November Man

by Brian Freemantle

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Good morning, Mr Hollis,’ said Altmann. He was still emphasizing the ‘Mister’, realized the millionaire.

  ‘What do you want?’ Hollis tried to heighten the rudeness and instead sounded artificial, he thought.

  ‘To meet,’ answered the Austrian, gently, utilizing the man’s attitude. ‘I said last night I wanted to see you today.’

  ‘For God’s sake,’ erupted Hollis, aware of the attention of everyone in the room behind him. ‘What on earth gives you …’

  ‘Do be honest, Mr Hollis,’ interrupted Altmann. ‘If you want to mouth words, then go ahead. But whatever you do, don’t believe yourself …’

  ‘I will not …’

  ‘… Of course you will, Mr Hollis,’ cut off Altmann again. ‘If you hadn’t already made up your mind to see me today, you wouldn’t have taken this call.’

  The numbness he’d felt the previous night suffused Hollis’s body again.

  ‘I want to see you in an hour,’ said Altmann, like a trainer knowing the animal will stop running if he ceases shouting.

  ‘I have no intention …’ tried Hollis, detecting the desperation in his own voice, but once more the sentence was taken from him.

  ‘… An hour, Mr Hollis,’ said Altmann, and replaced the receiver.

  Hollis threw the instrument down and turned back into the room. The five men stared at him, their faces fixed. Half-formed sentences swirled through Hollis’s mind, like flurrying leaves, but nothing formed itself coherently. He went back to the chair, knowing he had to give an explanation. The solution came suddenly, washing into his mind.

  ‘Bloody embassy,’ he said, improvising as he spoke. He turned to Ellidge, the explanation hardening in his mind. Critically he went on, ‘I don’t know why the hell you couldn’t have given sufficient information last night.’

  Ellidge frowned, recognizing the lie. The secretary who had taken the call looked puzzled, too, convinced the caller had had a foreign accent. And there would have been no reason why the embassy should not have identified themselves.

  ‘Make an appointment with Burke for this afternoon,’ continued Hollis, addressing Ellidge. ‘Two o’clock.’

  ‘But …’

  ‘… I know that upsets the schedule, but I can still be in Paris with more than enough time. Just do as I ask.’

  The people in the room stirred uneasily, unused to hearing Hollis address people with such discourtesy.

  It had been a stupid explanation, decided the millionaire: the briefest consideration showed it to be false. He looked at Ellidge. The man would have guessed, he knew. There was nothing he could do: he was committed to the falsehood.

  ‘What if Burke is engaged?’ asked Ellidge, tempting opposition.

  ‘Then he can become disengaged,’ retorted Hollis imperiously. He’d bring the whole ridiculous episode to an end, he determined. End it. And put the fear of Christ throughout a lax embassy for involving him in such embarrassment.

  Ellidge was staring at him.

  ‘Well?’ demanded Hollis.

  The personal assistant moved at last, annoyed at such treatment in front of so many people. It was quite alien to the man’s usual behaviour.

  Hollis waved his hands irritably at the rest of the group, moving the meeting on, interrupting every discussion with a snapped decision. It didn’t matter if the conclusions were wrong, Hollis rationalized. Everything would come to him for ultimate approval and could be altered on final examination.

  Ellidge returned and sat quietly until the talks finished. Hollis looked at his watch. Thirty minutes before Altmann arrived, he saw.

  ‘Burke agreed,’ reported the personal secretary tightly. ‘He’ll see us at 2 p.m.’

  ‘Me,’ corrected Hollis.

  ‘What?’ demanded Ellidge, further offended.

  ‘Just me,’ developed Hollis. It was time to recover, he thought. It was dangerous to have antipathy from people so high in the organization.

  ‘There’s no point in your coming,’ he said to Ellidge gently. ‘There’s a lot to be done from this morning’s discussion. I can finish the embassy thing within minutes. It would be senseless wasting the time of both of us.’

  Was Hollis unwell, wondered Ellidge. There had to be some explanation for his attitude. Hollis never attended meetings alone; it was an unbreakable rule to have another person with him, to act as a witness.

  Fifteen minutes, Hollis saw.

  ‘I’ve things to do,’ he announced abruptly.

