A knock at the door interrupted the captain’s reading.
‘Come in,’ said Jarvis.
He recognized the heart-shaped face from the photograph.
‘Good afternoon,’ said the visitor, clearly unsure if he was in the right place.
‘Please. Come in.’
He stepped into the room. His trouser legs were slightly too long, his tie colourful, his face Slav-Mongolian, with a mole on the left beneath his lips.
‘Where can I find Miss Moneypenny?’ the visitor said using the password.
Jarvis gave the corresponding response:
‘I’m sorry, she’s on maternity leave.’
They shook hands.
‘I’m Jarvis.’
‘Agent Scoot.’
‘Let me tell you right away. You have a new codename: Tricycle.’
‘Has somebody uncovered the old one?’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘Why else would they change my name out of the blue like that?’
‘Because they thought that Tricycle suited you better.’
‘Why?’ The agent still wasn’t convinced.
‘Look, you haven’t met the boys from Room 39 yet. They’re a very witty bunch.’
‘Yes, so?’ the agent persisted.
‘Well, how shall I put it? They heard that you like three-ways in bed,’ Jarvis said deadpan.
The two of them burst into laughter. The ice had been broken.
‘Now, the sooner we get down to work the better. What can I do for you, Tricycle?’ said Jarvis.
‘I was told that I could expect you to give me an entry visa and plane ticket,’ he said with a broad, open smile.
‘You were told correctly. But first I’d like to ask you a few questions. All right? So, how would you describe your mission in Britain?’
Tricycle was somewhat startled by the question. Suddenly he wasn’t sure if he was in the right place.
‘Please don’t get me wrong, but I was told that somebody familiar with the case would help me out.’
‘I am familiar with the case, don’t worry, but all the same I would like to hear your version. It’s common practice, just to avoid any misunderstanding...’
‘All right. So, you want to know how I would describe my work in Britain?’
‘Only in the briefest of terms, if it’s not a problem,’ Jarvis confirmed.
‘In the briefest of terms? Well, let’s say that the Abwehr recruited me to infiltrate high society in London, collect as much information as I could and give them the names of as many potential collaborators as possible in the event of an invasion.’
Jarvis listened attentively, nodding his head.
‘Go on, please. I’m interested in how this was envisaged in operational terms.’
‘With your colleagues, I agreed to do my own work in London and, before going back, they would tell me what I was later to tell the Germans... Nobody knows about this except for me, you and a few of your colleagues in the service. That’s pretty much it.’
‘I’m afraid that would be a rather simplified view of your assignment. You will not be given information, you will undergo training, intensive training. I hope that’s not a problem?’
‘As you wish...’ Clearly, Tricycle was not easily upset.
‘You’ve already met with the Abwehr?’ was Jarvis’s next question.
Tricycle nodded.
‘And your impression?’
‘My impression is that they lack sufficient troops for an invasion and serious intelligence agents in Britain. They heard that Churchill told the Americans that, in the event of an invasion, his government would retreat to Canada. In other words, they know you’re scared. They are hoping that I will discover a fifth column in England that they could then count on after the occupation. Sort of like in Norway and France.’
‘Do you think it exists?’ Jarvis asked.
‘What?’
‘A fifth column.’
‘It’s all the same to me. It’s as you call it.’
Jarvis continued with his questions.
‘What’s your motive for getting involved in what is a highly risky job? What do you expect from us in return?’
Jarvis’s colleagues had asked Tricycle this question so many times before going to Portugal that he could not believe he would have to go through it all over again. But he would.
‘Well, the Germans pay me a salary and expenses. To be fair, they are very generous. From you I don’t expect money, at least not for the time being, but I do expect proper accommodation in London.’
‘Would you like to explain what you mean by proper accommodation?’
‘I usually stay at the Savoy in the Strand. I also need the necessary papers for making certain trade deals. Permits from your government. Do I need to go into details about the kind of deals I’m talking about? They’re quite complicated and anyway you probably have it written down somewhere.’
‘No need... So, your motive, you say, is only money.’
‘It sounds ugly when you put it that way. Not the money so much as a comfortable life, and that has quite a lot to do with money, though not entirely. I prefer democracy over dictatorship, which helps make your side more appealing, but without the money I wouldn’t risk my neck for anybody.’
‘Is that all? Is there anything else you would like to tell me?’ Jarvis wanted to wind up the meeting quickly now. Officially, Tricycle had simply come to submit his papers for a visa and that shouldn’t take too long.
‘There’s a fat Czech staying at my hotel, he works at the American embassy. I have the impression that he’s in touch with the Krauts.’
‘How do you know?’
‘I don’t have the time to tell you now, but you’d do well to check him out.’
‘Anything else?’
‘Nothing that comes to mind. The important thing is that nobody learns about this meeting. Especially not the Germans,’ the agent added.
