by P. D. James
'I know that, you fool. You've been in my mirror practically the whole way. If I'd wanted to throw you off it wouldn't have been difficult. You should give up this cloak-and-dagger business. It doesn't suit you and you're no good at it.'
But there was no anger in her voice, only a kind of irritated weariness. He said: 'Caroline, I have to talk to you.'
'Then wait until tomorrow. Or stay where you are if you must. We'll be back in an hour.'
'But where are you going? What are you doing?'
'For Christ's sake, what do you think I'm doing? This is a boat, my boat. Out there is the sea. Amy and I are planning a short trip.'
Amy, he thought, Amy who? But Caroline didn't introduce her. He said weakly: 'But it's so late. It's dark and it's getting misty.'
'So it's dark and misty. This is October. Look, Jonathan, why don't you mind your own business and get off home to mother.'
She was busying herself in the cockpit. He leaned over and clutched the side of the boat, feeling the gentle rock of the tide. He said: 'Caroline, please talk to me! Don't go. I love you.'
'I doubt it.'
Both of them seemed to have forgotten Amy. He said desperately: 'I know that you lied about your mother being ruined by Hilary's father. That wasn't true, any of it. Look, if you're in trouble I want to help. We've got to talk. I can't go on like this.'
'I'm not in trouble, and if I were you'd be the last person I'd turn to. And take your hands off my boat.'
He said, as if it were the most important thing between them: 'Your boat? You never told me you had a boat.'
'There are a great many things that I didn't tell you.'
And then, suddenly, he knew. There was no longer room for doubt. 'So it wasn't real was it, any of it? You don't love me, you never did love me.'
'Love, love, love. Stop bleating the word, Jonathan. Look, go home. Stand in front of your glass and take a good long look at yourself. How could you ever have supposed that it was real? This is real, Amy and me. She is why I stay at Larksoken and I am why she stays. Now you know.'
'You used me.'
He knew that he sounded like a querulous child.
'Yes, I used you. We used each other. When we went to bed I was using you and you were using me. That's what sex is. And, if you want to know, it was bloody hard work and it made me sick.'
Even in the throes of his misery and humiliation he could sense an urgency in her that had nothing to do with him. The cruelty was deliberate but it had no passion in it. It would have been more bearable if it had. His presence was merely an irritating but minor intrusion into more important preoccupations. Now the end of the rope had whipped clear of the bollard. She had started the engine and the boat was edging away from the quay. And for the first time he really noticed the other girl. She hadn't spoken since he arrived. She stood silently beside Caroline in the cockpit, unsmiling, shivering slightly, and somehow vulnerable, and he thought he saw on her childish face a look of puzzled compassion before his tears began to sting and the boat and its occupants became an amorphous blur. He waited until they were almost out of sight moving on the dark water, and then he made another decision. He would find a pub, have a beer and some food and be there when they returned. They couldn't be away long or they would miss the tide. And he had to know the truth. He couldn't spend another night in this uncertainty. He stood on the quay staring out to sea as if the little boat with its two occupants was still in sight, then turned away and dragged his feet towards the nearest pub.
The throb of the engine, unnaturally loud, shook the quiet air. Amy half expected doors to open, people to come running down to the quay, to hear protesting voices calling after them. Caroline made a movement and the noise died in a gentle murmur. The boat gently moved away from the quay. Amy said angrily: 'Who is he? Who is that creep?'
'Just a man from Larksoken. His name's Jonathan Reeves. He's unimportant.'
'Why did you tell him lies? Why did you tell him lies about us? We're not lovers.'
'Because it was necessary. What does it matter anyway? It isn't important.'
'It's important to me. Look at me, Caroline. I'm talking to you.'
But still Caroline didn't meet her eyes. She said calmly: 'Wait until we get clear of the harbour. There's something I have to tell you, but I want to get into deep water and I need to concentrate. Get up to the prow and keep a lookout.'
Amy stood for a moment irresolute, and then she obeyed, working her way carefully along the narrow deck, clutching the rim of the low cabin roof. She wasn't sure she liked the hold that Caroline apparently had over her. It was nothing to do with the money, which was paid irregularly and anonymously into her post office account or left hidden in the abbey ruins. It wasn't even the excitement and the secret sense of power which she gained from being part of a conspiracy. Perhaps after that first meeting in the pub at Islington which had led to her recruitment to Operation Birdcall she had subconsciously made a decision to give her loyalty and obedience and, now that the test had come, she was unable to shake off that unspoken allegiance.
Looking back she could see that the lights in the harbour were growing fainter, the windows becoming little squares of light and then pinpricks. The engine stuttered into greater life and, standing on the prow, she could feel the great power of the North Sea beneath her, the hiss of the parting water, see the unbroken waves smooth and black as oil emerging out of the mist, could feel the boat lifting, shuddering, and then settling. After ten minutes of watching she left her post and made her way back to the cockpit. She said: 'Look, we're well away from land now. What's going on? Did you have to tell him that? I know I'm supposed to keep away from people at Larksoken, but I'll find him, and I'll tell him the truth.'