  He saw the doubt deepen on Ellidge’s face.

  ‘Personal things,’ he added, rising to prompt their departure. ‘We’ll lunch promptly at one.’

  The group left the room in disorganized muddle, like an array squad given an order they knew to be pointless.

  Hollis stood quite still in the empty room, arms held tightly by his side. Altmann was harassing him, he reasoned, like a conjuror dealing cards so quickly it was impossible to detect the delusion. He began analysing what had happened. He’d made a mistake, he accepted immediately. But it was not a serious one. There was still time to back away, without danger. He’d just keep his head, refusing to panic. That was the answer: refuse to panic. That’s how he’d avoided problems with the army minister, by keeping his head.

  The tap at the door was light, hesitant almost. Altmann smiled at the millionaire when he opened the door but said nothing, walking past him into the room. Hollis remained standing immediately inside the door, determined to conduct the meeting on his own terms.

  ‘You’re too confident, Mr Altmann,’ he said.

  The Austrian turned, doubt parading in his mind. There had been a time, reflected Altmann, when he’d almost enjoyed pitting himself against people supposedly superior to himself and trapping them. But not any more. Now he felt disgusted with himself, as he had at the camp, nursing his cowardice while Hannah had been humiliated.

  ‘Am I, Mr Hollis?’ he parried, concealing his apprehension.

  ‘Last night you had the impudence to approach me at the British embassy in such a way that there could be no doubt about your purpose.’

  He had been too confident, Altmann realized suddenly. Hollis was going to refuse. What would Melkovsky and Turgonev do? It would mean the withdrawal of the unseen guards, he thought, the worry jumping through him.

  The words were wrong, decided Hollis, facing the other man. It was as if he were reading a statement prepared by someone else: all outrage was missing. He stumbled, confused.

  ‘… I am one of the most important people in international business …’ Hollis pressed on. ‘The income from my companies last year exceeded the gross national product of Norway, Sweden and Denmark …’

  ‘I’ve heard the same claim made about General Electric of America,’ punctured Altmann. ‘Doesn’t say much for Scandinavia, does it?’

  ‘Is it conceivable that I would agree to co-operate in anything you might propose?’ rebutted Hollis.

  Altmann hesitated. Perhaps it was the moment to mollify. He was very frightened of failure. His life hinged on these negotiations, he thought.

  ‘Wouldn’t that depend on the request?’

  Hollis stared at him, refusing the question.

  ‘I’m not for a moment’, continued Altmann, ‘suggesting that you should do anything illegal. Even in countries where conditions are more sensitive than in England.’

  The Austrian stopped, hoping for the bait to be taken.

  ‘I don’t understand,’ complained Hollis.

  A chance, decided Altmann. The man hadn’t determined rejection yet.

  ‘During your visits to Eastern Europe,’ continued the Austrian, urgently, ‘you meet dozens of people. You engage in days, sometimes weeks, of concentrated discussion and bargaining.’

  Hollis was nodding, as if agreeing with Altmann’s impression of his work-life.

  ‘A great deal of what you learn contributes nothing to your business … it’s like pamphlets collected at exhibitions, usele
ss material that clutters a briefcase or a desk until it’s finally discarded.’

  Hollis came farther into the room and settled on the edge of a facing chair.

  Sweat puddled around the waistband of Altmann’s trousers and he felt that increasing tightness in his chest. It made talking difficult.

  ‘An isolated fact or apparently irrelevant remark, quite freely volunteered, can often greatly assist in formulating policy towards certain governments, linked with other apparently disjointed information,’ said Altmann. His sentences were becoming as convoluted as the other man’s, he thought critically. If only his chest didn’t feel so constricted. Perhaps he should make a positive effort to reduce his cigarette-smoking.

  ‘So after every visit to Eastern Europe, I present myself at the Foreign Office and put in my report, like a schoolboy after a term’s prize?’ sneered Hollis.

  Altmann smiled. It was interesting that he had remembered the inducement held out from the previous night’s conversation.

  ‘Of course not …,’ he said. ‘I …’

  ‘… Of course not,’ snatched Hollis, standing suddenly. ‘You’re a fool, Mr Altmann. An arrogant fool. Obviously this approach was not planned by you but by some superior, and I intend discovering who it was. And if I can get the man dismissed, then I’ll do so. Now get out.’

