November Man

by Brian Freemantle

‘What is it?’ asked Turgonev.

  ‘Hollis is coming back,’ reporter the minister. ‘On a pointless visit. He arrives in East Berlin tomorrow.’

  The spymaster sat down again.

  ‘What the hell can that mean?’

  ‘I haven’t the slightest idea,’ said Melkovsky. ‘But until we find out, we can’t kill Hugo.’

  ‘We’ll know within a week,’ pointed out the colonel.

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Melkovsky. ‘We’ll kill him then. The delay doesn’t really matter.’

  (15)

  Hollis felt the euphoria bubble within him. He wanted to laugh aloud, he was so happy. The impression the outburst would cause on the packed Ilyushin amused him and he sniggered. He felt Ellidge turn to him and he smiled meaninglessly.

  The assistant nodded from the adjoining seat, unsure what reaction the unpredictable man expected. Hollis had stifled a laugh, only just controlling it, he thought unhappily.

  There was no danger, Hollis decided, looking away from Ellidge and locking the safety-belt as the plane approached Prague. It had been a bad mistake, shouting at Ellidge, he decided. Treating his employees courteously had always been the cornerstone of his operations. He’d have to apologize, somehow. He’d behaved like a child making pictures from the embers of a fire, creating a disaster scene where none existed. And his fears of involvement were groundless, he decided. He’d met a man who had been a spy. So what? Hundreds of businessmen would have had the same experience. So why should he be any different? No reason at all. It was dangerous, this tendency towards over-reaction; it could mar his business acumen, he thought. He wondered if the trait were one of the things that offended Marion. Easily corrected, he thought, now it was realized. Perhaps he should tell her.

  The marriage was going to collapse, he thought. The lack of interest was absolute, their communication confined to the courtesy one showed to people encountered on a train or aeroplane who would never be seen again. Please God, he thought, his emotion see-sawing to depression, make her change her mind.

  ‘It went well in Germany,’ he said to Ellidge, wanting to rebuild bridges.

  ‘Yes,’ agreed the assistant, looking at the man. Had his fears been wrong, wondered Ellidge. Hollis’s behaviour had been completely normal during the two days in East Berlin. He had been alert to every point of each contract, even correcting an error about compensation payments for delivery delays that none of the lawyers had appreciated and which could have cost them a lot of money.

  The assistant flushed at the awareness of how close he had come to making a fool of himself by contacting Mrs Hollis. Everyone had moments of tension, times when they behaved out of character, he reasoned. Perhaps he’d just encountered Hollis in such a moment.

  ‘It was a useful meeting with Junkers,’ insisted Hollis, anxious to establish a point for the trip.

  ‘It was,’ concurred Ellidge. ‘The mistake you spotted would have been embarrassing. And possibly expensive.’

  Hollis burned at the flattery. He could still sweep into a room where experts plodded dully through documents and isolate a point unrealized by any of them. That was what had made him the man he was; that was why Jocelyn Hollis was unique. Why then couldn’t Marion realize it? She’d regret it if she left, he knew. Within a month, she’d want to come back. The conviction lodged in his mind. Why not a trial separation, he thought suddenly, so there would be no difficulty in her returning to him when she realized how stupid she had been? He travelled so much it would be possible to disguise it from everyone, even the children. With the foregone American election so close, it was natural that she should go to visit her brother, creating the excuse. The feeling of well-being spread through him, like a warm liquid coursing through a vein. There was nothing he couldn’t solve, he thought. After a few weeks she’d come running back and say she was sorry, and they could start all over again, as if nothing had happened.

  The flat, barren surround of the airport came to meet them and there was the jolt as the plane landed and the engines went into reversed thrust.

  ‘You’ve been a good friend, Gordon,’ said Hollis expansively. He felt like a man who had won a football lottery wanting to share his good fortune. ‘I think when we get back you should be more financially involved with the affairs of the companies … put into a more official role, so I can delegate much more of the work …’

  The man had recovered, decided Ellidge. This was the sort of courtesy Hollis had always shown in the past.