Caroline was still standing motionless at the tiller, looking straight ahead. In her left hand she held a compass. She said: 'We won't be going back. That's what I have to tell you.'
Before Amy could even open her mouth she said: 'Look, don't start getting hysterical and don't argue. You're entitled to an explanation and if you keep quiet you'll get it. I've no option now; you have to know the truth, or some of the truth.'
'What truth? What are you talking about? And why aren't we going back? You said we'd only be gone about an hour. You said we were going out to meet some comrades offshore and get some new instructions. I left a note for Neil saying I wouldn't be long. I've got to get back to Timmy.'
But still Caroline didn't look at her. She said: 'We're not going back because we can't. When I recruited you from that London squat I didn't tell you the truth. It wasn't in your interest and I didn't know how far I could trust you. And I didn't know the whole truth myself, only as much as I needed to know. That's the way the operation works. Operation Birdcall is nothing to do with taking over Larksoken in the cause of animal rights. It's nothing to do with animals. It's nothing to do with threatened whales and sick seals and tormented laboratory animals and abandoned dogs and all the other spurious miseries you agonize about. It's to do with something far more important. It's to do with human beings and their future. It's to do with the way we organize our world.'
She was speaking very low and with an extraordinary intensity. Amy said above the noise of the engine: 'I can't hear you! I can't hear you properly. Turn off that engine!'
'Not yet. We've still a long way to go. We're meeting them at a precise spot. We have to sail south-east then take a bearing on the power station offshore structures and the Happisburgh light: I hope this mist doesn't thicken.'
'Who? Who are we meeting?'
'I don't know their names and I don't know their place in the organization. As I said, we are all of us told only as much as we actually need to know. My instructions were that if Operation Birdcall was blown I was to ring a number and activate the emergency procedure for getting me out. That's why I bought this boat and made sure it was always ready. I was told precisely where they'll pick us up. Then they'll get us into Germany, provide false papers, a new identity, incorporate u
s into the organization, find us a job.'
'Not for me they bloody well won't!' Amy looked at Caroline with horror. 'They're terrorists, aren't they? And you're one too. You're a bloody terrorist!'
Caroline said calmly: 'And what else are the agents of capitalism? What are the armies, the police, the courts? What are the industrialists, the multinational corporations who hold down three-quarters of the world's population and keep them poor and hungry? Don't use words you don't understand.'
'I understand that word. And don't you patronize me. You crazy or something? What were you planning, for Christ's sakes, to sabotage the reactor, release all that radioactivity, worse than Chernobyl, kill everyone on the headland, Timmy and Neil, Smudge and Whisky?'
'We wouldn't need to sabotage the reactors or release any radioactivity. The threat would be sufficient once we'd taken over the power stations,'
'The stations? How many? Where?'
'One here, one in France, one in Germany. The action would be co-ordinated and it would be sufficient. It's not what we could do when we had taken them over, it's what people would think we could do. War is out of date and unnecessary. We don't need armies. All we need are a few trained, intelligent and dedicated comrades with the necessary skills. What you call terrorism can change the world, and it's more cost-effective in human life than the militaristic industry of death which my father made his career. They've only one thing in common. A soldier, in the end, has to be prepared to die for this cause. Well, so are we.'
Amy cried: 'It can't happen! Governments won't let it happen!'
'It is happening and they can't stop it. They aren't united enough and they haven't the will. This is just the beginning.'
Amy looked at her. She said: 'Stop this boat. I'm getting off.'
'And swim ashore? You'd either drown or freeze to death. And in this mist.'
Amy hadn't noticed the thickening mist. One moment it seemed to her that she could see the distant lights of the shore, like stars, almost she could see the blackness of the slopping waves, could peer ahead. But now, slowly and inexorably, there was a clammy wetness. She cried: 'Oh God, take me back. You've got to get me off. Get me off. I want Timmy. I want Neil.'
'I can't do that, Amy. Look, if you don't want to be part of all this just say so when the boat arrives. They'll put you ashore somewhere. It won't be on this coast necessarily, but somewhere. We don't want reluctant recruits. There would be enough trouble as it is fitting you up with a new identity. But if you didn't want to be part of it, didn't want to be committed, why did you kill Hilary Robarts? D'you think we wanted a murder investigation centred on Larksoken, police attention, Rickards actually on the site, every suspect's past scrutinized, nothing left private? And if Rickards had arrested you, how sure could I be that you wouldn't crack, tell him about Operation Birdcall, turn Queen's evidence?'
Amy cried: 'Are you crazy? I'm on this boat with a bloody crazy woman. I didn't kill her.'
'Then who did? Pascoe? That's almost as dangerous.'
'How could he? He was on his way back from Norwich. We lied to Rickards about the time but he was back at the caravan by 9.15 and we were there together all the evening with Timmy. And all that business about the Whistler cutting her forehead, the hair, we never knew any of that. I thought you killed her.'
'Why should I?'
'Because she discovered Operation Birdcall. Isn't that why you're running, because you've got no option?'
