by Iain Pears
*
The cars that arrived while Lytten was waiting for Angela to come back down were very quiet, he had to admit. When the doorbell rang he was sitting, unsuspecting, across from his aunt, concentrating hard to make some sense of her increasingly bizarre conversation. Perhaps that was why he had not been as alert as usual. Once upon a time he would never have been caught out so easily.
He looked out of the window. A little posse led by Sam Wind was already at the door, grim and determined. Not much to be done; he was far too old for gymnastics and anyway his mind was on other things. One by one they filed through, but Lytten was already walking silently back to the sitting room.
‘Our dinner guests!’ screeched Aunt Gertie. ‘They’re early!’
Sam ignored her. ‘I’m afraid it’s all over, Henry,’ he said.
‘It is, I fear. I’m disappointed in you, Sam, coming all this way when you have better things to do.’
‘What did you come here for?’
Lytten took the thin volume from his pocket. ‘You won’t find it very illuminating.’
Sam looked at it. ‘What the hell is this?’
‘Ah, now. I suppose you will decide it is some abstruse code. It isn’t. At least, not the variety you want it to be.’
‘When did you become a Soviet agent, Henry? During the war, or was it before that?’
‘What a lazy idea,’ Lytten said mildly. ‘I’m quite offended.’
‘Years of leaks and betrayals. You were untouchable, Portmore’s golden boy throughout the war. No one ever thought of you, you were so protected by his aura. Age, my friend. You should have given up years ago.’
‘You are probably right there,’ Lytten said.
‘The final proof was that man who showed up, and the attack on Volkov.’
‘I see you have been thinking hard. Are you planning to whisk me off somewhere?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then before we leave, Sam Wind, I would like a word in private, if you don’t mind. It won’t take long.’
Wind looked suspicious, then nodded.
‘I think the study still has some glass in the panes. If your friend would stay here …’
Lytten led Wind out of the doors and across the entrance hall. ‘Poor fellow. Half an hour of Gertie and he’ll be the one who goes over to Moscow.’
*
The room was dark, cold and dusty. It had been his great-uncle’s once, and Lytten thought he could just make out the last whiffs of the pipe tobacco the man had smoked, a peculiar concoction, cherry-flavoured Cavendish, that he had blended specially for him in a tobacconist’s on Holborn. Lytten stood by the fireplace – why he wasn’t certain, as it had not been lit for years. It was where his great-uncle had liked to denounce the iniquities of the unions, or the socialists, or the Germans, or anyone who had recently incurred his wrath.
‘Right then. Sit down and listen, if you will. It won’t take long, and then you can take such action as you please. You believe I have incriminated myself. You decide to take Volkov away, so I immediately summon aid from the Soviet embassy, which organises a rapid assassination attempt. Or maybe it was Chang. Rather peculiar behaviour, don’t you think? I may be getting addled, but I am not so far gone that I could not have killed Volkov myself the moment I saw him in Paris.’
‘Volkov is in hospital with a bullet in him.’
‘So you tell me. How is the poor fellow?’
‘He will survive. He was damned lucky.’
‘Good, good.’ Lytten paused for a moment to reflect. ‘That makes it all much easier. Although it is going to be very difficult to explain to him.’
‘I’m sure he understands all too well.’
‘I’m sure he doesn’t. It’s not what he signed up for.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘His name is David Kupransky. A part-time lecturer in Russian literature. Always a bit short of cash since his wife left him. She had the money, you see. A great pity, but she found his extravagant White Russian ways a little too much after a while …’
‘Henry!’
‘Hmm? Oh. Yes. I offered him a little money to take part in some amateur theatricals. I wrote the note, sent it to myself via Portmore, and packed him off to Paris, just to see what would happen when he said he could identify a traitor in the service. He was very convincing, I must say, although he hammed it up rather. The point is, I would hardly go to such lengths to shoot a colleague. Common-room politics can get nasty on occasion, but rarely that bad.’
‘You can prove this?’
‘Of course I can. Very easily. Even if he dies, his wife will be able to identify him.’
‘So what about Volkov? The real one? Was there a real one?’
Lytten shrugged. ‘I knew someone of that name in Berlin, but I’ve not heard anything of him since. He might have been shot, for all I know.’
‘All of this was a trick? Why?’
‘To catch you. Portmore’s orders. Or rather, not to catch you.’
Sam Wind tried to take up a pose of knowing lack of concern, and Lytten leant against the mantelpiece and wished he had a pipe.
‘I have gone through everyone over the last two years, Sam. Portmore was convinced there was a traitor and told me to find him before he retired. I didn’t want to, but you know how persuasive he is. So I did as he asked, ticking you all off my list, one by one. Slogged through the papers, the old reports. I laid little traps to see who responded. Nothing. Two years of work, and nothing. Not even the suggestion of a bite.
‘So I was down to you. Everyone else could be cleared. You were the last. Poor old Portmore was getting very agitated by this stage, or as agitated as he ever gets, and I felt sure I was close to finding out. You were the only person I hadn’t checked on.
