purge by killing. So does the word ‘terminate’. If you hear someone talking about the ‘Firm’, it’s the nickname we use to refer to the British Secret Service. If you’re asked to ‘fumigate’ an office, you won’t be looking for termites, you’ll be looking for listening devices.”

The arcane expressions fascinated Robert.

“‘Ladies’ is a euphemism for females sent to compromise the opposition. A ‘legend’ is the faked biography of a spy, to provide him with a cover. ‘Going private’ means leaving the service.”

The instructor scanned the class. “Any of you know what a ‘lion tamer’ is?”

He waited for an answer. Silence.

“When an agent is sacked, he sometimes gets upset and may make threats to reveal what he knows. A muscleman, or lion tamer, is called in to soften him up. I’m sure none of you will ever have to deal with one.”

That drew nervous laughter.

“Then, there’s the word ‘measles’. If a target dies of measles, it means he was murdered so efficiently that death appeared to be accidental or due to natural causes. One method of inducing measles is tabun. That’s a colourless or brownish liquid compound that causes nerve paralysis when absorbed through the skin. If someone offers you a ‘music box’, they’re offering you a wireless transmitter. The transmitter operator is called a ‘musician’. In the future, some of you will be operating ‘naked’. Don’t rush to take off your clothes, it simply means that you’re alone and without any assistance from outside.~”

“There’s one more thing I want to discuss today. Coincidence. In our work, there is no such animal. It usually spells danger. If you keep running into the same person again and again, or you keep spotting the same automobile when you’re on the move, cover your ass. You’re probably in trouble.~”

“I think that’s enough for today, gentlemen. We will take up where we left off tomorrow.”

From time to time, Colonel Johnson called Robert into his office, “to have a chat,” as he put it. The conversations were deceptively casual, but Robert was aware of an underlying probing being carried on.

“I understand you’re happily married, Robert.”

“That’s right.”

They spent the next half hour talking about marriage, fidelity and trust.

Another time: “Admiral Whittaker thinks of you as a son, Robert. Did you know that?”

“Yes.” The pain of Edward’s death was something that would never go away.

They talked about loyalty and duty and death.

“You’ve faced death more than once, Robert. Are you afraid to die?”

“No.” But to die for a good reason, Robert thought. Not senselessly.

The meetings were frustrating to Robert, because they were like looking into a trick mirror. Colonel Johnson could see him clearly, but the Colonel remained invisible, an enigma cloaked in secrecy.

The course lasted sixteen weeks, and during that time none of the men was permitted to communicate with the outside world. Robert missed Susan desperately. It was the longest they had ever been apart. When the four months were up, Colonel Johnson called Robert into his office.

“This is goodbye. You’ve done an excellent job, Commander. I think you’re going to find your future very interesting.”

“Thank you, sir. I hope so.”

“Good luck.”

Colonel Johnson watched Robert leave. He sat there for five minutes without moving, then reached a decision. He walked over to the door and locked it. Then he picked up the telephone and made a call.

Susan was waiting for him. She opened the door of their apartment, wearing a sheer negligee that concealed nothing. She flew into his arms and held him close. “Hi, sailor. Want to have a good time?”

“I’m having one,” Robert said happily, “just holding you.”

“God, I missed you so much!” Susan drew back and said, fiercely, “If anything ever happened to you, I think I would die.”

“Nothing is ever going to happen to me.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

She studied him a moment, concerned. “You look so tired.”

“It was a pretty intensive course,” Robert admitted. He was understating it. With all the texts and manuals to study, in addition to the practical, hands-on lessons, none of the recruits had been able to sleep more than a few hours a night. There was little grumbling, for a very simple reason: they were well aware that what they were learning could one day save their lives.