Page 65 - Labelle Gramercy, Detective

Road Kill

She smiled, a clear sign that she wished to appear friendly. “I am
asking you to do no more than be a witness. I am the one who is
providing technical assistance to the police; in this case, the lesson
will be in smoking out a criminal. We will not interfere in the working
of the wheels of justice. I personally have no intention of making an
arrest; that was just a figure of speech: during these months of
serving the ministry I guess I have identified with their interests to
some extent.”
I continued to search for reasons not to go with her. “Maybe you
should take the political officer instead. He might be more useful.”
“Wizenkoff? He doesn’t have one-tenth the experience you do;
besides, everyone knows he’s the resident spook.”
This was another shock. The CIA person assigned to a normal
embassy position did not need quite as much cover in a backwater
country like Jolibana as would be required in a country with potential
for espionage, but I certainly didn’t expect Wizenkoff’s true identity
to be common knowledge. And Labelle’s obvious disdain was to be
expected in a PCV. The Peace Corps ethos is clearly antithetical to
that of the agency, and the CIA had badly used the Corps as an
unwitting asset in the Cold War in earlier years. PCV’s, as semi-
insiders posted to remote areas close to sensitive borders, could be
tricked or corrupted into providing information otherwise
unattainable. It was even rumored that agents had infiltrated the
organization and had been sent out as volunteers to places like
Afghanistan and the Philippines. Again, Reagan had just won the
presidency on a platform promising the use of all American overseas
agencies as intelligence-gathering resources; little wonder the Peace
Corps had trouble both with left-leaning host governments and left-
leaning volunteers.
Labelle’s politics, however, were not worn on her sleeve. I
suspected her contempt for Wizenkoff stemmed from his inability to
successfully disguise himself rather than the character of his unstated
profession. I had no more excuses, really, although I dreaded
whatever would unfold that evening. She seemed determined to force
the issue, precipitate a crisis and let the chips fall where they may.
This was the zeal of youth, I told myself; wait until she’s figured out
how easy it is to screw up, and how hard it is to recover if you have
imprudently taken all the responsibility upon yourself.

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