  Altmann stared up. The millionaire stood with his hands lightly on the back of the chair, his body tensed, almost as if he expected some physical reaction from the smaller man.

  ‘Good morning, Mr Hollis,’ said Altmann, formally.

  The bloody man had accented ‘Mister’ again, Hollis realized, as the door closed.

  In the corridor outside, Altmann shuddered, leaning against the wall for support, engulfed by a feeling very like that he had experienced just after the Mercedes had missed him.

  Hollis left the lunch half-finished, determined not to be late at the embassy. His anger had intensified after Altmann’s departure, erupting continuously throughout the meal and finally silencing everyone at the table.

  He walked unnaturally fast into Burke’s office, face tight, his body rigid. Burke stopped, half out of his chair, an uncertain look drowning the smile of greeting.

  ‘… Delighted to see you …,’ the diplomat managed, trailing the sentence.

  ‘I want to register a protest,’ started Hollis, formally. ‘I’m doing it here, showing this embassy more courtesy than it has so far extended to me, and I intend repeating it to the Foreign Office immediately I get back to London.’

  Burke’s bewilderment deepened. He stood completely, moving around the desk.

  ‘I don’t understand,’ he protested.

  ‘Altmann,’ said Hollis shortly.

  For a moment, Burke’s puzzlement remained, then his face opened.

  ‘Oh yes,’ he remembered. ‘Altmann.’

  He stopped, looking curious. ‘What happened?’

  ‘That scruffy little spy introduced at this embassy has had the audacity to approach me to become an informant.’

  Burke’s eyebrows went up into his forehead, an artificial pose. He sniggered, then halted the laugh.’

  ‘I think it’s laughable too,’ said Hollis huffily, disturbed by Burke’s reaction. ‘I also think it’s outrageous to have been placed in such a position by this embassy.’

  ‘Please,’ said Burke gently, indicating a chair. ‘Please sit down.’

  Hollis hesitated, then took the seat. Burke returned to the other side of the desk, but avoided looking at him. Instead he played with a paper knife, gouging tiny ditches in his white blotter.

  ‘If you’re offended,’ he began, choosing the phrases carefully, ‘then I’m deeply sorry. And I know Sir Geoffrey will share that regret …’

  He looked up from the damaged blotter.

  ‘… And I’d like to assure you personally I had nothing whatsoever to do with agreeing to Altmann’s attendance last night …’

  A frightened man, judged Hollis. Burke was alarmed at the repercussions that would come from Whitehall. He nodded jerkily, accepting the other man’s apology.

  Burke returned to the desk, jabbing at it.

  ‘Working here in West Berlin is unlike any other city,’ said the diplomat. ‘The place exists on intrigue and espionage … look at what happened in 1974. A man penetrated so far into the Brandt government that the Chancellor had to resign …’

  Hollis sighed noisily, and Burke looked up, the apologetic look fixed into place. Everything had slotted back into order, thought Hollis.

  ‘I can’t imagine,’ continued the diplomat soothingly, ‘that Altmann outlined anything too extreme.’

  Hollis frowned, tilted off-balance by Burke’s reaction.

  ‘He spoke generally about my learning things in the ordinary course of business that might have some application if analysed elsewhere,’ Hollis amplified.

  Burke sat back in his chair and spread his hands, indicating the millionaire had conceded an important point in an argument.

  ‘Hardly micro-dots, invisible ink and Berettas, is it?’ smiled the diplomat. There was just the faintest edge of sarcasm.

  Hollis shifted in his chair, recognizing a flicker of doubt. Surely he wasn’t over-reacting to something regarded as quite normal in a divided city? Was he going to become a dinner-table anecdote? ‘… And so out of touch with reality was he that he believed he was being recruited as a spy …!’

  ‘You don’t seem surprised,’ he challenged Burke.

  ‘Mr Hollis, I’d be astonished if the approach that has been made to you wasn’t made at some time or another to every business-man with dealings in a communist country.’

  ‘I’m not any business-man,’ rejected the millionaire.

  ‘True,’ agreed Burke. ‘Which is probably why it’s taken so long for it to happen.’

