‘For instance,’ Howard went on, ‘there was a time when I heard Chinese operators on the Peking to Turkestan run. Very peculiar morse they sent. Most had no idea of the rhythm, and it was hard at times to make sense of. Then Laura read me from the newspaper that when a Chinese airliner was hijacked the wireless operator killed the terrorist with an axe!’
Richard laughed with him, saw the smile lift his cheeks, an extension of the lips, the sound unnerving, like a hand scraping on cardboard. ‘Served the bugger right. Hijackers will become the unacknowledged legislators of the world if we’re not careful.’
‘It’s wonderful that the sparks did it,’ Howard said. ‘It must have made his day, after being bored so long at his key. I wish I’d been tuned in at the same time, when he sent his SOS. I’m always on the line for learning something new about the human soul. A peculiar wish, you might say, because I don’t suppose I’ll ever be able to, at least until I’ve learned all there is to know about my own – assuming that’s possible, which of course I have to doubt. I’m not even sure I would want to know myself completely, though the wish is always there.’
Richard sat again, resisted taking up the spoon in case he tapped out something incriminating. ‘I don’t imagine it would do much good to either of us.’
‘It might make me a different person, and that couldn’t be bad, under the circumstances. The thing is, that all the time I listen at the wireless I feel myself changing, but so subtly I don’t really notice at the time. That’s what keeps me going. Though it can be disturbing it’s also like a balm, twenty years measurable only in micro units. I tune in on the wavelengths we used in the Air Force, hoping to hear something vital, but there’s nothing there anymore, just silence, or atmospheric mush.’ He was quiet for a moment, and for Richard to fill it would seem too brusque an interruption. Then he decided: ‘Let’s have a whisky. We can take our glasses to the wireless room.’
The cat followed them. Howard switched on to the French merchant marine station, a call sign endlessly repeating. ‘Such a noise would send most people mad, if they were forced to listen.’
‘Me as well,’ Richard said. ‘Maybe they used that sort of thing in Northern Ireland, to get people to talk. A chap went mad from hearing it when I was at radio college. It can be a good weapon. For instance I was in a hotel room once, and a party was going on next door. It was after midnight, and I couldn’t get to sleep. Luckily I had a portable shortwave radio I was taking with me to join a yacht, so I plugged it in and held the speaker against the wall. It only needed two minutes, with the loudest possible morse belting away. Cut their jollity dead. Didn’t hear a murmur after that, though I did get a few funny looks at breakfast.’
The room was neat, custom built for the purpose, a narrow table from wall to wall, and a small window for taking the aerial outside. The wall was covered by a coloured Mercator map of the world, and a plotting chart of Western Europe similar to his own. Maybe Howard liked to feel the paper.
He was put in the spare chair while Howard fiddled with the controls of an old RAF Marconi, to the left of his typewriter and the modern equipment. A morse key was screwed into the table and wired to an oscillator. Richard imagined him being helped into his flying jacket, hitching on a parachute, and sitting hunched at his wireless as in the old days, re-living the trip of his final devastation over Germany. He might also wear a suit and beret, and play a resistant pianiste in occupied France, keeping a loaded and cocked revolver by his sending hand should the Germans break in, aiming to kill them but reserving the final bullet for himself. Such people were taken alive if possible, tortured to make them spill codes and contacts before being killed. ‘Been hearing anything interesting?’
The magic eye of his twenty-quid junk-shop radio was a button of green flame created out of electrons and neutrons, which produced a small circle of living light held to a constant glow, not an identity button for the blackout but one for the overcoat of a wandering wizard – fixed into the left side of the wireless. If the magic eye dimmed out the circuit would go dead, the world stop, all movable animal and geological life be sucked into space. Every morning Howard put his finger close to make sure it was at his bidding, and thanked the Deity – whoever or whatever that might be – for keeping him healthy and well provided for, except that he couldn’t see the green glow in the same way as everyone else, didn’t need to, because there was a greener eye inside him, an eye that could penetrate everything, which he now turned on Richard.
