While Grinnel dressed he demanded particulars. The lieutenant dutifully scoured his memory. "Brought in on some cloak-and-dagger deal, Commander. The kind you usually run. Lieutenant-Commander Jacobi was in Syndic Territory on a recruiting, sabotage and reconnaissance mission and one of the D.A.R. passed the girl on him. A real Syndic member. Priceless. And, as I said, she identified this fellow as Charles Orsino, another Syndic. Why are you so interested, if I may ask?"
The Commander dearly wanted to give him a grim: "You may not," but didn't dare. Now was the time to be frank and open. One hint that he had anything to hide or cover up would put his throat to the knife. "The man's my baby, lieutenant," he said. "Either your girl's mistaken or Van Dellen and his polygraph tech and I were taken in by a brand-new technique." That was nice work, he congratulated himself. Got in Van Dellen and the tech.... Maybe, come to think of it, the tech was crooked? No; there was the way Wyman had responded perfectly under scop.
O.N.I.'s building was two stories and an attic, wood-framed, beginning to rot already in the eternal Irish damp.
"We've got her on the third floor, Commander," the lieutenant said. "You get there by a ladder."
"In God's name, why?" They walked past the Charge of Quarters, who snapped to a guilty and belated attention, and through the deserted offices of the first and second floors.
"Frankly, we've had a little trouble hanging on to her."
"She runs away?"
"No, nothing like that—not yet, at least. Marine G-2 and Guard Intelligence School have both tried to snatch her from us. First with requisitions, then with muscle. We hope to keep her until the word gets to Iceland. Then, naturally, we'll be out in the cold."
The lieutenant laughed. Grinnel, puffing up the ladder, did not.
The door and lock on Lee Bennet's quarters were impressive. The lieutenant rapped. "Are you awake, Lee? There's an officer here who wants to talk to you."