"A telephone number?"

"No."

"So how were you supposed to contact her?"

"Good question. I assumed she didn't want to see me again."

"When did did you see her again?" you see her again?"

"The next night."

"Where?"

"The bar of the Savoy Hotel."

"What were the circumstances?"

"I was having a drink with a friend."

"The friend's name?"

"Shepherd Ramsey."

"And you saw her in the bar?"

"Yes."

"And she came to your table?"

"No, I went to her."

"What happened next?"

"She said she was supposed to meet a fellow there but she'd been stood up. I asked if I could buy her a drink. She said she would rather leave. So I left with her."

"Where did you go?"

"To my house."

"What did you do?"

"She cooked dinner and we ate. We talked for a while and she went home."

"Did you make love to her that night?"

"Listen, I'm not going to--"

"Yes, you bloody well are, Commander Jordan! Now answer the question! Did you make love to her that night?"

"No!"

"Are you telling me the truth?"

"What?"

"I said are you telling me the truth?"

"Of course I am."

"You don't intend to lie to me tonight, do you, Commander Jordan?"

"No, I don't."

"Good, because I wouldn't advise it. You're in enough trouble as it is. Now, let's continue."

Vicary abruptly changed course, guiding Jordan into calmer waters. For one hour he walked Jordan through his personal history: his childhood on the West Side of Manhattan, his education at Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute, his work with the Northeast Bridge Company, his marriage to the wealthy and beautiful debutante Margaret Lauterbach, her death in an automobile accident on Long Island in August 1939. Vicary asked the questions without notes and as if he did not know the answers, even though he had memorized Jordan's file during the drive. He made certain he controlled the pace and the cadence of the conversation. When Jordan seemed to be too comfortable, Vicary would derail him. All the while Vicary was writing religiously in his notebook. The interrogation was being recorded with hidden microphones, yet Vicary was scribbling as if his little notebook would be the permanent chronicle of the evening's proceedings. Whenever Jordan spoke, there was the maddening sound of Vicary's pencil scratching across the page. Every few minutes Vicary's pencil would dull. He would apologize, force Jordan to stop, then make a vast show of fishing out a new one. Each time he would retrieve just one new pencil--never an extra, just one. Each search seemed to take longer than the last. Harry, watching from the shadows, marveled at Vicary's performance. He wanted Jordan to underestimate him, to think him something of a dolt. Harry thought, Go ahead, you dumb bastard, and he'll cut your balls off. Vicary turned to a fresh page in his notebook and withdrew a new pencil.

"Her name isn't really Catherine Blake. And she isn't really English. Her real name is Anna Katarina von Steiner. But I will never refer to her by that name again. I would like you to forget you ever heard it. My reasons will be made clear to you later. She was born in London before the First War to an English mother and a German father. She returned to England in November 1938 using this false Dutch passport. Do you recognize the photograph?"

"It's her. She looks different now, but that's her."

"We assume she came to the attention of German intelligence because of her background and her language ability. We believe she was recruited in 1936 and sent to a camp in Bavaria, where she was given training in codes and radios, taught how to assess an army, and taught how to kill. In order to conceal her own entry into the country she brutally murdered a woman in Suffolk. We think she's murdered three other people as well."

"That's very difficult to believe."

"Well, believe it. She's different from the rest. Most of Canaris's spies were useless idiots, poorly trained and ill-suited to espionage. We rolled up their networks at the beginning of the war. But we think Catherine Blake is one of their stars, a different kind of agent. We call them sleepers. She never used her radio, and it appears she never engaged in any other operation. She simply melted into British society and waited to be activated."

"Why did she choose me?"

"Allow me to phrase the question differently, Commander Jordan. Did she choose you or did you choose her?"

"What are you talking about?"

"It's simple, really. I want to know why you've been flogging our secrets to the Germans."

"I haven't!"

"I want to know why you've been betraying us."

"I haven't betrayed anybody!"

"I want to know why you're acting as an agent of German intelligence."

"That's ridiculous!"

"Is it? What are we supposed to think? You've been carrying on an affair with Germany's top agent in Britain. You bring home a briefcase full of classified material. Why did you do that? Why couldn't you just tell tell her the secret of Operation Mulberry? Did she ask you to bring home the documents so she could photograph them?" her the secret of Operation Mulberry? Did she ask you to bring home the documents so she could photograph them?"

"No! I mean--"

"Did you volunteer to bring them home?"

"No!"

"Well, why were you walking around with this in your briefcase?"

"Because I was leaving early in the morning to inspect the construction sites in the south. Twenty people will verify that. Personnel security inspected my home and the vault in my study. Under certain circumstances I was allowed to take classified documents there if they were locked in the vault."

"Well, that was obviously an enormous mistake. Because I think you've been bringing those documents home and handing them over to Catherine Blake."

"That's not true."

"I'm just not sure whether you're a German agent or whether you've been seduced into spying."

"Go fuck yourself! I've had enough of this."

"I want to know if you've betrayed us for sex."

"No!"

"I want to know if you've betrayed us for money."

"I don't need money."

"Are you working in collusion with the woman known to you as Catherine Blake?"

"No."

"Have you knowingly or willingly supplied Allied secrets to the woman known to you as Catherine Blake?"

"No!"

"Are you working directly for German military intelligence?"

"That's a ridiculous question."

"Answer it!"

"No! Goddammit, no!"

"Are you involved in a sexual relationship with the woman known to you as Catherine Blake?"

"That's my business."

"Not anymore, Commander. I ask you again. Are you involved in a sexual relationship with Catherine Blake?"

"Yes."

"Are you in love with Catherine Blake? Commander, did you hear the question? Commander? Commander Jordan, are you in love with Catherine Blake?"

"Until a couple hours ago I was in love with the woman I thought thought was Catherine Blake. I didn't know she was a German agent and I didn't willingly give her Allied secrets. You must believe me." was Catherine Blake. I didn't know she was a German agent and I didn't willingly give her Allied secrets. You must believe me."

"I'm not sure I do, Commander Jordan. But let's move on."

"You enlisted in the navy last October."

"That's correct."

"Why not sooner?"

"My wife is dead. I didn't want to leave my son alone."

"Why did you change your mind?"

"Because I was asked asked to join the navy." to join the navy."

"Tell me how it was done."

"Two men came to my office in Manhattan. It was clear they had already checked out my background, both personal and professional. They said my services were required for a project connected with the invasion. They didn't tell me what that project was. They asked me to go to Washington, and I never saw them again."

"What were their names?"

"One was called Leamann. I don't recall the other man's name."

"Were they both American?"

"Leamann was an American. The other one was British."

"But you don't remember his name?"

"No."

"How did he look?"

"He was tall and thin."

"Well, that narrows it to about half the country. What happened when you went to Washington?"