The Anti-Death League

by Kingsley Amis

  "There may be alternative suggestions about what happened in the lane, although I must confess I find it difficult to imagine one." Leonard was rather tickled to find himself paying Venables back in his own coin. "But the finding of the rifle where I expect it to be found will put an end to all speculation of that sort."

  Venables made a noise that seemed to have snarl as well as groan in it, but said no more for the moment.

  The Colonel had entered the time of Leonard's return and as much as he had had to report in a large Service notebook with the words Incident Brickbat written on its covers in red ink. He now passed Leonard a sheaf of large photographs.

  "These came through just after you'd gone out for the second time, Brian."

  They were views from various distances of perhaps half an acre of torn-up ground, with a crater in the middle and large fragments of newly exposed rock flung here and there. The longer views showed the affected area to lie on an almost flat but slightly tilted plateau.

  'They're very good," said Leonard. "Who took them?"

  "O'Neill. I shouldn't have credited him with the imagination you need for a good photographer. Never can tell, though. Fantastic business up there. Did you take a close look?"

  "No, sir. They were still checking for radioactivity when I had to organize my men for the sweeps program."

  "Clean as a whistle, apparently, according to O'Neill's report." The Colonel tapped a typewritten sheet clipped to a page of his notebook. "Still, you did quite right to keep your distance without protective clothing. Well. That was St. Jerome's Priory, that was. It seems"-he tapped a gazetteer lying open on the table-"there's not been a lot left of the place for about three hundred years. Nothing whatever left of it now. Not so much as a flake of iron or a scrap of stone. Fellow Isaacs was highly delighted. Seems they haven't got as much detail as they'd like on what these atomic airgun slugs will do to buildings. Help him to fill in one or two gaps. Nice to think the business has been some practical use to somebody."

  "Because it can have been of very little to Dr. Best, assuming momentarily that he is the author of this affair." Venables turned his great head towards Leonard. "The man supposedly wishes to publicize this unit's activities. He does so by bringing about an atomic explosion in a remote corner of the hills, far from any human habitation, indeed topographically isolated from all but its immediate environs. Would not a strike at the village, with its attendant loss of life, have been more to his purpose? Better still, a strike at this very camp? The building in which we sit is an excellent target from several surrounding points, even for a flat-trajectory projectile."

  Leonard drained his glass and filled it again. Venables's objection had already occurred to him. It shook him not at all, reasoning as he did that Best's action had been improvised, not carried out to order, and feeling that it fitted perfectly into the picture he had already formed of the man's psychological patterning. But before he could do more than start trying to explain this the telephone rang.

  "White here. Thank you. Why don't you come over and join us? Expect you could do with a little something after all that exertion, eh? Good… That was Max Hunter. The rifle isn't in the camp. Don't suppose anybody thought it was, but you can't afford not to confirm negatives, as they say these days. I asked him-"

  The door opened and Leonard turned in his chair, half expecting to see Hunter already arrived, but even when invited to take a little something he could hardly have been expected to cover the couple of hundred yards from his office in something under a quarter of a minute. The new arrival was Ross-Donaldson, who disconcerted Leonard by staring grimly at him for a moment or two before facing the Colonel.

  "Yes, Alastair."

  "Nothing else is missing from the stores, sir. One NHW-17 rifle, one round P-6 are gone, the rest is as it should be down to the last cleaning-brush."

  "Good. Another negative confirmed. What are you drinking, Ala-stair?"

  "I think a quarter of that rather uncompromising Bellinger, sir, if I may."

  "Press the bell, will you?"

  Ross-Donaldson did as he was told, but drink was driven quite out of his head a few seconds later by the high continuous mooing of the alarm hooters situated at selected points round the camp.

  "Is this a practice?" asked the Colonel as he got to his feet.

  "No, sir," said Ross-Donaldson, just beating Leonard to the door.

  They clattered down the cobbled passage and were soon in the Command Post.

  "Unidentified aircraft overhead, sir," said the sergeant-major.