‘A fair amount. It’s hard not to, if you’re persistent. I’m at it all my spare time.’ The first rule in the procedure book at radio school was: ‘Intelligent cooperation between operators,’ but to share what he heard would be like leaving a hole in his body never to be closed. All he heard was his alone. To betray Judy and her friend, or the German Numbers Woman, or Vanya in Moscow, or the Flying Dutchman, or any other character culled from the network and allowed to grow and become real in his mind, wasn’t part of his wish. At the moment they were beholden to him for their secret existence. On the other hand, perhaps Richard already had them in his books, and to mention them would make no difference either to their fate or his. But he was taking no chances.
Richard sensed his reluctance. You only got what you gave, nothing more and nothing less. ‘I still have the speed to take everything, even the Italian news at twenty eight words a minute. It’s amazing how it stays with you. The Italian weather comes in pretty fast as well. It’s good practice, and keeps the brain sharp. That’s the reason I do it.’ He wondered at the red pins scattered across the Russia of Mercator’s World, deciding Laura must have put them in, places Howard had heard calling on the radio perhaps, though none were on known towns. A pile of sheets were stacked behind the typewriter, and he tried to see what was on them. ‘Is that how you keep your log?’
‘I do.’ Howard shuffled them, put them aside. ‘Though there’s no method in it, unless I get my sight back and one day want to remind myself how things were. A tape recorder’s better, which I use for voice mainly.’ He turned the needle from where it might alight on Judy calling her lover.
Richard, leaning against the chest of drawers, noted a plastic globe of the world, surface slightly raised for coastlines and mountains, which made it easier for Howard to read. ‘I like to hear ship-to-shore telephone conversations, though they’re mostly Russian or Italian. Trawler skippers come up as well. Can’t say I record much of that, or type it up.’
‘I’d like to be able to.’ Howard lit his pipe, more apposite for the wireless room, blowing smoke upwards, head tilted as if to look at its changing shape. ‘That’s one thing I miss – seeing my handwriting. I could read a lot more from how that changes than from what it’s actually recording. Did you bring your key?’
Richard reached for his plastic bag. ‘And the oscillator. I’ll send something if you like.’
‘It’ll be music to my ears.’
One at each end of the table, but as if separated by five hundred miles, Howard locked the fingers of one hand into the other, cracking his knuckles into a state of flexibility. Very professional, Richard smiled.
‘You go first,’ Howard said.
‘What shall I be? Ship, plane or land station?’
‘Try land station, and I’ll be a plane, unless I change into something different halfway through.’ His taugh was like that of an infant embarking on mischief. ‘This will give meaning to life, but it’ll be interesting to hear morse from a person I know. You can use the call sign RIC and I’ll be HOWAR. How’s that?’
Start with something short, Richard decided, smoothing thumb and forefinger together, surfaces as if dried with chalk dust. ‘Where are you?’ he tapped.
The signals came back with exquisite tone and well practised rhythm. ‘Over the Ural mountains,’ Howard played, ‘heading west. You’ll hear me louder soon. And where might you be?’
Howard must fiddle with the key at a set time every day to send so perfectly, a man of habit and timetable. ‘
On a Greek island, listening out for the sinners of the world. What are you doing?’
‘I’m the radio officer on the Flying Dutchman of Eternal Airlines, going round and round the turbulent earth. It’s dark up here, all the time. Sometimes the ailerons or an elevator get struck by lightning, and we spiral down, livid with fear, but before we hit the deck God makes everything right and pulls us back to thirty thousand feet. He needs us alive, though I often wonder why. I’d like us to find a neat runway and come into a perfect landing along the flarepath, but God won’t let us.’
The gaps between the contacts of Richard’s key were wide enough for the clicks to be heard, as well as the oscillations, and his sending at the moment was less perfect than Howard’s. He tightened the screw to avoid occasional repetitions. ‘Yes, God is a hard man. Do you want me to have a word with him?’
