‘My partner, Andrew Fells. An Inspector.’
Hollis turned from both, going back to Ellidge.
‘What the hell is happening?’ he asked. Admit nothing, he decided. Refuse any blandishments and get his own lawyers involved immediately. He’d deny everything, he decided. There was no documentary evidence: he’d always been very careful about that.
‘Not his fault, sir,’ said Anderson, fumbling into his pocket. ‘Used the full power of the department.’
He completed the sentence apologetically, as if he expected the millionaire to smile at it. Hollis didn’t. Anderson thrust a folding plastic wallet forward. Inside there was the man’s picture, accompanied by the guarantee that he represented the Special Branch.
‘Both of us,’ enlarged Anderson, nodding to Fells again. Didn’t the bloody man ever stop smiling, wondered Hollis.
Fells produced an identical wallet. but didn’t move forward. Fells was a bespectacled, clerk-like man, who wore a suit with a waistcoat and had a row of coloured pens in the top pocket of his jacket, like tiny traffic lights. In June, thought Hollis, he would probably carry an umbrella.
‘I want an explanation for breaking into my office,’ said the millionaire.
‘Not breaking in, sir,’ contradicted Anderson, cheerfully. ‘Not allowed to do that. Not often anyway. Mr Ellidge permitted our entry.’
‘But I didn’t,’ reminded Hollis. He looked past the two men again.
‘Get out,’ he said, to Ellidge. ‘Until I call you again.’
He saw Fells’s face twitch slightly at the rudeness.
‘I’m waiting,’ he said to the two men.
Anderson looked at the chair, expecting the invitation. Hollis said nothing. The man shrugged, grinning.
‘Suppose we should apologize, really, sir,’ he said. ‘We really are sorry to burst in like this. But you must admit it was an odd thing to happen.’
A rehearsed beginning, assumed Hollis, selected for its clumsiness to prompt response from the person being questioned. They were a perfectly chosen pair, judged the millionaire, the apparent extrovert more at home on a cricket field and the junior clerk who probably grew dahlias in his parents’ front garden, both appearing stumbling amateurs. Anderson waited, anticipating the reaction. Hollis remained silent, refusing to join in the charade.
‘The telephone-call, I mean,’ prompted Anderson.
Hollis turned, leaving them standing, going around to sit behind his imposing desk. Half-thoughts swirled through his mind, refusing to form.
Not the affair with the minister. What then? He began to perspire, very slightly, and hoped they wouldn’t notice. It had to be Burke. But why? He needed time to prepare his reactions. Still say nothing. He examined the two men standing before him. Professionals, he decided. Very much professionals. They’d detect the slightest mistake. He would have to be extraordinarily careful. He smiled up tightly, a busy man trying hard to retain his temper.
‘Uninvited,’ he began, ‘you force an entry into my office, frightening my staff with some questionable authority, and begin a stupid conversation …’
‘… I’m sorry …’, corrected Anderson. ‘… Hardly questionable authority …’
‘… Shut up,’ said Hollis. The patience of a completely innocent, very important man would have slipped at the interruption, Hollis reassured himself.
The superintendent stopped talking.
‘… I want an explanation, repeated the millionaire. ‘A proper explanation or by God I’ll complain to so many people that by tomorrow you two will be back helping children across busy roads.’
Fells’s face was burning with anger, Hollis saw, uncaring, but Anderson still looked completely unconcerned.
‘My fault, sir,’ said Anderson. ‘… Entirely my fault. You see, we’re engaged on a certain inquiry and this morning …’, he paused, looking theatrically at his watch, ‘… hardly more than an hour ago, actually, a telephone-call was made to the Foreign Office …’
He paused hopefully.
‘Yes?’ said Hollis encouragingly. Mention of how quickly they had come to the office was designed to unsettle him, he guessed.
‘From a number …’, there was the pretence of consulting a notebook, ‘… listed in the ex-directory exchange as being installed in this building … this office, in fact …’
They’d be most alert now, Hollis realized, attentive for the slightest error. This was the moment when a guilty man would attempt to lie.