  Pausing only to snatch a miniature transceiver radio from its shelf, Leonard ran back down the passage after Ross-Donaldson and out into the noonday sunshine. A group of swearing men, fumbling with machine-pistols and equipment, was forming up on the main track to their right. Ahead and to their left, they could see the machine-gun crews standing to their weapons. The camp patrol was concentrating near the far end of Hut D4.

  "I can't see him," said Leonard.

  "Perhaps he's up in the sun."

  The Colonel came up with them. "There he is," he said, pointing.

  "A helicopter," said Ross-Donaldson. He sounded incredulous.

  With parts of it appearing liquid or even gaseous in the strong light, the machine was beginning or continuing an arc that would bring it directly above their heads. It seemed rather higher in the air than would be normal for such aircraft and to be descending only slowly, if at all.

  Leonard turned the switch of his radio.

  "What are you going to do?" asked Ross-Donaldson.

  "Call out the RAF."

  "Don't be a fool, Leonard. You've done enough harm as it is. Who do you think is up in that thing, Dr. Best? Or a Chinese? Surely you can't seriously expect hostile action from a couple of chaps in the slowest and most conspicuous type of air vehicle under maximum visibility. You've got the imagination of a schoolboy. This is a training flight off course, or whoever should have given or taken official notice of it forgot to, or the local Group Captain is paying us a visit."

  As he said this, the helicopter began to lose height quickly and almost vertically. It appeared to have standard civilian markings.

  "If they try landing they'll have to be arrested," said Leonard. "This is Ministry property."

  "Give me that box, will you?" Ross-Donaldson took the transceiver from Leonard. "Which is the PA channel?"

  "This one. What are you going to-?"

  Eoss-Donaldson pressed the stud indicated and blew experimentally into the microphone. A sound like a brontosaurus clearing its nostrils came from loudspeakers mounted on poles here and there.

  "This is the Adjutant speaking," he said, and his voice rattled and echoed between the buildings. "Do not fire at this helicopter. I say again, do not fire. Take no action, I say again, no action, except at my personal order."

  By now the helicopter was only a couple of hundred feet up and still descending. Ross-Donaldson handed the transceiver back to Leonard.

  "They're coming down in the meadow. We may as well go and meet them."

  Leonard, falling into step beside Ross-Donaldson and the Colonel, said aggrievedly, "You ought to have let me handle that, Alastair."

  "Yes, I'm sorry. I was just keen to hear the sound of my own voice on the speakers."

  "You might have waited till a less crucial moment."

  "Who the devil are these people, anyway?" said the Colonel. "I agree with Rrian, it's a bit casual of them. Treating us like a public park. Good mind to let them cool their heels in the guardroom for a bit."

  He had to shout the last sentence over the noise of the rotor, and no more was said until the machine had touched down on the thick grass of the meadow. As its blades whirred to a standstill the man next to the pilot, a tall fat civilian with red hair and a hooked nose, pushed his door aside and clumsily got out. The pilot, also in civilian attire, stayed where he was. The red-haired man came up to the three officers.

  "Jagger's the name," he said in a provin
cial accent, seeming to think this the utmost that could be required of him.

  "Who are you?" asked Leonard.

  "I told you. Jagger." The man looked puzzled.

  "This is a military establishment. What are you doing here?"

  "Are you Leonard?"

  "Yes, but-"

  "Dear old official channels. All clogged to buggery again. So either you've lost your mind or somebody took their time letting you know I was coming. With luck you'll get the signal about midnight. Here."

  He had effortfully taken from an inside pocket, and now handed to Leonard, a battered card bearing his photograph and the Home Secretary's signature. Between these were a few printed lines saying that the bearer was to be afforded full co-operation by all civilian, military and legal authorities. They did not say who employed Jagger or what his status was, and indeed Leonard never found out.

  While he examined the card, he saw that Jagger was taking in the machine-gun crews and the nearby groups of armed men. He grinned, to Leonard's mind offensively, showing a mouthful of strong yellowish teeth.