  ‘That’s very generous of you,’ said the assistant, taking the opportunity. ‘I think it’s important that there should be some provision to carry on if you were taken suddenly unwell.’

  Ellidge halted, apprehensive of Hollis’s response. For several minutes there was silence and then Ellidge felt his employer’s hand upon his. It was hot and wet with perspiration, despite the air-conditioning of the aircraft.

  ‘You’re right, Gordon,’ said the millionaire quietly. Some arrangements should be made, he thought. ‘I’ll fix it. Next week. I’m very dependent upon people like yourself, you know.’

  The official car was waiting and within an hour they were back at the Alcron Hotel. Hollis hummed as he bathed, convinced his fears were groundless. Within six months, he told himself, he would be laughing at all that had happened. He stopped towelling himself, smiling. What a story it would make, he decided. No one doubted for a moment that James would be elected, so there were bound to be the parties at the White House, like the soirées they had had in Paris and in Grosvenor Square, when he had been ambassador in London.

  But in Washington they would be much grander affairs, Hollis knew, packed with people who actually shaped world events. It would be important to be able to match their stories of power and involvement. He splashed Floris aftershave on his face, smiling at his own reflection. It would make a wonderful anecdote.

  They met again in Kodes’s office, and Hollis was tensely aware of Ellidge’s uncertainty about the trip. He had rehearsed his approach to the Czech, confident of allaying the doubt, embarking immediately upon discussions about the car plant, discerning at once the reluctance of the minister to talk beyond the broadest outline.

  He picked upon it, sensing the weakness. There had never been any intention of allowing a factory, judged Hollis. The pendulum swung, doubt swamping him. Had he been right, in his earliest assessment, that the car plant had been introduced as a lure, to hold him throughout the oil talks? Or was it something deeper? Was it associated not with oil, but with Altmann and Burke, part of a plot he couldn’t appreciate to keep him returning to the country, exposing himself constantly to risk?

  He increased the pressure on Kodes, capitalizing upon the man’s nervousness, harrying him with question after question, hardly allowing him the opportunity to answer one before putting another.

  By his side, Ellidge shifted uncomfortably, revising his earlier thoughts. Hollis was unwell. This wasn’t negotiation; it was cross-examination, like a television serial in which the hero-lawyer produced eleventh-hour confessions. Even the demeanour was offensive: Hollis was staring, bulging-eyed, and his forehead was greased with perspiration. Each question came with a handslap against the table, reinforcing the insistence upon ah answer.

  ‘Was it ever the intention of the Czechoslovak government seriously to consider my proposal?’ demanded Hollis.

  He’d phrased the same question three different ways already, thought Ellidge.

  ‘Yes,’ asserted Kodes shortly. He was sweating too, the nervous hands jerking over the desk on their aimless missions.

  ‘It was always my understanding’, hurried the millionaire, ‘that the oil agreement was hinged with the second proposal.’

  It wasn’t, thought Ellidge desperately. The two things were completely separate and Hollis knew it. The man was rambling insanely.

  Kodes shrugged, helplessly, a man without a map trying to tread a safe path.

  ‘There was never a commitment from my government,’ he stressed. ‘I a
greed to explore the possibility upon your request. And the two sets of discussions were in no way linked. I’m sorry it has not been found possible to reach a successful agreement as we have with oil supplies. There is nothing I can do.’

  Hollis strove to control his slipping temper, pushing the emotion down like a child replacing a jack-in-the-box in its sprung container. There was nothing to be gained by bullying Kodes, he knew. The man was a dupe, jumping in any direction towards which other people manipulated him. But who was the manipulator? Careful, he warned himself. There was still nothing to suggest the involvement of Altmann or Burke.

  He smiled, trying to defuse the tension.

