by Len Deighton
‘I hate the Giles Trents of this world. And if that’s what you call being tough, I wish like hell there were more tough people like me. I hate the Communists and the stupid sods in this country who play their game and think they are just being “caring, sharing, wonderful people”. I’ve seen them at close quarters. Never mind the smooth-talking little swines that come over here to visit the TUC or give talks on international friendship. I’ve seen them back where they come from, back where they don’t have to wear the plastic smiles or hide the brass knuckles.’
‘You can’t run the Soviet Union as though it were the Chelsea Flower Show, darling.’
I grunted. It was her usual reply to my tirades about the KGB. Fiona, for all her talk of social justice and theories about alleviating Third World poverty, was happy to let the end justify the means when it suited her arguments. In that I could recognize the teachings of her father.
‘But Trent’s not really KGB material, is he?’ she said.
‘They told Trent that they’d only need him for three years.’
‘I suppose that was just to make it easier for him.’
‘Trent believed it.’
She laughed. ‘I can’t imagine that Trent’s saying he believed it cut much ice with you.’
‘He’s not a complete idiot. I think they meant it.’
‘Why? How would that make sense?’
‘And his KGB contact told him to put that radio under the floorboards. That slipped out when we were talking – I’m sure that was true.’
‘So what?’
‘Floorboards? I’d only tell one of my agents that if I was hoping he’d get caught. You might as well take a full page in the local paper as hide a clandestine radio under the floor.’
‘I’m still not following you.’
‘They didn’t give Trent any goodbye codes,’ I said.
‘What are they?’
‘Numbers he can phone if he’s being followed, or his home has been burgled, or he finds a security man going through his desk one morning when he arrives a bit early. They didn’t even promise to get him away if anything went wrong.’
‘Can you see Giles Trent living in Moscow? Really, darling!’
‘KGB procedures are laid down in Moscow. They don’t let any local man decide what he thinks will suit the personality of the agent he runs. You don’t understand the bloody Russians. All KGB agents have goodbye codes.’
‘Perhaps they have decided to change things.’
‘They never change anything.’
She touched a painted nail very carefully to be sure it was dry. ‘I’m ready when you are.’
‘Okay.’ I got to my feet and read the Chlestakov data again.
‘Don’t be tempted to take that computer printout from the building,’ she warned. ‘Security will go mad.’
‘On our wedding anniversary? I wouldn’t dare.’ I fed the computer printout into a shredder and watched the paper worms tumble into the clear plastic bag.
‘I’ll buy it,’ said Fiona. ‘Why no goodbye codes or whatever they are?’
‘I think Trent has been prepared as a scapegoat. I think they wanted us to catch him. I think they know everything we’re saying to him.’
‘Why?’
‘The lack of any preparations for escape, the mention of three years, and then having him hide the radio – a radio he didn’t need and was never trained to operate – under the floor. I think he was set up.’
‘What for?’
‘The only reason I can think of is to hide the fact that they have someone amongst us already.’
I was expecting her to laugh, but she didn’t; she frowned. ‘You’re serious, aren’t you?’
‘Someone at the top.’
‘Have you told Bret this theory?’
‘Dicky thinks we should keep it to ourselves.’
‘So Dicky’s in on it.’
‘Whatever’s wrong with Dicky, no one could believe he might be a double agent. The Russians would never employ a twit like him. So I’ve agreed to keep everything on Trent confidential.’
‘Everything?’
‘Everything relevant.’
She moved her head as if trying to see me in a new light. ‘You’re hiding material from Bret? Why, that means you’re hiding it, in effect, from the D-G and the committee.’
‘In effect, yes.’
‘You’ve gone crazy, darling. They have a name for what you’re doing. They call it treason.’
‘It’s Dicky’s idea.’
‘Oh, that’s different,’ she said with heavy irony. ‘If it’s Dicky’s idea, that’s all you need say.’
‘You think it’s that crazy?’