  Burke paused and when he continued it was in the voice of an adult assuring a child there was nothing to be afraid of in the dark.

  ‘I can understand how annoying it was for you,’ he accepted, gently. ‘But really, it’s not the least unusual for Berlin.’

  Hollis felt himself flush and brought a handkerchief to his face to cover it. The approach had been laughable, he realized. So he should have laughed at it, not jumped like a virgin feeling a hand on her thigh.

  He started to talk, wanting to purge his embarrassment.

  ‘Do you know,’ he said, taking the other man into his confidence, ‘he actually implied business-men who helped were given honours.’

  He shrugged his shoulders, to show the stupidity of it. Burke remained serious.

  ‘It could well be true,’ Burke agreed, like a man admitting the existence of a drunken ancestor. ‘During the years I’ve been here there have been four men who were frequent visitors behind the Curtain who’ve got knighthoods for contributions to British industry. And there are other men who’ve done much more who have been ignored.’

  Hollis sought to avoid the other man believing he was naïve.

  ‘Forgive me’, he said, ‘if I showed slight over-sensitivity. But I felt it right to report such an approach.’

  ‘Quite right,’ agreed Burke hastily. ‘You took the proper action. And again, I’m sorry you were offended.’

  Hollis rose, anxious now to get away from the embassy. Burke came from behind the desk, walking with him to the door.

  ‘On reflection,’ conceded Hollis, ‘I won’t take the protest further.’

  Burke smiled gratefully.

  ‘But you’ll see it’s passed on to the ambassador?’

  ‘Naturally,’ undertook the diplomat. ‘He will regret it as much as I do.’

  ‘Perhaps we’ll meet again,’ offered Hollis casually. ‘I expect to be back before the end of the month.’

  ‘I’m afraid not,’ said Burke. ‘I’m returning to London.’

  ‘Promotion?’ asked Hollis, near the door. Flattery might temper the man’s later account of their meeting. Burke pursed his lips modestly.

  �
��I hope so,’ he said. ‘It’s not clear yet.’

  At the exit, they shook hands.

  ‘And again,’ reassured Burke, in a final attempt to ease the man’s feelings, ‘thank you for acting so properly.’

  An hour after his meeting with Hollis, Burke strolled along the interlocking paths of the zoo, a bag of peanuts in his hand. He stopped before the chimpanzee enclosure and began throwing them into the cage, smiling as the animals fought and squabbled over the prizes. Then more nuts began to be thrown into the cage and the diplomat glanced sideways.

  ‘He’s very angry,’ reported Burke.

  ‘What did you do?’ asked Altmann, recognizing the mockery in the other man’s voice and smiling.

  ‘It was very easy,’ said Burke, turning back to the chimpanzees. ‘I think he left quite disappointed he’d had to wait so long for an approach.’

  ‘Do you think he’ll react as we want him to?’

  ‘Impossible to predict,’ said the Briton. He crumpled the empty bag and placed it carefully in the wastepaperbasket. ‘I think he might.’

  ‘I hope he does,’ said Altmann, sincerely.

  ‘Well, it’s really all down to you now,’ said Burke.

  That’s the worrying aspect, thought Altmann.

  Hannah was very tired, Altmann saw. Twice in the last fifteen minutes her eyes had closed completely, but when he had tried to ease his hand from hers, she had snatched at his fingers, jerking awake.

  But the new treatment seemed to be having some effect, he admitted. Her face seemed fuller and the redness round her eyes was fading. She gazed at him, concentrating upon his face, her once-beautiful eyes flicking from spot to spot as if she were committing every detail of his appearance to memory before he left on a long journey.

  ‘We’re quite alone, aren’t we, Hugo?’ she said, suddenly, appearing to pick up the sentence from a dream she had been having seconds before. ‘Just you and I.’

  He nodded, wondering what path her mind was taking. He had to stay alive, he thought. He couldn’t die, finally failing her as he had throughout his life.

  ‘We never had a normal … a normal life, did we?’

  He winced, recognizing the familiar regret. It had seared itself into her mind, Altmann knew. Hannah, the forced occupant of so many beds, blamed herself for never having occupied his properly as his wife. It was he, not his wife, who should feel guilt, he thought. He’d never proved himself a man to her. In any way.