The millionaire sighed, pained.
‘This morning, he said, waving his hand towards the private telephone, ‘I called Valentine Burke at the Foreign Office. He was not there. A person in his office promised he would return ray call this afternoon …’
‘Ah,’ said Anderson, like a child who had just witnessed a conjuring trick it didn’t understand.
‘Me,’ said Fells, suddenly.
God, they tried hard, decided Hollis.
‘What?’ he asked the second man, unflustered.
‘Me,’ repeated Fells. ‘You spoke to me. I promised the call would be returned.’
Hollis relaxed behind the desk, pleased with the way that he was guiding the meeting. Despite all the practice, they had failed to put him on the defensive; rather, they were in that position.
‘Can you tell us why you wanted to speak to Mr Burke, sir?’ asked the ever-smiling Anderson.
‘Not without an acceptable explanation, I can’t,’ refused Hollis. ‘I’m not in the habit of discussing my business affairs with strangers.’
The shell of arrogance protected a very frightened man. There could be only one reason for the Special Branch investigation of Valentine Burke. But if the man were a spy then he was not a spy for Britain. Which meant that Altmann wasn’t, either.
It had been Burke who had identified Altmann as such, Hollis remembered. Vouched for him, almost. And – for the first time ever – there had been no way he could make an independent check. A trap, he realized. A clever attempt to ensnare him to act against, rather than for, his country.
Despite the sweat, Hollis felt the coldness spread up from his stomach: he would need a lavatory soon, he thought.
‘Business, was it?’ took up Anderson. ‘That’s interesting.’
‘What has Burke done to warrant your investigation?’ asked Hollis. It was a badly phrased question, he thought, uttered without proper consideration. It could be turned against him.
‘I must assume that he is under investigation,’ he hurried on, defusing the sentence.
‘Oh yes,’ said Anderson, as if the lack of confirmation was an oversight on his part. Uninvited, he sat down, leaning forward urgently from the edge of the chair. The smile vanished, like a light being extinguished. A change of attitude, defined Hollis, calculated to frighten.
‘And now, sir,’ said Anderson, ‘I’d like you to tell me what business you had with Valentine Burke.’
The arrogance had been wrong, recriminated Hollis. It always was. He should have tried charming them, like he did everyone else. The attitude had antagonized them and made them more determined. But he’d had no alternative, he convinced himself. The delay had enabled him to avoid any difficulty with the men. And it had saved him, he realized, subduing the panic. All he had to do was tell the truth. Just tell the truth and he would be all right. His explanation could be checked and double-checked and shown to be completely honest. All he had to avoid was the real reason for wanting to contact Burke that morning. And as only he knew the purpose of the telephone-call, there was no way he could be uncovered as a liar.
He shrugged, smiling for the first time. ‘Perhaps business was the wrong word to use,’ he said.
Both men reacted slightly, believing it was the start of the confession.
‘I tried to contact Burke today to seek his advice,’ said the millionaire.
‘I’m surprised someone with an international reputation such as yours should have needed advice from a First Secretary at an embassy,’ flatt
ered Anderson, dangerously.
Hollis nodded, apparently accepting the compliment, glad of the opportunity to examine what he was going to say. Both men were studying him intently, he saw, alert for the mistake.
‘Some months ago,’ he expanded, slowing, ‘I attended the Leipzig Trade Fair …’
‘We know,’ said Fells.
Another attempt to unnerve him, guessed Hollis.
‘… I was very lucky,’ he took up, raising his voice slightly so his continued annoyance at being interrupted would show. ‘I managed to open negotiations for an important trade-deal with Czechoslovakia. And also began talks with East Germany about exporting an aircraft landing-device perfected by my electronic division …’
Both men were nodding, as if Hollis were confirming an account they had written down before them.