‘As far as that’s concerned, you can put your mind at rest. We try to keep everything we can from them. You can pick up your plane ticket at BOAC tomorrow. You have a seat booked for 20 December. Somebody from the service will meet you at the airport in Bristol and take you through passport control. You’ll be working with excellent people... They’ll take you where they think you should go and show you what they think you should pass on to the enemy. Some of it will be true, some of it far from that, but you won’t know. Your assignment is to accept everything as fact and to pass it on as faithfully as possible.’
‘So, is that about it?’ Tricycle rose to his feet, holding out his hand.
‘Yes, that’s about it.’ Captain Jarvis stood up, holding out his own.
‘Lastly, it is my duty to tell you that if you get caught we won’t be able to jump in and help. If they doubt your loyalty, you’ll be tried and the punishment is usually death. At least that’s how we do it. I’m sure the Germans have the same policy, except they don’t waste time with phony trials. You know that if you get into trouble and get caught, either by them or by us, you’re sure to be executed. So, whatever you do, you do at your own risk, and it’s not a small one,’ Jarvis said, walking him to the door. ‘I hope you realize that.’
‘No, you realize it,’ Tricycle winked on his way out.
Alone again, Jarvis looked at the notes he had been taking during their talk, and now added:
I do not feel competent to judge Tricycle’s honesty, although I did not notice anything inconsistent or illogical in what he said. His information that a certain minor clerk at the US embassy is working for the Abwehr will be checked immediately. I shall inform you of that in a separate report.
Tricycle’s plan is to conclude a trade deal in Britain (a transaction concerning ships, the details of which are given on pages 14 to 17 of this case file). For that he needs permits from us. He maintains that such favours mean more to him than a salary and therefore does not expect us to pay him. He does not seem to be interested in politics
. The motives he gives are credible, sound and consistent, especially with regard to money and a luxurious lifestyle, to which I would add my own personal impression that he is also driven by a desire for adventure and a taste for living dangerously.
Despite all this, one should not lose sight of the possibility that he has been planted as an agent to muddle things up. It is my impression that this is not to be ruled out, but even if true, that he is not aware of it.
I’D LIKE TO BE A TRAVELLER
An homage to the Captain of the Birds
The boy in the strange hat and the little yellow dog were playing among the flowerbeds in the rose garden. Big Man came back from somewhere scowling. He looked as if he was silently arguing with himself. He was carrying a tattered notebook under his arm. He did not even notice the two of them until Fennec started running between his legs, barking. Big Man recognized the dog and was pleased to see her. He looked around, scanning the area.
‘Here I am!’ Gaby said, running over.
Big Man was suddenly extremely happy. He swiped the hat off the boy’s head and plonked it on his own big pate. Then he took the dog into his arms.
‘It just about covers your bald spot,’ the boy laughed. ‘I looked for you today. You weren’t here all day.’
‘I was in Lisbon, I went to see the exhibition on the Portuguese Empire. Have you been there yet?’
‘I’m going with my school.’
‘You mustn’t miss it. It’s marvellous. I’d go again except I don’t think I’ll be able to. It looks as if I’m going on a trip.’
‘Really? Where?’
‘To America. New York.’
The boy was used to everybody leaving the place sooner or later, but you could see that he was saddened by the news.
‘Pity. We had just made friends... Why do you have to go so far away? Do you have work there?’
‘Not really. But I can’t stand it here anymore. I simply have to get out of Europe. It’s become unbearable.’
The boy did not like the answer because it was not logical.
‘You’re exaggerating. What’s so unbearable about it? This is a nice place.’
‘It’s a wonderful place. But right now it looks like a sacred, sad paradise. I have a sinking feeling when I look at the people around me. Not contempt, or irony, just a slight sinking feeling. Like being at the zoo and looking at the last surviving examples of a soon-to-be extinct animal. I watch them pretending that nothing unusual is happening. Gambling away enormous amounts of money just to feel alive. Like a puppet show, but a sad one.’
‘You’re leaving because of them?
‘Of course not. I’m leaving because of myself. I feel imprisoned by this unhealthy beauty, like a mosquito captured in amber...’ Big Man seemed to be trying to convince himself.
‘What if you don’t like America?’
‘I don’t know how I will feel there, but I don’t expect much. I just don’t want to be a refugee anymore. Or an émigré. I want to be a traveller, that’s all.’
‘Have you got anybody over there? Somebody who could be your friend?’ the boy asked.
‘I do. A publisher.’
‘Who is it?’
‘A man who isn’t exactly a real friend, but makes money with my books, and so he will take care of me,’ Big Man explained. He was dispirited.
‘It’s no use being sad now. Why don’t you come with us for a little walk? Fennec and I were just about to go and watch the sunset.’
They set off hoping to find solace somewhere. Slowly they walked along the shore, listening to the waves. Antoine began talking.
‘Did you know that people occupy very little space on Earth? If the two billion inhabitants of the planet were to squeeze in together at some meeting, say, they could fit into a square that was fifty kilometres long and fifty kilometres wide. You understand? You could squeeze the whole of humankind onto a small Pacific island.’