‘Then it occurred to me that I should be thorough. There was a huge gaping hole in my investigation; one other person I’d left out. So I decided to do both at the same time.’
‘Who was that?’
‘Portmore himself,’ Lytten said. ‘I could see a trial where some defence counsel tried to get you off by besmirching his reputation, making innuendos and asking why he hadn’t been subject to the same investigation as everyone else. So I gave some information about Volkov to you, some to Portmore.
‘I told him I was going to Paris, but I didn’t tell you, and I was followed. I told you, but not Portmore, when Volkov was coming to Oxford, and that man Chang showed up.
‘So it was even. Either of you could be the one. Except that Mr Chang, my watcher, was a nobody. He’s reappeared, by the way, and you can talk to him yourself. The point is, he is completely harmless and was only interested in that manuscript you just took off me. I came to fetch it as I felt somewhat guilty about him getting an arrow in his backside.’
‘A what?’
‘A long story. The point is that I didn’t have any proof one way or the other, so I had one last go. When you stuffed Volkov into a van and packed him off to a secure location, I rang Portmore to say where he was going and when he would arrive. Two hours later, he was shot. Couldn’t have been you. You were with me all the time, or with that young man from counter-intelligence next door. You didn’t make a phone call. You could not possibly have ordered the attack, and only one other person could have done it. As I say, it is going to be hard to apologise enough to Kupransky. Do you think you could get him a proper lectureship in London? Something with a nice pension?’
‘Henry, you are being—’
‘Portmore isn’t afraid of handing the Service over to a Russian spy when he retires, Sam. He is afraid of not handing it over to a Russian spy.’
Lytten now sat down next to Wind, rubbing his hands together to ward off the cold. ‘You are – must be – a front runner for Portmore’s job. He wanted you out of the way and discredited so his own candidate would succeed. He even told me he thought it necessary to bypass all the senior candidates. If I could somehow nail you that would have been good, but I’m sure his idea w
as that I should come up with nothing conclusive. He would then argue that a shadow hung over everyone, so you would all have to be passed over just in case. Gontal gave me the idea.’
‘Who?’
‘Doesn’t matter.’
‘Who is his candidate?’
‘I have no idea. We will just have to wait and see.’
‘You mean leave him in his post? That’s ridiculous.’
‘Think of the entirely false information you can funnel to the Russians. Think of the ways you now have of guarding the few people we have left. Think of the pleasure of waiting until his chosen successor is named, then grabbing both of them.’
‘Are you sure of this?’
‘I have tried not even to think about it too much. But yes. I am sure.’
Wind sat disconsolately on the settee, looking, for the first time in years, incapable of dealing with the situation.
‘I’m sorry, Sam. I have had longer to get used to the idea than you have. I revered Portmore as well. He was – and in his way he still is – courageous and loyal. He was magnificent during the war, but I am certain he is the spy we’ve all been hunting for so many years. If you set up a proper investigation I’m sure you will find enough to confirm it.’
‘It is a thin case.’
‘At the moment. It would not stand up in court, and if the Americans ever find out that every secret they shared was as good as posted direct to Moscow, we would never be able to hold our heads up in public again.’
‘So?’
‘Quiet retirement, a knighthood, maybe the master of a Cambridge college, in exchange for a full accounting and his protégé’s head on a platter. Not much choice, really. Besides, he once really was a hero. We owe him that.’
Wind leant forward, his hands together against his mouth. ‘Jesus,’ he said softly. ‘When did you work this out?’
‘I didn’t suspect him until I had to. I took him for granted as the best and most doggedly loyal of men. Which he was, of course. Just loyal to something else.’
*
‘I wonder where Angela is?’ Lytten asked, after a brief search of the house produced no sign of her. ‘Sam, could you send some of your minions round the back to see if the car is still there?’
They came back ten minutes later to report that there was no car, just some fresh tyre tracks.
‘She must have heard you arrive and feared the worst. Not surprisingly, I suppose; she’s already spent much of the day in a cell, and she’s a bit busy at the moment. Her opinion of you will probably never recover.’
‘I will apologise unreservedly when I get the opportunity.’
‘I just hope she doesn’t do anything rash, like disappear for good.’
‘How could she do that?’
‘You’d be surprised. Now I’m stranded. You’ll have to drive me home, Sam. I can’t stay here.’
‘Not immediately. I must see Volkov first, or whatever his name really is. I need a statement from him, and I’ll need one from you as well. That can’t wait. I can get you to a train in the morning.’
‘Very well,’ Lytten replied. ‘I don’t suppose a few hours will make any difference.’
So Sam dispatched his men, while Lytten said goodbye to his aunt and promised that he would come again soon.
‘Bring that nice young girl with you. Very charming, she is.’
‘I will if I can,’ he promised.
Then he and Wind walked out into the evening air.
‘At least it’s not raining,’ Lytten said. ‘Quite a pleasant evening, in fact.’
‘It won’t last,’ Wind grumbled. ‘You’ll see.’
