The Touch of Treason by Sol Stein

turned over to the national security adviser personally before the close of business today.”
    “As the attorney for the estate,” Widmer said hesitantly, “I have to ask, will the manuscript be copyrighted in Fuller’s name?”
    “That manuscript will never be sent to the copyright office for registration.”
    “Mrs. Fuller has the right—”
    For a second Perry seemed to lose his patience. “Fuller was an employee-for-hire under the terms of his contract. At the moment of his death he ceased to be an employee. The work belongs to the government.”
    Perry saw the shocked expression on Widmer’s face. “I’m sorry, Ned,” he continued. “That sounds raw. This thing is getting to me, too. I’m sure Fuller’s widow will be taken care of discreetly, to supplement her insurance, of course.”
    “That’s very kind.”
    “One of the better uses of taxpayers’ money.”
    Widmer preferred the expected smile. Then he said, “All the complex security came to nothing.”
    “I wouldn’t be that pessimistic, Ned. We’ll have what he did so far. Someone else will continue the work.”
    “What if the manuscript had been copied somehow for the Soviets without your ever knowing it?”
    Perry looked at Randall. They were getting beyond the need to know. But they did need the confidence of people who helped out, like Widmer, even in minor ways.
    “Let us make an assumption. That’s always safe. Let’s assume—hypothetically, of course—that in the first section of Fuller’s work there was one paragraph, just one, that was fitted in at our request. If that paragraph reached the Russians, they’d immediately cut off contact with a certain agent whom we’ve turned. We’d know in a minute that they’d got their hands on a copy.”
    “My God, that’s beyond chess.” Widmer wrung his hands.
    Perry and Randall were looking at Leona Fuller, who had come back into the room and was waving away their help as she let herself down into a chair. “I can’t rest.”
    “Please try,” Widmer said solicitously.
    “I’m the living half of all this. I need to know what’s being planned.”
    Randall looked at Perry.
    “Of course,” Perry said.
    Leona Fuller’s good left hand adjusted her bandaged right on the chair’s armrest. “Ned,” she said, and when he heard his name he felt the windchill of fright that he was going to hear something private. He wished he were alone in the room with Leona.
    “Long, long ago, Ned, when Martin and I were on the other side, we were so often on the run we didn’t dare have a child. Once the movement got word to us in Mexico that the Federalistas were looking for a couple that fit our description. I went to stay with friends in Guadalajara and Martin lost himself in Mexico City. We were apart four months. I loved him so much. When we finally risked getting back together, it was as if we were struck by lightning while holding each other. We were flooded with insight. It was easier to avoid the authorities than our own former comrades. The authorities wanted to arrest us. Our former comrades wanted to kill us. To us, it wasn’t as if we had switched sides. We’d been forced to confront the imperfect ability of the human race.” Suddenly Leona was looking down at her lap. “I don’t mean to lecture,” she apologized. “When we finally met you, Ned, your innocence was a saving grace for Martin and for me. He needed to know that not everyone had worked in the jungle the way he and I did, and Mr. Perry and Mr. Randall still do.”
    Leona lifted her eyes and looked over at Perry and Randall. “I don’t mean to derogate what you do. I hope you win your game. For Martin, and for me I must add, it was something different.” She turned to Widmer. “Please don’t misunderstand what I am about to say. Martin never put on blinders to the faults in our zoo. He was a specialist in their menagerie. He knew so much about how creatures in the totalitarian state leach, turn, twist, rise,