All the Old Knives by Olen Steinhauer Read Free Book Online Page B

after I’m dead. Maybe that would be better.”
    â€œPretty sticky stuff?”
    She exhales; I smell tannins and spearmint—mouthwash, or gum. “Pretty sticky.”
    â€œI’d love to read it.”
    â€œWouldn’t you just.”
    Arched brow, a quick lick of her lips. I gaze.
    â€œI’m just warning you,” she says. “I may get things wrong.”
    â€œYou’ve already told me not to take you at face value, Cee.”
    â€œDid I?” A smile. “I forgot.”
    My expression mirrors hers as I take another gulp of wine. I say, “This should be pretty basic stuff. Chronology, mostly. I’ll want you to draw me a few word-pictures. Tell me about Bill. Your responsibilities. We’ll work our way up to the Flughafen.”
    She plants her forearms on the table, elbows together, gripping hands. Girlish excitement. “I’m all yours.”
    â€œI wish,” I say, before thinking better of it. But her smile betrays nothing. “I’d like to start with your position in ’06, working for Bill.”
    â€œYou don’t know all of that?”
    â€œWell, you didn’t tell me much, and Vick never bothered to lay it out for me. I knew better than to ask.”
    She pulls her arms back into her lap, considering this. Then: “You want to record our chat?”
    I shake my head, then tap my temple. “I don’t want Interpol asking for it later. You might say something you don’t want to share.”
    She looks as if she appreciates my discretion; then her hand reappears, sliding forth again to grip mine. “You’re looking out for me, aren’t you?”
    â€œAlways,” I lie.

 
    12
    EVIDENCE
    Federal Bureau of Investigation
    Transcript from cell phone flash card removed from premises of Karl Stein, CIA, on November 7, 2012. Investigation into actions taken by Mr. Stein on October 16, 2012, file 065-SF-4901.
    CELIA FAVREAU: It is December 2006. Vienna is in the throes of Euro-phoria, a booming economy and a sense of place in the union. As always, there are anxieties—right-wingers remind everyone of Austria über alles, despairing the waves of immigrants from Turkey and the onetime Eastern Bloc—but by and large it’s a capital of dull stability, its economy not yet shaken by the failures of Western mortgage practices.
    There I am, Celia Harrison, a case officer working under William Compton, who does not enjoy being called “Wild Bill”—a fact that stops none of us from calling him just that. An aging commander who remembers the original Wild Bill Donovan, the parachute-drop disasters in Albania and Czechoslovakia, Vietnamese humiliations and the false dawn of perestroika. He was tired, mostly, and bent too easily by Sally’s commands, to the point that none of us took his commands particularly seriously. Another way of saying that he was an excellent boss, and I’m not happy to hear he’s been completely broken by his self-centered wife.
    But you want positions, yes? So, Vienna station, almost entirely under diplomatic cover. Led in 2006, as now, by stalwart Victor Wallinger, chief of station, and his four disciples. Leslie MacGovern, collection management. Two operations officers: Ernst Pul, once an Austrian himself, and dear old Bill. The fourth, you’ll remember, was Owen Lassiter, who ran something to do with codes. I’m not really sure what he did, but he only lasted eight months before he found himself a pistol from the storeroom, took it home, and shot himself in the head. Owen was minor American royalty, related to that Wyoming senator, which I think made him and what he did even more of a shock. We expected a prep-school jerk, but got gloomy Owen instead. Is that why Interpol’s so interested?
    HENRY PELHAM: Don’t think so.
    CELIA FAVREAU: Well, I suppose they couldn’t care less.
    Anyway, I’d been pulled off the street by ’05,