The Conduct of Major Maxim

by Gavin Lyall

  Agnes gave a snort of laughter. "After all he's been up to? You have to be joking. "

  "He could get stopped and searched for some quite other reason. It would still be a scandal even if it was quite a separate scandal."

  Maxim had been reassembling the cleaned and dried gun. He stopped and thought for a moment. "Okay. Should I leave it here with you?"

  "All right." George nodded amiably. "Nobody'll search this place."

  "Get some sewing-machine oil off Annette to -"

  "You're _both_ just little boys!" Agnes wailed.

  Chapter 14

  Maxim woke slowly, sweaty and dry-mouthed and with no idea of what day or time it was. Then fragments of memory floated slowly to the surface like debris from a sunken ship, and along with them the aches and twinges of a busy night. By the time he climbed stiffly out of bed he knew it was just past noon and had the events of Rotherhithe roughed out in his mind like a draught report. It had also occurred to him that if he wrote that report it would be the last thing he ever did in the Army.

  The day was cooler and still fresh after the night of rain. He cobbled together a brunch of cold remains from the fridge, with lemon tea. Living by himself, he had stopped taking milk: he never got through half a bottle before it went sour, since he drank coffee black and seldom ate cereals. But he'd have to drop the lemon tea lark when he went back to the Battalion; it would be like turning up wearing a frock. Or maybe he'd deliberately keep it on, as the endearing eccentricity of a senior major. But then he knew he wouldn't, because he would be doing it for just that reason even if he really preferred tea with lemon.

  Why do I have to think like that? he wondered. I know dozens of officers with their own quirks of taste, dress and behaviour and they're just real people who'd be incomplete without such little fads. Why do I have to conform, to feel real only when I'm being normal? You conforming? he could hear George and Agnes shout in disbelief. But that's not what I mean, he would reply; why can't I just be myself?

  But who am I? I used to be Harry Maxim, then I was me and Jenny, and now I just don't know and it'll take more than lemon tea and a pink silk handkerchief in my sleeve and reading Goethe over breakfast to tell me.

  George rang. "Get your conscience clean, bright and slightly oiled: it's when-did-you-last-see-your-father time."

  "Them?"

  "Them. It had to happen."

  They met in an undistinguished office blockjust off the Euston Road, two floors of which were used as secure neutral territory for committees and meetings between Government departments who would lose face by visiting the other fellow's wigwam. George didn't bother to explain the process by which he had deflected the first demand-that Maxim go round to Century House by himself- by a counter-offer of Number 10("As it's a Saturday, we could use the Cabinet Room; think how that would look in your memoirs") – or one of his clubs, naming the one that had been effectively the HQ of the Intelligence Service in the heady days of World War II, and finally agreeing on this no-man's-land. Somewhere in the hassle he had got what he really wanted: to go along himself.

  "You took your time," he grumped at Maxim.

  "I stopped to make a phone call, and I thought I'd better drop off some clothes at the dry-cleaner's." He was wearing his green blazer again.

  George, usually a sloppy dresser at weekends – in an expensive sort of way – had on a weekday suit in his usual Prince-of-Wales check and a Dragoon Guards tie. That meant he was expecting trouble. "Any news of our patient?"

  "Had a good night, barely any temperature, eating a drop of soup."

  They began filling in forms for security passes at the little reception desk while a faded old man in a messenger's uniform rang number after number to find out where the meeting was being held. He couldn't.

  "It's because it's Saturday, see," he said. "They could have fixed it while I was out at lunch and they never tell you, not if it's Saturday."

  "Perhaps it's secret," Maxim suggested.

  "Oh yes, sir, it's all secret, but the trouble is they don't tell you about it."

  "Where does the Intelligence Service usually meet?" George demanded.

  "The gentlemen attached to the Foreign Office," the old man corrected him, "usually use interview rooms 23Cor 23D. But they haven't got phones, see. "

  They found them in 230.

  It was a square plain room, painted pale green below the cream above, in gloss, which showed up every unevenness in the plaster. The lower half of the window was frosted glass, and the furniture could have been hauled out of store five minutes before. A small gravy-coloured carpet, a trestle table in front of the window and five folding chairs, three of them behind the table and occupied. It was all very deliberate, keeping the interrogators' faces dark against the bright window, and it made Maxim grin.