‘No, I didn’t know that,’ the boy confessed and then remembered something interesting himself. ‘And did you know that the baobab is the biggest tree in the world and grows from a seed no bigger than a hazelnut?’
‘First I’ve heard of it,’ Big Man confessed.
‘And did you know that the baobab lives for a thousand years?’
‘I did hear something about that.’
Most of the time they walked in silence, barefoot, holding their shoes in their hands, while the yellow puppy gambolled around their legs. Behind them, the sky above the land had already turned dark. Ahead of them, the copper sun was slowly sinking into the sea. Big Man was almost delirious with inexplicable sadness. The boy kept on walking, his eyes on the sand.
‘I love the sunset... You know... when somebody is sad he loves sunsets, when somebody is so sad...’
‘And you are sad?’ Big Man asked the boy with some surprise because the child looked happy and pleased.
‘Not all the time... Only when I miss my parents. I haven’t seen them for a long time.’
Again they fell silent.
‘Do you think of them?’ Big Man asked.
‘Yes. I think of them when I say my prayers. But most of all I think of them at night, in bed. Until I fall asleep. They keep appearing in my dreams but I can’t see their faces... I’m not even sure if I remember them anymore.’
Big Man suddenly felt tired. He sat down on the sand. The boy silently lay down next to him and looked up at the starry firmament.
‘The stars are beautiful. And there are so many of them,’ the boy observed.
The moon now appeared; it was not a full moon but enough to light their way back.
‘Did you know that scientists have established that there are more stars in the sky than there are grains of sand on the whole of Earth?’ he asked Big Man.
‘Than on all beaches put together?’
‘I’m telling you, than on the entire planet of Earth. Not just on the beaches but even if you counted all the grains of sand at the bottom of the sea and in the deserts.’
The boy said nothing but just looked at the stars. It was no use counting them.
‘This place reminds me of the desert,’ Big Man went on.
At the mention of the desert, the boy reverted to his favourite pastime: asking questions.
‘Is the desert beautiful?’
‘What makes the desert beautiful is that somewhere it hides a well.’
‘Have you discovered a well?’
‘I’ve flown over some. I’ve seen them from the air.’
‘Where were you flying to?’
‘I was carrying mail between Europe and Africa. The Moors called me Captain of the Birds.’
‘And what did you do when you weren’t flying?’
‘I spent most of my time writing. I was going through a phase of scribomania.’
‘Is scribomania some kind of disease?’
Big Man seemed unable to answer. Gaby did not insist. He proceeded to ask about something that interested him much more.
‘Tell me something about the desert.’
‘You know, there in the Sahara, the horizon is everything. A ship would sometimes appear where the sea is, and nomads’ tents would sometimes appear where the desert is. I would often lie in the dunes, like you and me now, and watch the twinkling lights in the darkness... If you try hard and look patiently into the dark, you can see it here too. There it is... Look over there! See it?’
Silence.
‘I see it,’ said the boy after a minute.
They continued watching the stars.
‘Will you come back here?’
‘I don’t know. I don’t think so...’
‘It’s sad when you forget your friends,’ Gaby said.
‘That’s not going to happen if we correspond with each other. Will you write to me?’
‘What would I write to you about?’
‘About all and sundry. What’s happening to you. What you’re thinking about. The people you meet. What you’d tell me if we met,’
Big Man explained.
‘I will write. But you have to write to me too.’
‘I will. I intended to anyway.’
They listened to the silence again.
‘You have a nice way of talking. Come on, tell me more about the desert, will you?’
‘Over there, in the Sahara... everything is different. Even the silence is different. And it’s never the same. There is a silence of peace, when the tribes are reconciled, when the evening once more brings its coolness, and it seems as if one had furled the sails and taken up moorings in a quiet harbour. There is a silence of the noon, when the sun suspends all thought and movement. There is a false silence when the north wind has dropped, and the appearance of insects, drawn away like pollen from their inner oasis, announces the eastern storm, carrier of sand. There is a silence of intrigue, when one knows that a distant tribe is brooding. There is a silence of mystery, when the Arabs join up in their intricate cabals. There is a tense silence when the messenger is slow to return. A sharp silence when, at night, you hold your breath to listen. A melancholic silence when you remember those you love...’
Big Man looked at the boy and saw that his chest was rising and falling, and his quiet breathing merged with the rhythmic pounding of the waves.
He picked the boy up in his arms and headed back to Estoril. The boy did not wake up. He was a skinny little thing and was easy to carry. The huge man thought that nothing on Earth could be more fragile. He did not have to worry about the pup. Fennec had already learned how to trot behind them.
When they reached the hotel, the doorman offered to take the boy and carry him up to his room.
‘No, I’ll carry him there. Just show me the way,’ Big Man whispered, not wanting to wake his sleeping friend.
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