Ben turned on the radio to cover the dull squish of the windshield wipers and found Minot on the news, an interview from the federal building, predicting more revelations.
“Where’s the front line in this war? Not some ditch, some atoll in the Pacific. It’s in everything we see and hear, the values our children are being taught. The Commies don’t fight where we can see them. They’d rather sneak something in with the popcorn.”
Go to Berlin, Ben thought, there’s a front line there—machine guns and checkpoints, right out in the open. Talk to some of the DPs, the ones from the east, watch how they scuttle away from the Soviet soldiers, an animal fear. But Minot never brought up the genuine horrors, the show trials and mass executions. Communism was for him a purely domestic threat. The Russians, the visible menace, weren’t on trial— Milt Schaeffer was, who’d left the Party in ’39. Assuming anyone really left. Danny apparently hadn’t, working for them, according to Henderson, right up to the end. But doing what? Playing both sides against each other, or only deceiving one? Or had the loyalties become so tangled that he no longer knew? Ben grimaced, seeing Danny at the witness table, facing the committee, finally answering for whatever he’d done. Except that he had already answered.
Minot started with Hal Jasper. At first Ben thought, Bunny’s lesson taken, that Minot was building his case, then realized there was a pettier motive—he wanted to make Lasner wait. He had been the big draw earlier in the hall, Fay on his arm, both smiling for reporters. Now, wedged in the Continental row with Bunny and the lawyers, he was just another witness, with Minot calling the shots.
“Mr. Jasper, it’s our understanding that Mr. Schaeffer requested you for Convoy to Murmansk. Were you aware of this?”
“No.”
“In writing. There’s a memo to that effect.”
Ben glanced over at Bunny. Something that could only have come from him, in more cooperative times.
“Can you think of any reason why he would do that?”
“No,” Hal said again, not giving him anything.
“You’d never worked together before?”
“No.”
“Had you done any action pictures? Before Convoy?”
“One or two.”
“What were their names, do you remember?”
Hal looked puzzled, wondering where this was going. “Apache Trail. One or two others.”
“These were Westerns?”
“Yes.”
“Not war movies. And yet Mr. Schaeffer requested you. Someone who had no experience with this kind of picture. Why do you think that was?”
“The process is the same. You’re still cutting action scenes.”
“I see. Posses, convoys, it makes no never mind.”
Hal said nothing, waiting.
“It couldn’t have been for your political sympathies, could it?”
“No.”
Minot smiled pleasantly. “Just your Western expertise. I’d like to show you a photograph. Put it up here on a screen so we can all see it.” Behind him, a slide was projected, Hal fighting in Gower Street. “Now that fellow there, center right, I think we can all agree that’s you?”
Ben saw Lasner shift in his seat, restless.
“Like to tell us where this is?”
“Outside Continental.”
“And what were you doing there?”
“Trying to get to work.”
“That’s quite a commute you have there from the looks of it,” Minot said, getting a laugh. “Now isn’t it a fact, Mr. Jasper, that the police were called in to break up a union riot? Isn’t it a fact, unless there’s something wrong with my eyes, the photograph shows you in that same riot? Fighting with a policeman, in fact. And isn’t it a fact you were later treated for injuries at Continental with Howard Stein—practically brought in together is my understanding? That’s the Howard Stein whose affiliation with the Communist Party has been under investigation for years. That Howard Stein. And that’s his union outside in the picture and you in it, throwing punches with the rest of them. Now,” he said, pausing for effect, “I don’t doubt that Milton Schaeffer, a self-confessed Communist, confessed right in this room, in fact, admired your skills with Western movies. But isn’t it just possible—I can’t help feeling there’s a chance of this—that he also liked to have people around who agreed with him politically? Requested people like that. Especially when he was about to make a few changes to the picture. Changes to make us feel a little better about the Russians. I’d just have to say this was possible. Now I’m not asking you to tell us which union you support or how you voted—that’s your business. I’m just saying things like this,” he said, pointing back to the screen, “might give somebody the impression you lean—” He broke off, covering the mike with his hand as an aide whispered in his ear. “Excuse me,” he said after the aide left. “Now let’s talk about Convoy. Yesterday we heard how all those Bundles for Britain ended up going to the Soviets instead. Was that already settled when you came on the picture or did Mr. Schaeffer discuss it with you?”