  George kicked one of the spare chairs across against the wall and sat heavily on it. "I thought we were only playing two a side, but never mind. Do you all know Major Maxim?"

  Maxim had met Guy Husband before, once. The younger man smoking a cigarette, and whose ashtray was already half full, turned out to be Dieter Sims. The woman with a wide face and carefully frizzed hair was Miss Milward from the Foreign Office. Nobody shook hands.

  Husband shot his crisp pink cuffs and laid his forearms fastidiously on the scarred tabletop, bracketing a small heap of files. This time, all the home team had paperwork with them. "We are agreed that there shall be no minutes, that this is all off the record?" he asked, just for the record.

  "Oh, I can't promise that, " George said. "If the Headmaster wants to know what's going on, it's my job to tell him. I don't necessarily have to get him over-excited, mind, but the decision has to be mine. "

  Husband and Miss Milward swapped what might, in that light, have been surprised looks. The very idea of being 'off the record' was nonsense, since the room was almost certainly wired, but George should still have stuck to protocol and said something polite like Oh yes, of course.

  Maxim stopped trying to peer at the shadowed faces in frontof him and put on a pair of sunglasses.

  "Is the light troubling you, Major?" Husband asked. "Perhaps you had a late night?"

  Maxim just kept on smiling deferentially.

  "I believe, " Husband went on, "that Rotherhithe is particularly beautiful at this time of year. Especially when viewed in a midnight rainstorm. You wereseen down there, Major, has the cat got your tongue? – or was it the Private Office?"

  "Yes, " Maxim said. "It was, but not now. "

  "What?"

  "The light. Troubling me."

  Husband paused, then said in a silky tone: "Thank you, Major. I'm so glad we've got that point cleared up. "

  "Mr Harbinger," Miss Milward cut in smoothly, "could you help us in this matter? I'm sure you know how vital The Office considers this whole business. Can you prevail on Major Maxim to give us some straight answers?" She had a musical voice, deep and patient.

  "My prevailing power with Harry seems to be rather limited, but perhaps you could try him with some straight questions."

  "All right," Husband said, "where's Corporal Blagg?"

  Straight enough, Maxim thought ruefully. He kept his face polite. "Why should I know?"

  "The man is adeserter. Last night he killed somebody; you might call it murder. More important toall of us, he has information of national importance. Now where is he?"

  "If I knew where a deserter was it would be my duty, not as a military man but as a citizen, to report him if I couldn't persuade him to give himself up. Your duty's exactly the same. Did you report him when you spotted him at Rotherhithe?"

  "This is just playing with bent paperclips. Are we going to get Blagg or do we go over your head? And yours, " Husband snapped a look at George.

  "And explain why you sent armed men down to pick up Blagg yesterday?" Maxim asked.

  "We? We didn't send them. Are you trying to make out that we started that shooting?"

  "Why else? You were covering Rotherhithe
last night. You knew Blagg could be armed. "

  "We called off the surveillance after we knew Blagg had spotted us. " Husband glanced at Sims, who nodded. "We put men in there again last night when we heard about the ' shooting. It was obvious Blagg could have been involved. "

  George asked pleasantly: "Did you clearthat through the Co-ordinator?"

  "And have his decision delayed for weeks by Agnes Algar's mob screaming Rape because we're trespassing on their territory? Blagg would have been dead of old age before we got clearance."

  "He might have preferred that to a bullet wound," Maxim said.

  Miss Milward pounced. "So you do know where he is?"

  Bugger it, Maxim thought. Oh well, they were certain I did anyway.

  Sims asked: "Will he live?"

  "Yes."

  "How are you sure?"

  "I've seen bullet wounds before."

  There was a short silence. George cleared his throat and asked: "Then just who was Blagg shooting it out with?"

  "I would have thought that was obvious," Husband said. "One of the Sovbloc services. The dead man was German, wasn't he?" He glanced the question at Sims, who kept his appreciative smile fixed on Maxim.