She shook her head as if lost for words. ‘I can’t believe all this is happening. I can’t believe I’m standing here and listening to you spout this absolute and ridiculous nonsense.’
‘Let’s go and see our son win the Olympics,’ I said.
She said, ‘Poor little Billy, he’s convinced he’s going to win.’
‘But you’re not,’ I said.
‘He’s a sweet child,’ said Fiona, ‘but I’m sure he’ll finish last.’
‘You don’t have a drinks cabinet on this level, do you?’
‘No alcohol in the yellow submarine, by order of the D-G,’ said Fiona.
‘For my next birthday,’ I said, ‘a hip flask.’
Fiona pretended she hadn’t heard.
17
We got to Billy’s school at 7.45 so I went inside without that drink I’d promised myself. It was a typical state school, designed in the sixties by the sort of architect who worked with the radio going. It was a giant shoebox that would have been totally featureless but for the cracks in the hardboard and the rust dribbles down the walls.
This evening of sporting events took place in a huge glass-fronted building adjoining the exercise yard. About three dozen dutiful parents, having purchased programmes, were perched on metal folding chairs at the chilliest end of the gymnasium. The young bearded headmaster, wearing the colourful and voluminous scarf of some provincial university, told us to hurry because we were late and reminded us that it was forbidden to walk on the wooden floor without gym shoes. Since I had neglected to equip myself with the right shoes, I walked round the gym while the senior boys performed knee bends to the sound of Pink Floyd on a tape recorder that hissed.
There was no room for us with the other parents, so I helped Fiona onto a vaulting horse and got up there alongside her. The headmaster gave me a disapproving look, as if he had decided I was the sort of man who might walk back across his polished floor.
The first event was the junior relay race. There was a lot of shouting, shoving and jumping up and down in mock excitement. Fiona put her head close to mine and said, ‘I was thinking about Giles Trent. Was he expecting his sister to call, that night he took the overdose?’
‘They both say no, but maybe they are both lying.’
‘Why should they lie?’
‘Him because he’s too public school macho to admit that he’d pull a stunt like that.’
‘Why would the sister lie?’
‘If she admitted that Trent was expecting her, she’d have to start wondering whether that “cry for help” was her brother’s way of telling her to lay off.’
‘A drastic way of telling her, wasn’t it? Couldn’t he tell her over a cup of tea?’
‘His sister is a formidable lady. She is not the sort of woman who would admit that her brother need sell his soul to provide her with a man. She would have grunted and shrugged and ignored whatever he said.’
‘But by that time serious pressure was coming from the Department and from his Russian contact. Did he think a suicide attempt would make the Russian lay off?’
‘Maybe,’ I said. I watched the race. Good grief, the energy those kids had; it made me feel very old.
‘Or did he think the suicide attempt would make the Department lay off?’ Fiona had started thinking about the Giles Trent
problem now that it had sexual and emotional aspects. I guess all women are like that.
‘I don’t know, darling,’ I said. ‘I’m just guessing.’
‘Your guesses can be pretty good.’
‘How many married men get an accolade like that from their wives?’
‘I’m just lulling you into a false sense of security,’ she said.
She looked up to watch the hurdles being positioned for the next race. The bearded headmaster was well in evidence. He had a tape measure. He checked the position of everything and marked his approval or disapproval with nods or headshakes. Fiona watched the children parade until she was quite sure that Billy was not anywhere in the teams. Then she returned to the subject of Trent. ‘Giles did it for the sake of his sister. He didn’t have to get into it at all, did he? You said the Russian targeted him through the sister.’
‘But don’t imagine that they hit him when he was cold. Don’t think the KGB go to all the trouble they went to without being confident he would buy their proposition.’
‘I didn’t think of it like that.’
‘You think a woman goes after a married man just on the off-chance that he’s fed up with his wife? No, she checks out her chances of success.’ I’d almost said Tessa but I’d recovered myself just in time.