64
As the train lumbered along, I sat in the dimly lit and blessedly empty carriage and reassembled my calculations. The massive run of chance events which both brought the Devil’s Handwriting into existence and stopped it being destroyed made me realise that a simple solution was no longer available. It was not that I would be unable to try again, perhaps, but I calculated that random events would again prevent me from being successful. The chances of everything turning out as it had, I reckoned, were tiny, almost as small as the chances the computer simulation had calculated of avoiding nuclear war. In fact, I realised as we passed through Swindon, it was highly likely that they were identical, that the one was an inverse image of the other, on the microscopic scale.
A surge of excitement ran through me. What an idea that was! Now, if I could only pin it down and produce the maths that would firmly link the two, then I would have a really interesting paper to present to …
Well, to whom, exactly? No one could understand it where I was, and in the not too distant future everyone who might do so was likely to be wiped out. Was I responsible for that? I had to bear my share of blame. But (I reassured myself) I had not brought the Devil’s Handwriting into existence, nor did I ensure its survival, nor did I use it. That strand of things was independent of me. I had established to my satisfaction, after all, that if my creation of Anterwold was generating a nuclear war, the nuclear war was simultaneously generating Anterwold.
I had neither the time nor the energy to do the calculations. Even thinking as much as I did had to be squeezed in between stops at railway halts, where I looked out of the window anxiously to see if any policemen were standing there, waiting for me.
They weren’t. Even at Oxford there was no one and I walked out of the station a free woman, then took a taxi up to Henry’s house.
I let myself in, drew the curtains, then collapsed in exhaustion on the settee in Henry’s study. I was so tired. I should have done something, but all my spirit had left me.
There was nothing I could do. I heard the sound of footsteps. It had to be one of Wind’s people. I prepared to meet my fate. Accessory to treason or some such?
The door opened and Rosie put her head through. I could have kissed her, I was so relieved.
*
‘So what is going on?’ Rosie asked.
‘Well, Henry has probably been arrested as a spy and I am a fugitive. I don’t have the Devil’s Handwriting, I can’t destroy it and the world is about to descend into nuclear war. Apart from that … How are you?’
‘The Professor has been arrested as a spy? Why would anyone think that?’
‘Maybe he is. How should I know?’
‘Don’t you care?’
‘Not in the slightest. I am a bit worried about what Wind might do to him. I really don’t want him locked up for the next decade. I need his help.’
‘What are you going to do?’
For the first time, Angela frightened her. She had always seemed so competent. Now she looked defeated.
‘I can’t do much about Henry; even looking after myself will be hard. If I stay here then Sam Wind will lock me up as well. I’d be stymied in a prison cell.’
‘How much time do you need?’
‘A decade at least, but even if I don’t spend it in prison, we are likely to have a holocaust before I can figure out a new approach.’
‘Why?’
‘Probability. The probability that the Devil’s Handwriting survives, that it falls into the wrong hands and that it is used to clear the world for colonisation. They think they are going to let off a bomb in an alternative past. In fact it will be this one, and perhaps soon.’
‘Surely—’
‘It’s simple, I think. What will happen if a nuclear bomb goes off in Berlin? The Russians will know they didn’t do it, the Americans will know they didn’t either. Each will assume the other is starting hostilities and let rip with everything they have. They want an empty world to colonise and this is the easiest way to get one. Cheap, simple and efficient.’
‘That’s what’s going to happen?’
Angela nodded. ‘I think so. I’ve been going about it the wrong way, you see. Anterwold isn’t just the cause of a war, it’s the consequence of it as well. I can’t shut down Anterwold unless I shut down the ultimate causes of its existence.’
‘
You created it.’
‘We are all creatures of history.’
‘How long do we have?’
‘I would guess any time in the next seventy-five years. More or less. I can’t say more precisely than that.’
‘Could you stop it? If you had time?’
‘Where there’s life, there’s hope.’
‘Then you must go into Anterwold. You’d have all the time you need.’
‘I can’t. I can’t influence my future from a different one. I have to be on the same line. As this is the last moment which is connected to both, I will have to stay here. I’ll go back to France and lie low. I’ll have Chang to help, of course, and that will be useful. Assuming he survives, poor fellow.’
‘He’ll be fine. I rang the hospital. What about me?’
Angela smiled thoughtfully. ‘You want to help?’
Rosie hesitated, then nodded.
‘For some reason that makes me very happy.’ She paused, then became practical once more. ‘If I understand your peculiar educational system here, you can leave school next year?’
‘Yes.’
‘If John Kennedy wins the election next month, we have at least until October 1962, I think. That’s the Cuban missile crisis. If we get through that then we might well be safe until 1976. If Nixon wins, then everything becomes unpredictable, but at least I will be sure that history is changing seriously. Assuming all goes well, though, then in nine months’ time you can leave school, pack your bags and come and live with me in the South of France. How about that? I’ve got plenty of money and Chang’s perfectly pleasant once you get to know him.’
‘That sounds lovely.’
‘It will be. Unless we fail, in which case it won’t be lovely at all. But then we can gather as many people as possible and head off into Anterwold. I should add that I can’t think of any reason why you shouldn’t go now, if you really wanted to.’