  "Nice little reception committee you've got laid on. Did you think I was coming down to bomb you all? Still, with me not expected you had some call to get the wind up. I took the old chopper on account of the trains are so bloody awful. Now you'll be Colonel White. Pleased to meet you, Colonel. And this is…?"

  "Captain Ross-Donaldson, my adjutant."

  "How do you do, Captain. Flaming hot, isn't it? I don't know what we've done to deserve all this good weather. I'll just get my bag out of the chopper, and then perhaps one of you'll be kind enough to show me where I can get a drink. It's thirsty work, you know, flying."

  He turned back to the helicopter. Meanwhile Leonard spoke into his microphone.

  "This is Captain Leonard. Stand down, everybody. Stand down. Some of you could have been a little quicker, but not badly done on the whole. Thank you."

  Jagger rejoined them carrying a bulky suitcase in tartan cloth with sheets of transparent plastic on the larger surfaces.

  "Now what about that drink?" he said as they moved off. "And then you can fill me in on what's been happening. AH I know is that Leonard here talked to our mutual friends in high places on the scrambler early this morning and said some genius had been skylarking about with an atomic rifle and what about some assistance. So here I am with the assistance, such as it is."

  "I didn't ask for any assistance," said Leonard.

  "You didn't? I'm sorry. I was clearly given to understand you did. Another little bit of official channeling, no doubt. Anyway, as I see it, there's some sense in you being lent a hand. You've got your regular job to do and that must be pretty taxing on its own, without this atomic carry-on to see to. I'm not here to give anybody orders, by the way. Just assistance, any assistance in my power."

  "Thank you," said Leonard distantly. "I'll rejoin you in just a moment."

  The effect of the sherry had not taken long to wear off. Its departure had been assisted, he felt, by Ross-Donaldson's inexplicable rudeness and, far more, the arrival of this Jagger. It was typical of authority to leave one alone at difficult times and then, when one's luck changed at last, send in a total stranger, inadequately briefed, of undefined standing and probably likely to try to steal some of the credit. And without so much as prior notice…

  He left the others at the ante-room door and went yet again to the Command Post, where, after replacing the transceiver on its shelf, he was handed the transcript of a wireless message announcing Jaggers' arrival by helicopter at the exact moment when the machine could be heard taking off from the meadow. No further information was given. Leonard wasted a couple of minutes drafting a sarcastic reply, then gave it up, told the corporal to send an acknowledgment and returned to the ante-room as the Colonel was saying,

  "And that's all we've got."

  Jagger, sitting in the largest armchair with the reports and photo-graphs on his lap, nodded and sniffed.

  "What's known of the mental condition of this fellow Best?" he asked.

  Leonard hesitated. "Nothing for certain," he said.

  "Surmised, then."

  "Well, I think he's unbalanced."

  "In what way?"

  "He seems to me to suffer from delusions."

  "What sort of delusions?"

  "Well… he thinks I'm mad."

  At this, the Colonel frowned, Venables groaned, Ross-Donaldson started to speak and stopped. Only Jagger showed no reaction.

  He said, "Are you sure?"

  "Yes, pretty sure. One of his colleagues said he thought so. That he thought Best thought I was mad, I mean."

  "And what is it about you that makes him think you're mad?"

  "Because I think there are spies about."

  "About where?"

  "Just about. In general. He seemed to think that anybody who thinks that there really are such things as spies must be mad."

  "Persecution fantasies. I see. Ah."

  A silver tray bearing a pint glass nearly full of not very pellucid beer had been brought to Jagger by a Mess waiter.

  "Sorry it's been so long, sir."

  "Better late than never."

  "We had to send up to the other-ranks' canteen for it, you see, sir. We don't get much call for draught beer in the Mess."