  ‘A great pity,’ he generalized wildly. ‘I had sincerely hoped I could strengthen further my association with your country.’

  Kodes recognized the change of attitude and visibly relaxed. Ellidge moved quickly to reinforce what he saw as Hollis’s effort to apologize, introducing the oil agreement, confident no dispute could arise from it. For an hour they went through the documents, clause by clause, each man embarrassed at the obvious pointlessness of the operation. He had to recover, decided Hollis, as he pushed away the agreed papers. He had stupidly made a bad impression upon Kodes and it would have to be corrected. And like a man reluctant to surrender his lifebelt even though the rescue boat was alongside, Hollis hesitated at severing connections, feeling that the longer he remained in the man’s company without the appearance of Altmann, the greater the proof that his fears were without foundation.

  ‘I wonder’, he offered, ‘if you would be our guest for dinner tonight.’

  The minister paused, unhappily, fearing such a closeted involvement. The agreement came slowly, just a nod at first before the polite words. He had no choice, Kodes realized, remembering the Russian threats.

  They ate in a private dining-salon off the main restaurant of the hotel, a strained, formal meal, patched in heavy silence, with each man searching for inconsequential conversation. Hollis had no social ability, realized Ellidge, moving to fill the awkward gaps, wondering how the man and his wife led such a social life, pictured at every major London, Paris or New York function.

  The meal ended early, to the relief of everyone, Hollis promising a visit the following week from the lawyers he had preceded and assuring the minister he accepted the failure of the car-plant discussions without recrimination.

  Ellidge didn’t even speak as the lift carried them upwards, and Hollis avoided his look.

  A bad performance, judged the millionaire honestly. The inexplicable behaviour worried him. He had never before lost control during a business meeting. He ground his teeth together, chewing at the memory. Why was Ellidge studying him, like a culture beneath a microscope?

  ‘Will you want me again tonight?’ asked the assistant at the door. He frowned, genuinely worried about the man he had known for so long. The British embassy would have a doctor whose discretion could be relied upon, Ellidge thought. Perhaps he should contact him.

  Why did the man want to get away for the evening, wondered Hollis. And why was he patronizing? Just like that bloody East German escort, whatever his name was, behaving like a custodian at an old people’s home.

  ‘No,’ he said, brusquely, wanting the other man to know his displeasure. ‘Make plane reservations before lunch tomorrow. I want to be back in London by the afternoon.’

  Ellidge nodded, but didn’t move away.

  ‘What do you want?’ demanded Hollis.

  Ellidge shuffled uncomfortably.

  ‘Are you sure there’s nothing?’ he offered. If the man were worried it might help to discuss it, he thought. And although there had never been any question of friendship, they had known each other for many years.

  ‘What could there be?’ snapped Hollis curiously. Was he in with them? Was that it, Altmann, Burke and Ellidge? The man would have been invaluable, placed so close.

  ‘Nothing,’ dismissed the assistant.

  The two men stood staring at each other. Even if it meant his dismissal, he would have to approach Mrs Hollis, decided Ellidge. Hollis was teetering on the edge of a nervous breakdown and if he didn’t get help soon, it was going to become dangerous. He wondered if he would be able to keep Hollis completely from contact with people outside the organization, to prevent the spread of rumours.

  ‘Are you sure you don’t want me to do anything?’ persisted Ellidge, his reluctance to leave countered by his apprehension at the anticipated reaction to his attitude.

  Anger welled up in Hollis, a shaking, boiling feeling. He gripped his hands tightly against his sides, wanting to hit the other man.

  ‘Yes,’ he said, lips compressed into a line. ‘I want to be left alone. Now.’

  His voice rose at the end of the sentence, shrill and barely controlled. If Ellidge argued, he would hit him, decided the millionaire. He wanted very much to hit the man, he realized. So very much. He could imagine the feeling of his fist connecting with the man’s face, visualize the blood, even.