‘Wouldn’t do any good. His wirelesses are turned off for people like us.’ He gave the wireless operator’s laugh. ‘The Lord ain’t got no radio gen. But tell me about yourself. Keep me busy.’
Richard took a piece of paper from his pocket. ‘Irrelevant and inconsequential chat between operators is expressly forbidden but, frankly, I don’t give a toss. Of course, somebody’s always listening, though only you and me, in this case. So let’s carry on. You have my permission, if I have yours.’
‘Granted. Trouble is, there’s always a third person taking everything in,’ Howard responded, ‘and we know who that is, don’t we?’
‘That old grandad God. Let him listen. We can’t say anything that would surprise Him.’
‘Maybe not.’ Howard laughed at the cat going out because it could take no more. ‘He’s a lot older than we are.’
‘I know, but it’s saying it that’s the point, and you can bet everything’s written in the Good Lord’s logbook, to be held against us whenever He thinks fit.’
Richard paused, at Howard’s intention to give away no secrets – which is why I am here. Hand over the key, he had to break out of such crap talk. ‘There’s not much to say about myself.’ This was untrue, but the speedy response startled him:
‘We don’t listen to morse on the wireless for hour after hour for pleasure. There must be more to it than that.’
Richard’s hand trembled, missing a beat and needing to repeat a word. His wrist ached, and he wanted to pack it in, but they had just started. It might be impossible for anything but honesty, not the sort of situation he liked. He looked at the other side of the paper. ‘I’ll send you the latest weather from my Greek island.’
‘If you like,’ Howard rapped, face towards him.
‘Here goes, then. Rain later Karpathio east south-east. Five. Moderate. Rain later east Karpathio east to south-east. Five. Moderate. Rain later. South-west Aegean north north-east, six. Moderate. Rain south-east Aegean Ikario north to north-east. Six. Moderate. Rain later. Saronikos north-east. Five in the south.’
Howard scratched his nose, and sped back with: ‘Too much rain. Rough sea, as well. You must be cut off. What do you think about when alone in your little concrete blockhouse?’
More a demand than a request, so Richard could only send a list Howard would believe in. ‘My wife, my work, my past, and my future.’
‘Anything else?’
I should be questioning him, but he’s blind so there’s little to ask. It’s all up to me, and he knows it. ‘What I’m going to have for supper when I get home. Whether I’ve got enough cigarettes to last to the morning.’
Howard pondered the list. ‘What you do to earn a living would be more interesting to hear about.’
Rain splattered the aerial window, a draught from the gap cooling Richard’s cheek. It bloody well wouldn’t, though it was difficult to think between messages tapped out in morse. The immediate response was all you could handle. You had to be quick and seemingly instinctive, so it was apt to come from a deeper place than intended. With so little time to decide you sent whatever sprang into your mind. Trying to formulate a considered statement would not only delay too long – with the risk of not being believed – but the mechanical expertise needed to work the key went awry and could betray you in any case. This sudden realisation hardly gave him time to wonder, let alone regret, how he had got into the situation. He felt as if in a confessional or on a psychiatrist’s couch, giving in to relaxation and a false sense of trust, induced to speak whatever came. He must be careful. ‘It’s quite simple. I hire myself out as a crew member on yachts, which have to be taken from A to B, by a rich owner who can’t be bothered to do it himself.’
Because of Richard’s hesitant rhythms at the key Howard knew that something was being held back, perhaps nothing important, yet maybe a text which Richard would feel better having brought into the open, and Howard knew that his duty was to give him the peace of mind all men should have. On the other hand he saw little use badgering him into revealing his trouble, if trouble there was, because that would only confuse or harden him. Kinder to come out with something personal of your own by way of encouragement:
‘I sometimes dream I can’t open my eyes, that I’ve lost or broken my glasses – which I never wore, however – that my lids have congealed together, but I know I’m in a dream and that everything will be all right when I wake up. But when I do it isn’t, which is the closest I get to nightmare. Luckily the dream has come only a few times in my life. I remember it blighting me as a child of eight or so, which may have been a sign as to what would happen later. What puzzles me is why I still have the dream as an adult, because what can it indicate for the future?’