‘… The Department of Trade and Industry vetoed the sale of the aircraft equipment,’ he went on. ‘I couldn’t get from the D.T.I. a convincing explanation for the refusal.’ He paused, sighing. ‘Burke was attached to the Berlin embassy and knew of the discussions I had had there. The deal is an important one; it represents several million pounds, and I don’t want to lose it. So I decided to attempt to discover from Burke whether the export refusal was because the system was linked with the guidance-principle. As you may know, the guidance-system is being incorporated in some NATO aircraft. If that were the reason, then it would have been pointless to have repeated my request for an export licence. If it weren’t – and the two systems operate separately, so there’s no question of sensitive material being exported – then it could possibly have been a bureaucratic mistake that could have been reversed.’
Hollis ended sighing again, as if the account had been tedious to render. Foolproof, he told himself.
‘A very full explanation, sir,’ praised Anderson.
Had he spoken too much, wondered Hollis. He moved his tongue against his teeth, worried.
‘And a complete one,’ he said.
‘And it was just a coincidence that, after all these months, you made a call to Burke today?’ prodded Fells.
Hollis nodded.
‘Entirely coincidence,’ he confirmed.
‘Amazing how these things happen, isn’t it?’ grinned Anderson.
Exactly what did they know, wondered Hollis. Had Burke talked, lied even, in an effort to minimize any sentence? He had to know.
‘What’s Burke done?’ he asked.
Anderson shrugged, expansively. Fells smiled, a rare expression, as if the question confirmed something.
‘I wish we knew, completely,’ admitted the superintendent. ‘Committed communist, it would appear. Ever since his university days. Just like Philby, Burgess and Maclean. Doubt if we’ll ever know the full damage.’
Hollis swallowed, chin cupped in his hand to disguise the throat movement.
‘I’ve not seen anything in the newspapers,’ he tried.
‘Trying to contain it at the moment, sir,’ said Anderson. ‘Hopeful that as many contacts as possible will expose themselves and give us some indication of the network.’
‘And you thought I was part of it?’
The incredulity was perfectly judged, decided Hollis, Anderson smiled again, embarrassed.
‘Didn’t know what to think, sir. As I said at the beginning, it was an odd thing to happen.’
‘Even odder to imagine that I would be part of a grubby spy-network!’
The indignation was being well maintained, thought Hollis.
‘Burke’s father was a V.C., sir,’ said Fells. ‘After a while, nothing seems impossible to us.’
Hollis stirred impatiently.
‘Is there anything else I can help you with?’ he asked.
The men exchanged looks.
‘Apart from today, there has never been any contact between you?’ pressed Fells.
He would always be the one to ask the direct, unpleasant questions, Hollis knew. He snapped his mouth together, indicating his growing anger, then retorted, ‘Of course not, I’ve told you that.’
‘Yes, sir. So you have,’ agreed Anderson, placating. ‘But there has been no contact?’
Hollis shook his head, positively.
‘None,’ he insisted. ‘In fact, I wasn’t even sure he would still be in the Foreign Office. I had to inquire at the switchboard.’
‘Yes, sir,’ said Anderson. ‘We know you did.’
He rose, stepping forward with his hand outstretched again. Hollis hesitated, then took it.
‘Again, sir. My apologies. Impertinent of us. But it’s important.’
‘Of course,’ agreed Hollis. He paused. Time to be generous. ‘I’m sorry if I were rude …’, he allowed a smile, ‘… but it’s not every day I’m accused of espionage.’
He watched them leave the room, then stared down at his blotter. Dear God, he thought. Another disaster so dose. He shuddered convulsively. But worse even than last time, he decided. Had the telephone-call been made a week earlier, he would have been ensnared. Within a month, he would probably have been in the dock at the Old Bailey. It would have given Marion an unarguable case for the break she appeared to be making. And she would have had the children.
But he’d escaped, he congratulated himself, the euphoria inflating like a balloon. Safe. Utterly safe.
He paused, recalling the Leipzig and Prague negotiations. Altmann had appeared during both, he remembered. And he’d been at the West Berlin embassy reception, too. In fact, wherever he had been during the East European discussions so had the inconspicuous little man with the smoker’s cough. Had he avoided disaster, he wondered, straining for the recollection.
The balloon popped and the confidence leaked away from him.
