In early March 1952, Meredith Paine took the same route as I was now taking to New York, but not to meet Jimmy Mercer the second as I did, nor any past relative of his. He went to have a good old chinwag with the very highest chief executive of the American Central Intelligence Agency and discuss what his department would exchange from Percy"s vital snippets of intelligence.
Jimmy, on the other hand, had nothing to exchange. He was all take. I told him everything I had discovered, minus several parts that I guessed he already knew. I made no reference to that covert knowledge of his, nor to any of the photographs in particular. In some kind of exchange I suppose, he never mentioned David Haig nor any other of my contacts, but he did expand on what he had, a bit.
“Thanks for all that, Har
