"Call me that, if you wish."
"And a damned traitor!"
"Not a traitor, Mister Crag. To the contrary, I have been very faithful to my country."
"You're a traitor," Crag stated coldly.
"Come, be reasonable. A traitor is one who betrays his country. You work for your side ... I work for mine. It's as simple as that." He spoke languidly but Crag knew he was laughing at him. He made an effort to control his his temper.
"You were born in the United States," Crag pursued.
"Wrong again."
"Raised in the Maple Hill Orphanage. I have your personnel record."
"Ah, that was your Martin Larkwell." The voice taunted. "But I became Martin Larkwell one sunny day in Buenos Aires. Part of, shall we say, a well planned tactic? No, I am not your Martin Larkwell, Mister Crag. And I'm happy enough to be able to shed his miserable identity."
"What do you expect to gain?" Crag asked. He kept his voice reasonable, hedging for time.