It was different this time, realized Melkovsky, sitting before the full Praesidium. A few months ago he had appeared the consummate international statesman; today it was almost like being a prisoner called upon for a mitigating plea prior to sentence.
‘… And despite all your assurances that a foolproof method had been evolved to prevent any embarrassment, the Soviet Union is being forced to make increasing concessions,’ concluded the First Secretary, Doborin, accusingly.
Melkovsky breathed deeply, preparing himself.
‘Nothing has happened to affect the assurance I originally gave this committee,’ he insisted. ‘I promised then and I repeat that promise that there has been arranged a situation which will lead to the necessary breakdown of the détente with America. …’
He saw Doborin start to speak, but quickly moved to anticipate him.
‘… Necessary breakdown,’ he emphasized, ‘but not irretrievable.’
‘It should have been put into operation before now,’ said the First Secretary, annoyed at being robbed of a point by the Foreign Minister. ‘It was you, after all, who conceded the advanced timetable with the Americans.’
‘I know,’ accepted Melkovsky, trying to keep the regret from his voice.
Doborin looked around the table, inviting comment. No one spoke. He came back to Melkovsky.
‘We want action,’ he insisted, ‘and we want it soon. We are now pledged by international agreement to have Americans stumbling over our missile sites …’
He stopped, letting the stupidity of the idea register.
‘Do we have your absolute guarantee?’ he concluded.
‘Yes,’ responded the Foreign Minister desperately. ‘My absolute guarantee.’
‘Failure’, warned Doborin, looking intently across the conference table at the other man, ‘would undoubtedly be construed as a neglect of your responsibility towards the Soviet Union.’
They’re already formulating the charges, Melkovsky realized.
‘Well?’ demanded Anderson. ‘What do you think?’
Both men sat in their shirt-sleeves in the Whitehall office that had formerly been occupied by Burke. Outside, London was damply grey and windswept under rolling October clouds. Anderson stooped, putting a coin in the gas fire.
; ‘Christ, this place is gloomy,’ he said.
Fells shrugged, non-committal to the question.
‘He’s arrogant,’ he assessed.
‘And every right to be,’ cautioned Anderson, staring out of the window at the reflection of the street lights bouncing back from the puddles. Think of what he’s achieved, for God’s sake.’
Anderson had been impressed by the aura of power and wealth, realized Fells.
‘Couldn’t lose the feeling that the outrage was a bit forced,’ said the clerk-like man. ‘And he was nervous. No doubt about that He was sweating towards the end.’
‘Hardly surprising, is it?’ defended Anderson. ‘Confronted in your own office by the Special Branch who want to know if you’re a spy.’
‘Thought the Abbott and Costello approach was wrong this time, incidentally,’ sidestepped Fells. ‘Didn’t confuse him a bit.’
‘Can’t win them all,’ cliché’d Anderson. ‘But that’s not the point. Do we believe him?’
‘Every single point we made checks out one hundred per cent, both here and in Berlin,’ accepted Fells reluctantly.
Anderson nodded, sifting the messages before him like a fortune-teller selecting Tarot cards. He looked up at his companion.
‘There’s not the slightest inconsistency,’ he agreed. ‘He’s got to be clean …’
He paused realistically. ‘And let’s face it, we’d need evidence in triplicate to move against someone like Hollis.’
‘Pity really,’ said Fells. ‘I’d have liked to have charged him.’
‘Careful,’ warned Anderson. ‘You’re not supposed to let personal feelings intrude.’
‘Wouldn’t you?’ demanded Fells.
‘Loved it,’ agreed Anderson. ‘Absolutely loved it.’
Turgonev faced the minister apprehensively, knowing it was going to be a difficult meeting.
‘An approach to the United States embassy in Vienna?’ echoed Melkovsky. His voice was very soft, almost difficult to hear.
The colonel nodded, swallowing.
‘So all along, I was right.’
‘It would seem so.’
Melkovsky waited, as if expecting Turgonev to carry on and make an apology.
‘There was no proof, before,’ tried the K.G.B. officer.
November Man Page 16