‘What sort of signs would she look for?’
‘Some people find it fascinating to think about doing the worst thing they can think of. What would it be like to murder someone? What would it be like to post this stuff off to the Russians? How would it feel to have a vulgar noisy mistress tucked away in a flat in Bayswater? At first they toy with it because it’s so crazy. But one day that impossible idea starts to take shape. How would I start to do it, they ask themselves, and step by step the practical planning begins.’
‘I take due note of the fact that you haven’t told me what signs a woman looks for when she’s after a married man.’
I smiled and applauded the winning hurdler.
She didn’t let the subject drop. ‘You think Giles got beyond the fantasy stage even before the Russians approached his sister?’ she asked.
‘Maybe not, but he didn’t come running into the security office on the day he discovered exactly what his sister’s boyfriend did for a living.’
‘Because he’d thought about it?’
‘Everyone thinks about it,’ I said.
‘Mistresses, or selling secrets?’
‘It’s only human to think about such things.’
‘So where did Giles go wrong?’ she asked.
‘He envisaged himself sinning and found he could live with that image of himself.’ I took out my cigarettes but the headmaster came over and, smiling, shook his head, so I put them away again.
‘And you couldn’t live with the image of yourself snuggled up with the noisy girl in Bayswater?’
‘You can’t have everything,’ I said. ‘You can’t have the fantasies and the reality. You can’t have the best of both worlds.’
‘You’ve just blown a hole in the Liberal Party election platform.’
‘No one can serve two masters. You’d think even a bean-brained public-school man like Trent would have known that.’
‘There was never anything between Bret and me,’ said Fiona, and touched my hand.
‘I know,’ I said.
‘Really know?’
‘Yes, really know.’ I wanted to believe it. It was a failing in me, I suppose.
‘I’m so pleased, darling. I couldn’t bear the idea of you worrying about me.’ She turned to look into my eyes. ‘And Bret, of all people…I could never fancy him. When is Billy coming on?’
I looked at the programme. ‘It must be the next but one: the junior obstacle race.’
I leaned closer to Fiona and whispered how much I loved her. I could smell the faint perfume of her shampoo as I nuzzled against her hair.
‘No one thought it would last,’ she said. She hugged me. ‘My mother said I’d leave you within six months. She even had a room ready for right up until Billy was born. Did you know that?’
‘Yes.’
‘Tessa was the only one who encouraged me to marry you. She could see how much I loved you.’
‘She could see how much you wrapped me around your finger.’
‘What a lovely thought.’ She laughed at the idea of it. ‘I’ve always been frightened that some clever little lady will come along and find out how to wrap you around her finger, but I’ve seen no sign of it so far. The truth of it is, darling, that you’re unwrappable. You’re just not a ladies’ man.’
‘What does a ladies’ man have to do?’
‘You can’t be bothered with women. I never worry about you leading a double life. You’d never go to all the trouble needed to tuck that “vulgar noisy mistress” away in Bayswater.’
‘You sound like Giles Trent. The other day he told me that Werner Volkmann could never be a double agent because he was too lazy.’
‘No one could accuse you of being lazy, my darling, but you certainly don’t go out of your way to be nice to women – not to me, not to Tessa, or even your mother.’
I found these criticisms unreasonable. ‘I treat women just as I treat men,’ I said.
‘For goodness’ sake, my darling thickheaded husband. Can’t you understand that women don’t want to be treated just like you treat men? Women like to be fussed over and cherished. When did you ever bring home a bunch of flowers or a surprise gift? It never occurs to you to suggest we have a weekend away.’
‘We’re always having weekends away.’
‘I don’t mean with Uncle Silas and the children – that’s just to give Nanny a break. I mean a surprise weekend in Paris or Rome, just the two of us in some lovely little hotel.’
I never cease to wonder about what goes on in a woman’s brain. ‘Whenever I’ve asked you to come along on a trip, you say you’ve got too much work to do.’
