“You mean those signals of mine went nowhere?”
“Nowhere at all. In the circumstances, she could only be stopped physically, and so we flew north. The Soviet Embassy knew where the rendezvous was to be, you see. And you people were so busy shooting at each other you never saw us coming.”
“You’re not going to tell me a man from the Embassy boarded the trawler?”
“He did. And got off again in a hurry when he realized she was sinking.”
“So what happens now?”
“You may well ask. We are trying to work out a deal, which will go something like this. The British Government will kill the story of Operation Destruct. For the newspapers, the Katrina followed the example of the Ludmilla and struck a rock in yesterday’s storm. People will comment on the coincidence, but it can’t be helped. The Embassy man has already left in a private plane, with Madam Cantelna and the remnants of the crew. They will be back in Russia by now, I should think. We can insist they go along with us in this both because we have the bottle you took from the Ludmilla, and because Anna Cantelna is wanted in England for murder.”
“You mean . . .”
“Well, Enwright is dead. Fortunately for all of us, your friends Robert and Edna cracked after you’d left, sat up half the night drinking gin, and went down to the Police Station next morning to make a clean breast of everything. They didn’t want to be involved in a murder case. So the Guernsey Police are dropping charges against you. To the world at large you are a Special Branch man who was trying to stop Madam Cantelna’s getting away, and failed. Miserably.”
“Thanks very much.”
“If it’s any consolation, your friend Anna is hardly more popular with her employers. And she has a broken shoulder. And she is going to be the center of a couple of months of most unfortunate publicity, as we demand her return to England to stand trial, and also demand to know what she was doing on board the Ludmilla at all. Actually the outcome is already arranged. The Soviets will resist our demands, and we will gradually drop the matter. In return we will put Robert and Edna away for a fair period as enemy agents, and more important, we are obtaining the release of one of our men the Russians are holding on a subversion charge. So you see, all’s well that ends well.”
“Except for said incompetent Special Branch man.”
“Well,” Headly said. “Your behavior has been just a little suggestive of a bull in a china shop. I’m sure Mr. Craufurd will point that out. He will also point out that it is not part of your job to requisition stray passers-by whenever you happen to need them. I’m thinking of the Bridges. However, having said all that, I’m sure he will also add that it is a very long time since we have had a recruit who has shown quite so much energy and initiative. I don’t think there is anything wrong with your career prospects that another year’s schooling won’t remedy. Now for Heaven’s sake get out of that bed and let’s get out of here.”
“What about the Bridges? And Clarence Bronson?”
“Oh, they’ve flown off. To a wedding. We had to kill Clark Bridges’ prospects of a story as well, but he didn’t seem too unhappy. Presumably he’ll do very well as Clapper Bronson’s publicity agent, now they’re going to be brothers-in-law. Oh, by the way, they said to tell you not to lose any sleep over Clapper’s TV spectacular. Apparently nothing was in writing, and George MacKenna . . .” he frowned. “Would that be the George MacKenna?”
“That’s the man.”
“What a small world. Well, MacKenna had already had second thoughts and engaged The Wail. Does that make sense?”
“They’re a good group.”
“I’m glad to hear it. Anyway, Bronson’s trip to London would have been so much wasted time. So all he really has to do is replace his manager’s aircraft.”
Jonathan got out of bed, picked up his clothes. Helen and Clarence would do very well together; between them they should even be able to handle Pete Harrison. But he wasn’t sorry they had already left.
He walked to the window, sighed. The islands of Vatersay, Sandray, and Mingular stretched into the distance south of Barra. Then there was Barra Head, lost in the morning mist, and then the Sea of the Hebrides, and the Katrina, lying on the sea bed. Out there life had come to the boil, yesterday afternoon; he felt strangely flat.
“Oh, I almost forgot,” Headly said. “Before she left, Madam Cantelna wrote you a note.”
Slowly Jonathan unfolded the piece of paper. The handwriting was like Headly’s face, unforgettable.
“I would have honored my proposal, Jonathan Anders, but I am glad you refused. Patriotism is still a virtue. You have inflicted the first-ever check to my career. I hate you for that. But I love you for your audacity. I will wish you every success, until our next meeting.”
“What did she say?” Headly asked.
“Good-bye.” Jonathan considered. “Or rather, I think, au revoir.”
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