  "He had West German papers, but they are not real, we understand. Perhaps he was HVA, one of a travelling circus." The Hauptvertwaltung Abwehrwasthe espionage arm of the East German SSD.

  Maxim asked: "How did they know Blagg was involved at all?"

  Husband leant back, realised how uncomfortable that was on the wooden chair and rather self-consciously unleaned himself. "We've been doing some serious thinking about that. But in the end, there are just too many possibilities. "

  I knew," Maxim said, "and you knew, and Blagg himself and your Mrs Howard, only she's dead. "

  "Blagg himself told you," Sims pointed out politely. "Can you be sure he did not tell anybody else as well?"

  There was Jim Caswell, of course, but Jim wouldn't chatter… Blagg wasn't fool enough to tell Tanner, but just how much he'd told Billy Dann…

  "I knew," George said. "And I told Agnes Algar after the meeting."

  "In my Department," Miss Milward put in, "at least three people know the basic facts – if they are facts – behind Plain-song."

  Maxim felt as if he had baked (if that was what you did) a perfectsouffléof evidence, all crisp and firm, andthenßoop: it was swimming off the plate and dripping on his shoes.

  Husband said sympathetically: "Security, Major, security. So often interpreted in this country as merely not telling anybody who's actually got a hammer and sickle embroidered on his tie. But don't think I'm being complacent about this. I'm quite willing to accept the possibility of a leak within my own service, and I'm sure Dieter accepts that also. " Sims did, nodding gently. "It would be foolish to forget that it's happened before. But that only adds a new dimension of urgency to the business. If the Other Side knows enough to be looking for Blagg, it could know enough to destroy or neutralise the information, whatever it may be, in his possession."

  It was difficult to argue back. Maxim knew that George was looking across at him, on the brink of surrender.

  "It was your people who got him into this, " he persisted.

  Husband took off his blue-tinted glasses and polished them on a silk handkerchief chosen to pick up the colours of both his suit and his tie. "When Mrs Howard asked for an escort, I naturally assumed we would assign her one of our own people. Apparently she said she'd prefer somebody she had worked with before, and she knew Blagg's battalion was in Germany, and Dieter – rashly, we now agree – left the decision to her. I think the German end was indeed mishandled."

  "That's very reassuring," Maxim said coldly. "That boy could have been in my company or squadron. He was lied to, conned into believing that the Bad Schwarzendorn operation had been approved by the Army. He thought your freelance Mrs Howard represented the same thing that he thinks he represents himself: the defence of this country. He could have wound up dead. Okay, that's something a soldier has to accept, in an abstract sort of way. But instead, he ended up a deserter and being chased by the police for a killing that was forced on him, and that's something he doesnot have to accept – and neither do I. "

  Miss Milward said "You're getting emotional, Major."

  "Good. I didn't think I was getting anywhere."

  Husband said: "I have agreed that Dieter was at fault in that, gravely at fault. But…" Sims's smile had gone a little rueful and he was looking down at his hands, turning a gold-tipped cigarette in his small fingers. Momentarily, Maxim felt sorry for him. Whatever his sins, he was being forced to pay for them in public – well, as public as the Secret Service ever wanted to get.

  "But," Husband went on, "wehave to deal with matters as they now stand. And with Corporal Blagg. "

  "What are you offering?" And when the three figures stiffened in surprise, Maxim added: "What are you offering him?"

  "You mean money?" asked Husband.

  Miss Milward was quicker, or more sensitive. "Can we put Humpty Dumpty together again as a Corporal with a clean record? – I assume that's what he wants. Well, we certainly ought to try, and if we can't then there'll be a very good case for generous compensation out of the secret funds. "

  "Quite," Husband nodded. "Quite so. Does that satisfy you, Major?"

  "It's the best you can do at the moment. I'll talk to him. "

  There was a moment of shocked silence, then Husband said:"You will talk to him? Our whole agreement was thatu›e should do -"

  "We've got no agreement worth a damn to Blagg. I'll talk to him and see what he knows, if anything. "

  "Mr Harbinger," Miss Milward turned to him, "do you think you should intervene now?"