'You're right that I've got no option. But it's not because of Robarts. She didn't find out. How could she? But someone did. It isn't only the Hilary Robarts murder. They've started checking up on me, the security services. Somehow they've got a lead, probably from one of the German cells or from a mole in the IRA.'
'How do you know? You could be running away for nothing.'
'There are too many coincidences. That last postcard you hid in the abbey ruins. I told you it was put back the wrong way. Someone had read it.'
'Anyone could have found it. And the message wouldn't have meant anything. It never meant anything to me.'
'Found it in late September when the picnic season's well over? Found it and carefully put it back? And that wasn't all. They've checked on my mother's flat. She has a housekeeper who used to be my nanny. She rang to let me know earlier today. I didn't wait after that. I sent the signal to say I was getting out.'
On their starboard side the occasional lights of the shore were blurred by the mist but still visible. And the throb of the engine sounded less intrusive now, almost a gentle companionable hum. Or perhaps, thought Amy, she had got used to it. But it seemed extraordinary to be moving so quietly and steadily through the darkness, hearing Caroline's voice saying unbelievable things, talking about terrorism and flight and betrayal as calmly as if she were discussing the details of a picnic. And Amy needed to hear, needed to know. She found herself saying: 'Where did you meet them, these people you're working for?'
'In Germany when I was seventeen. My nanny was ill and I had to spend the summer holiday with my parents. My father was stationed there. He didn't take much notice of me, but someone else did.'
'But that was years ago.'
'They know how to wait and so do I.'
'And this nanny-housekeeper, is she a member of Birdcall too?'
'She knows nothing, absolutely nothing. She's the last person I'd choose. She's a silly old fool who's hardly worth her bed and board, but my mother finds a use for her, and so do I. She hates my mother, and I've told her that Mummy is checking on my life and to let me know at once if there are any telephone calls for me or any visitors. It helps make her life with Mummy tolerable. It makes her feel important, helps her to believe that I care about her, that I love her.'
'Do you? Do you love her?'
'I did once. A child has to love someone. I grew out of it and I grew out of her. Well, there was a call and there was a visitor. On Tuesday a Scot, or someone pretending to be a Scot rang. And today a visitor came.'
'What sort of visitor?'
'A young man who said he'd met me in France. It was a lie. He was an impostor. He was from MI5. Who else could have sent him?'
'But you can't be sure. Not sure enough to send that signal, leave everything, put yourself in their mercy.'
'I can. Look, who else could it have been? There were three separate incidents, the postcard, the telephone call, the visitor. What else should I wait for? The security services kicking down my door?'
'What was he like, this man?'
'Young. Nervous. Not very attractive. Not particularly convincing either. Even Nanny didn't believe him.'
'Funny kind of MI5 officer. Couldn't they do better than that?'
'He was supposed to be someone I'd met in France who fancied me and wanted to see me again and had steeled himself actually to call at the flat. Of course he appeared young and nervous. That's the kind of man they'd send. They'd hardly choose a seasoned forty-year-old veteran from Curzon Street. They know how to select the right man for the job. That's their business. He was the right man, all right. Perhaps he wasn't even meant to be convincing. Perhaps they were trying to scare me, get me to react, flush me out.'
'Well, you have reacted, haven't you? But if you're wrong, wrong about it all, what will they do, the people you work for? You've blown Operation Birdcall by running away.'
'This operation has been aborted but the future won't be jeopardized. My instructions were to telephone if there was firm evidence that we'd been discovered. And there was. And that's not all. My telephone is being bugged.'
'You can't possibly tell that.'
'I can't tell it for certain, but I know.'
Suddenly Amy cried: 'What did you do about Remus? Did you feed him, leave him water?'
'Of course not. This has to look like an accident. They've got to believe that we're lesbian lovers who went for an evening boat trip and were drowned. They've got to believe that we only intended to be away for a couple of hours. He gets fed at seven. They've got to find
him hungry and thirsty.'
'But they might not start looking for you until Monday! He'll be frantic, barking and whining. There's no one close to hear. You bloody bitch!'
Suddenly she flew at Caroline, screaming obscenities, clawing at her face. But the girl was too strong for her. Hands gripped her wrists like steel bands and she found herself hurled back against the boards. Through the tears of rage and self-pity she whispered: 'But why? Why?'
'For a cause worth dying for. There aren't many of those.'
'Nothing's worth dying for, except maybe another person, someone you love. I'd die for Timmy.'
'That's not a cause, that's sentimentality.'
'And if I want to die for a cause I'll bloody well choose it myself. And it won't be for terrorism. It won't be for bastards who put bombs in pubs and blow up my friends and don't give a damn about ordinary people, because we're not important, are we?'
Caroline said: 'You must have suspected something. You're not educated but you're not stupid, either. I wouldn't have chosen you if I couldn't be sure of that. You never questioned me and you wouldn't have got an answer if you had, but you couldn't have thought that we were going to all that trouble for frightened kittens or butchered seal pups.'