  "Well, my lad, I'm probably not going to be here very long, but while I am you're going to get a rare lot of call for it, so you just get hold of the biggest jug you can lay hands on and get it filled and bring it back here and pour me another pint, because I'll be ready for one by the time you've done that, and then find a nice bit of tile or stone to stand the jug on. Okay?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Right, hop it… Mm. Not as bad as it looks, thank Christ. Now, Leonard. Just another point or two, old lad, if I may. You let Best know you were after spies, eh?"

  "Well, yes."

  "Quite right, those were your instructions. Tell me, what did you make of it when this colleague fellow said he agreed with you in thinking Best thought you were mad?"

  "It increased my suspicions."

  "Your suspicions that he was an enemy agent. Yes. Why?"

  "Because it's an obvious defensive technique. If Best could talk another psycho doctor into signing a paper the two of them could have me put away, couldn't they?"

  "He'd have his work cut out doing that, I reckon."

  "Not necessarily." Leonard poured himself another glass of sherry. "This fellow Dr. Minshull I met when I lunched there seemed at least as cracked as Best himself."

  "And at the same time he tipped you off that Best thought you were cracked. This is getting-"

  "No, that was another man. Name of Mann."

  "All right, I've got it now. Best cracked, Minshull cracked, Mann possibly sane. Back to Best just for a moment. This business of him thinking you're cracked and what we make of it. It suggests he's cracked himself, because presumably he has no reason to believe you are cracked. But it also suggests he's an agent, in which case he's only pretending to think you're cracked as a means of getting you out of the way, in which case he's not cracked, he's no worse than cunning. You see the difficulty?"

  "I think it's more apparent than real."

  "You do," said Jagger flatly, and drained his glass. "I wonder if that lad's back from the canteen yet. Would you be kind enough to give that bell a press, Captain?"

  Ross-Donaldson, who had been following the duologue with close attention, did as he was asked.

  "Thank you… Now, where were we? Oh yes. Best cracked and Best just dead cunning. You were saying it didn't make much odds which way on it was."

  "Not that exactly. I meant that both could be true. He could genuinely think I was mad and still be trying to protect himself by getting me certified."

  "Mm. I'll have to let that one soak in for a while."

  The door opened and Hunter came in.

  "Ah, here's somebody who can tell you a good deal about Best, and from personal contact too," said Leonard urgently.
He had been made more and more uncomfortable by the forensic manner of Jag-ger's questioning, and until this moment had seen no way of diversion.

  Introductions were made and Jagger's role described.

  "To save Brian embarrassment," said Hunter, "let me explain that I got to know Dr. Best during the ten days I spent as an inmate of the alcoholics' ward at his hospital. Which reminds me to get myself a drink without delay. Sergeants and people kept me in my office arguing, or I'd have been here much sooner."

  "A good man, that," said Leonard. "I've found him very helpful."

  "He looks in bloody awful shape."

  "Most of us have been up since four-thirty or five. He's been on his feet for God knows how long supervising the search of the camp."

  "No picnic, I agree. Look, Leonard, this place'll be filling up soon, I take it, when the fellows finish their lectures, and it's all a bit grand for me anyhow. Is there a quiet pub round here where we can have a pint and a sandwich and a real chat?"

  "The White Hart in the village does quite decent snacks. Shall we ask Max Hunter along? He can tell you about Best, and I need him for my plan for pulling Best in. I still haven't had my authority for that, by the way, but as soon as-"

  "Don't you worry, I've brought that with me." Jagger patted his breast pocket. "It's conditional on the rifle being found in his possession."

  "Of course, I wouldn't move until that happens."

  "That's the way to talk. Well yes, by all means get Hunter to come, then. We'll have to watch our tongues, though, won't we? Ah, you were right about him being a good lad. He's bringing my pint over."

  Half an hour later the three were at the counter of the saloon bar in the White Hart. Anne, the round-faced barmaid, was on duty.

  "Isn't it shocking about poor Mrs. Casement?" she asked Hunter.

  "Yes, terrible. I'll have one of those ham sandwiches, please."