Bowman came right at you. That was part of the power of his personality. He breached your defenses and was behind your lines before you knew it. He left you no choice but to be honest. “I don’t know why I got the intercept,” I said. “I’ve wondered about that question myself. What do you think?”

“I can’t really answer without knowing who your source was, and I don’t intend to ask you that. That’s between you and Ed Weiss. But I can give you some background that may be helpful. For the past eighteen months, since the new administration took office, the CIA has quietly embarked on a new cold war. The enemies this time are our principal trade competitors—France and Japan, but especially France. The new administration is obsessed with global economic competition, and the bureaucrats at Langley know very well how to read the prevailing winds. The clandestine service has been mobilized around the world to gather information about French trading practices—where they play games, whom they bribe. The goal supposedly is to ‘level the playing field’—that marvelous American metaphor—as if the playing field could ever be level between the world’s only remaining superpower and a relatively small European nation. But that’s the new Zeitgeist in Washington. Level the playing field. Bash the French. And who do you suppose is the leading protector of French markets—the man who secretly closes all the big deals from Saudi Arabia to Taiwan? Who might that be?”

“Maurice Costa,” I said.

“Just so. His resignation was a setback for the French in international trade, without question. They’ll recover. They’ll regroup their forces and create new networks, and they’ll probably be better for it in the end. But it was undeniably a win for Uncle Sugar.”

“So I was set up by the CIA, in this effort to bash the French and ‘level the playing field.’ That’s what you’re saying, isn’t it? I’m not offended. I’ve certainly wondered the same thing myself.”

“You weren’t set up. What you did was very brave. But there’s a larger game going on, that’s all. Who do you think gave you the NSA stuff? Don’t tell me his name, for God’s sake. But was it someone from the embassy, do you think?”

“No,” I answered. He was my colleague, and he knew things. I wanted to be open with him. “He was a strange guy, actually. He looked like he was auditioning for a Werner Herzog film. I shouldn’t say any more about him, but I knew he was CIA. He said so.”

The waiter came to refill Bowman’s wineglass, and he took another fond drink. “You have to feel sorry for them,” he said, addressing the crystal goblet. “They’re looking for work.”