  George shrugged and nearly slid himself off the chair in which he was slumped. "You can see what I'm up against.

  Though I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, as I often do, Harry still goes and does whatever he wants. Perhaps I lack charity. Why don't you wait a few hours and see if he gets what you need from Blagg?"

  The three of them looked at each other, and Husband said cautiously: "If you say a matter of hours, you do mean tonight?"

  "I'll do my best," Maxim said. "Is there anything I should know in order to ask the right questions?"

  They went into a huddle, with Miss Milward murmuring behind her hand at Husband and Sims shaking his head in a jittery movement. Finally Husband said: "I assume, security being what it is, that you know our ultimate target is Gustav Eismark?Quite. Well, according to the late Mrs Howard, we got this much from her at least, there is some doubt about the validity of his second marriage. His first wife was supposed to have died at the end of the war. There is, it seems, a strong possibility that he abandoned her in the West and took their baby son over to the Russian zone. In the confusion of 1945 and '46, there would have been no means for her to trace him. Once there, he could claim she was dead; in the West, she might build a new life.But if she were still alive at the time of his second marriage, nearly twenty years later, then it was bigamous."

  "Is that bad?" Maxim asked, a little surprised.

  "Perhaps not in every Sovbloc country. But the GDR, as Dieter will confirm, I'm sure, happens still to have the morality of Salem when they are putting little old ladies to the torch – at least at the highest political level. And bear in mind that's what we're talking about, Major: the highest level. Nothing to do with public morality; the public doesn't come into this. Somehow a Sovbloc politician can corner ninety-nine per cent of the vote without everybody having to know the name of his dog and which football team he supports." Husband smiled contentedly at his own wit. "It does keep things tidy: you don't suddenly lose your best men because of an unexpected scandal. I'm sure George would be delighted to see it introduced over here."

  George ignored the sly threat and just grunted. Miss Milward chipped in: "Of course, if the first wife turned out to be still alive and willing to testify, that would be even better."

  "And somew
here," Husband said, "Mrs Howard must have been keeping a file on Gustav Eismark. She reported very little to us, I mean to Dieter. I believe that's right?"

  Ever-smiling, Sims acknowledged that it was.

  Maxim said: "Her luggage got dumped in the river. There weren't any papers among it. I was told."

  The three behind the table exchanged looks. Sims said: "It would not be likely to bejust in her cases, like clothes. Perhaps in the lining…"

  Maxim doubted Blagg had bothered to rip open the suitcase linings; he just wouldn't be thinking in those terms.

  "It sounds," Husband said, "as if our soldier friend has probably destroyed anything that we might have to show for months of expensive -"

  "Then get expensive enough to hire people who can put one foot in front of another without the Army having to tell them how!"

  Husband was on his feet shouting, George saying: "Harry!" and Miss Milward: "Gentlemen, now please -" Sims just sat there, but momentarily without his smile.

  Maxim said: "Your mother's moustache."

  Everybody took a deep breath. Miss Milward said calmly: "I think the only other thing you may need to know, Major, is the first Frau Eismark'sname. It was Brigitte Krone. So if youdo happen across any documents relating to her…"

  "You don't know where Mrs Howard got the first clue about this?"

  "Major, we are not asking you to start the investigation again from scratch. Please. If you'd confine yourself to finding out what Corporal Blagg knows, we'd be very grateful. "

  George said: "Surprised, too, I imagine." He stood up. "If that's it, then… are we fit?"

  Maxim said: "I don't want to be followed again. "

  "Harry…"

  "No, if there's somebody behind me, I want to be sure that it's One Of Theirs."

  "What earthly difference would that make, " Husband askedin a voice that still trembled slightly, "to your normal standard of conduct?"

  That effectively ended the meeting.

  George drove, not going anywhere, and for a few minutes he said nothing, then: "Ecology. That's it. You're going to have to develop a more ecological outlook. Tell yourself that, like the dung beetle and the greater horned toad, secret intelligence personnel are also God's creatures. It'll make life less exciting, but easier on the blood pressure. Do you think you can get anything for them?"