‘I’m not just talking about going with you on one of those damned jobs of yours. You think I want to walk around Berlin while you go off to see some old crony?’
‘I’ll have to go back there,’ I said.
‘I heard Dicky talking to Bret about it.’
‘What did they say?’
It was typical of Fiona’s caution that she looked round to be quite sure that no one was in earshot. She needn’t have bothered. Some of the parents were talking to the head, some were out in the dark windswept yard calling for their children, while the rest remained in their seats stoically watching the races. ‘The D-G apparently said there was no one else experienced enough to send. Dicky said that they’d soon have to wind up the Brahms net. Bret pretended to agree, but Bret won’t survive as a Department head without his Brahms Four source. But, for the time being, Dicky and Bret have compromised on the idea that they’ll squeeze a couple more years out of him. They think you’re the only person who could persuade the network to keep working a little while longer.’
‘Keep them working until Bret is retired and Dicky is moved to another desk. Is that what they mean?’
‘I daresay it’s at the back of their minds. When the Brahms Four material stops, there’ll be a big reshuffle. Someone will have to take the blame. Even if it’s just a stroke of fate, they’ll still want someone to take the blame.’
‘I’m not convinced the Brahms Four stuff is so bloody earthshaking,’ I said. ‘Now and again he’s given us some juicy items, but a lot of it is self-evident economic forecasts.’
‘Well, Bret guards it with his life, so I don’t suppose either of us has seen more than a fraction of the stuff he sends.’
‘Even Bret admits that a lot of his messages are simply corroboration of intelligence we already have from other sources. From Brahms Four we usually have good notice of the Soviet grain deals, but often it arrives after we know the new shipping contracts the Russians have signed. The type of ships they charter always gives us clear notice of how much grain they’ll buy from Argentina and how much the
y’ll be shipping via the Gulf of Mexico. We didn’t need Brahms Four telling us about the Moscow Narodny Bank buying Argentine peso futures. But what did he tell us about the Russian tanks going into Afghanistan? Not a damned whisper.’
‘But, darling, you’re so unreasonable. The Russians don’t need any help from their state bank in order to invade Afghanistan. Brahms Four can only give us banking intelligence.’
‘You think the Russians weren’t pouring money into Kabul for weeks before the soldiers went in? You think they weren’t buying intelligence and goodwill in Pakistan? And the sort of people you buy in that part of the world don’t take Diners Club cards. The KGB must have used silver and gold coins in the sort of quantity that only a bank can supply.’ They were placing boxes and rubber tyres on the floor for the next race.
‘Is this Billy?’ said Fiona. ‘What’s all that for?’
‘Yes, this is Billy. He’s in the obstacle race.’ Obstacle race! Only a son of mine would choose that.
She said, ‘Anyway, darling, you and I both know it doesn’t matter how good the Brahms material is. That source of information, from somewhere in the Soviet-controlled banking world, is the sort of intelligence work that even a politician can understand. You can’t explain to the Minister about electronic intelligence gathering, or show him pictures taken by spy satellites. It’s too complicated, and he knows that all that technological hardware belongs to the Americans. But tell the Minister that we have a man inside the Moscow Narodny and on their Economics Intelligence Committee, and he’ll get excited. Form a committee to process that intelligence, and the Minister can talk to the Americans on his own terms. We all know Bret has built an empire on the strength of the Brahms source, so don’t start saying it’s anything less than wonderful. Or you’ll become very unpopular.’
‘That would be a new experience for me.’
She smiled that sweet sort of smile that she used only when she was sure I’d ignore her advice, and said, ‘I mean really unpopular.’
‘I’ll take a chance on that,’ I said angrily. ‘And if your friend Bret doesn’t like my opinions, he can get stuffed.’ I overreacted of course. She knew I was still suspicious of her relationship with Bret. It would have been far smarter just to make soft noises and let her think I suspected nothing.