Sending was more relaxed when a visible person was receiving your messages, but after his long paragraph Howard’s fingers began to falter. Richard assumed it was the content which disturbed, and doubted he could respond at the same intimate level, didn’t want to at all, though felt himself tangled in a net he couldn’t fight free of:
‘I received a distress call today concerning a yacht that was sinking. I tried to contact it but failed. Think it was sunk deliberately. Sea was calm at the time. Men were arrested on the beach.’
He was surprised at the speed with which Howard demanded: ‘Was there a woman on board?’
‘Not specifically mentioned.’
‘Are you sure?’
Not having received such a signal made it easy to calm him: ‘I’m certain they were all men.’
A tremble in Howard’s hand, and a minor error in sending, suggested to Richard that he had caught him on a disturbing point and, more important, that Howard had heard something on the radio he didn’t want to share.
Indulging in such secret yet musical talk, Howard felt more sure of himself. He was captivated by being in control of a rare experience. Darkness fell away in the light of enthusiasm. Thoughts were exchanged with Richard in spite of himself, which was how it should be, for it was futile to be afraid of revealing what gems of intelligence he had picked up. Something may well have happened to Judy’s yacht to shatter his inner confidence and peace. Perhaps her boat was employed in projects which were against the law. The rest of the crew knew it but she did not, though if they were caught there was a risk of her getting ten years in jail as well.
His mood changed by the moment, and in spite of a touch of exhaustion he sent to Richard: ‘As the Flying Dutchman goes around in circles without hope, I hear Russian transport planes crossing and recrossing Europe and Asia. Some appear to be going to Kazakhstan, Turkmenistan, Uzbekistan, Tajikstan, and maybe even Kyrgyzstan …’
Richard broke in excitedly: ‘All the Stanleys, in fact. And what do you suppose they were carrying?’
‘It could be anybody’s guess, but I get their positions, routes, speeds, and heights from a direction finding station and a command traffic network. Sometimes a plane goes to India, or Nepal, or even beyond.’
Now he was talking, so we’ll give him a bit of encouragement: ‘To Poppyland, do you suppose?’
‘Drugs, you mean? Why not? I sometimes think so.’ But let’s get off that su
bject, though not too obviously. ‘I also play “Spot the Bomber” now and again.’ He couldn’t help himself: ‘Even they may be on the drugs run. It’s every man for himself over there.’
Which explained the rash of pins on his map. He’s got more up his sleeve than he’s letting on, so it’s time to give a little encouragement. ‘Myself, I keep watch for smugglers of cocaine coming from Colombia to Europe. In my time I’ve learned they bring matter concealed in false bottomed suitcases. In fact a party of six is expected soon. Information from the informer is unidentified, though I assume Intercop will be waiting, unless the intrepid six are warned beforehand.’
Howard laughed at the way things were going. If he and Richard put their materials together they would have an even more exciting game than Monopoly or Cluedo. Richard wanted him to think so. Imagination was a wonderful thing, could be put to many uses. ‘The time is right for searching the aether assiduously for arcane morsels of morse,’ he went on, ‘and we can post the transcripts to each other, or collect them as and when we meet. Life is too short not to need the benefits of collaboration in our rare pastime. It would double the results of our efforts, a two-man GCHQ no less.’
‘We’d have been great assets to that establishment,’ Howard beat out. ‘I’d have been happy working there.’
‘Me too,’ Richard flashed. ‘One of us would have been in charge by now. But to stay on the subject of our future correspondence. We can even suggest to each other the frequencies that ought to be watched. These might include voice transmissions as well as telegraphy. We might listen in to trawlers, for instance. You never know what you might get from them. I see you’ve got VHF. You could pick up cross-Channel small boat traffic, or even the coastguards and their choppers.’
The German Numbers Woman Page 11
