From the broad view he moved to the refined vision of secret warfare, and described a shadow-game of feints and counter-feints. He said that there were at least two hundred German spies between Scotland and Cornwall, monitoring everything from troop movements to the price of beef. Undoubtedly there were even one or two in Whitehall . . . although you couldn't hope to roll them up from the bottom, not with existing resources. So one had to concentrate on the masters, those who recruited and serviced the networks. Those like Rudolph Spangler.

There were perhaps three hours between the first glass of dry sherry and this reference to Spangler. Only a handful of patrons still remained, and the waiters were growing impatient.

"In a sense," Southerland said, "I'm not at all sure one can ever come to terms with the likes of Spangler—not psychologically at any rate, and probably not intellectually. Did I mention that he shot a Pole last year? In cold blood? In the back of the poor bastard's neck?"

Dunbar nodded. "Yes, I believe I heard something to that effect."

"Not that we're certain it was Spangler, which has also been part of the problem. No one seems to know anything about the man . . . except that he likes Geneva."

Dunbar had been pouring another glass of brandy. "Geneva?"

"That episode with your dancer."

"Oh."

Next Southerland asked if Dunbar had read the latest appreciation on Spangler: an eighty-eight page monstrosity with a supplementary index. "Which, I might add, is still another part of the problem. We study the man. We write about him. We catalogue and file him until he's larger than life. Naturally no one wants to underestimate the enemy, but this is ridiculous."

"Still, he does seem to have a way about him." Dunbar sighed. "That is, he does seem to inspire something."

“Blood and money. And possibly a stinking respect among the research pools. Incidentally, your chum Allenby was partly responsible for those eighty-eight pages.”

"So I've heard." Dunbar smiled.

"Not that he's stupid, mind you."

"Of course not."

"But where does it end? Where does it lead us? I mean, that's ultimately the point. Where do all these papers concerning old Rudy lead us . . . except back to the very fundamental question?"

"Which is?"

"How does one cut Rudolph Spangler down to size? Look, anyone can be burned, Charles. It's simply a matter of timing and technique. And we do know that Spangler has at least one obvious weakness, don't we?"

Dunbar shrugged, waiting for the reference to Zelle. "Yes, I suppose we do."

"Also, the man's a fanatic, and that sort almost always makes mistakes sooner or later ..."