  The assistant moved to speak again and Hollis tensed. Then Ellidge appeared to change his mind, shrugged and walked off down the corridor. Mad, decided Ellidge, who had been aware of the danger. The man was going mad.

  Inside the suite, Hollis settled into an archchair, looking sightlessly before him, feeling the confidence suffuse his body. He’d confirmed his safety, he determined. It was too late now for any approach from Altmann.

  ‘Safe,’ he said, to himself.

  And then the telephone rang.

  (16)

  The sound brought him out of the chair, and he stood staring at the instrument. Thoughts snowed through his mind, refusing to settle. He wouldn’t answer it, he determined immediately, backing away. If he didn’t reply, he would be safe. He couldn’t be tricked if he didn’t speak to them. That was the answer, not to speak. They’d get fed up in the end and go away. Couldn’t do that, he countered. He had come because he feared there was enough circumstantial evidence to embarrass him. If there were no contact, then he would never know if he were over-dramatizing the risk. He lifted the receiver, holding it away from him, listening to the metallic sounds that came indecipherably from the earpiece, like a child hearing a musical box for the first time. When he put it to his head, his voice creaked out, in bare acknowledgment.

  ‘You were a long time answering, Mr Hollis.’

  The expected voice chilled him.

  ‘What do you want?’

  Had to keep control. He was cleverer than Altmann. Cleverer than all of them. Just had to keep his head, that’s all, using his superior mind to trick them. He shuddered uncomfortably.

  ‘Hardly a pleasant greeting, Mr Hollis,’ rejoined Altmann. ‘Just thought I’d renew old acquaintances.’

  Always the ‘Mister’, remembered Hollis. And ‘acquaintances’ again, as if they were old friends. His body was stiff, so rigid he was shaking. Relax; mustn’t panic. If he panicked, he’d lose. Just think. Think and reason and defeat them. He could still extricate himself. Money. That was the way, offer him money. It would be easy. Just like it had been with the disgraced politician. What the hell was the man’s name? Didn’t matter. In the past. Way back in the past. Like this would be. Soon.

  ‘Where are you?’ demanded Hollis. His voice was more even, he realized. Conversational, almost.

  ‘Why?’ asked the Austrian.

  ‘I’d like to see you,’ said the millionaire. Had he been too quick, he worried immediately.

  ‘Really, Mr Hollis …’, the curiosity was deeply etched into the words now. ‘… I’m quite surprised …’

  Time to switch the tone again, to assume greater control. It would confuse the other man, make him apprehensive perhaps.

  ‘It’s a matter for you to decide,’ retorted Hollis, introducing arrogance. ‘If you’re not interested, then forget it.’

  ‘Oh please,’ grabbed Altmann quickly. ‘I didn’t wish to sound uninterested.’

  Excellent, thought Hollis. Altmann had shown himse
lf too eager. So they wanted more, he judged. It implied there was insufficient to incriminate him, even with their laughable idea of justice.

  ‘I’m downstairs, using one of the house-phones,’ enlarged Altmann.

  Better not to be seen in a public place, thought Hollis.

  ‘Why not come up to my suite?’

  He put the telephone down, without waiting for the agreement. That was how it would have to be, he decided, with him making all the running. And he would have to fight against the old man’s ability to irritate him. He’d already lost his temper once today. Then it had just been embarrassing. Tonight it would be dis astrous.

  In the lobby below, Altmann slowly replaced the receiver, remaining in the tiny cubicle. Why the complete reversal, he wondered. It had the wrong feel about it. He’d been convinced that Hollis would continue to reject him; had argued the belief when Turgonev had called the day before, reporting that there had been an unexpected approach from the man to go to both East Berlin and Prague, and interpreting the decision as co-operation.

  Staring into his reflection in the cubicle glass, Altmann examined the facts. The trip was without reason. From Bauer and Junkers, he knew Hollis had spotted some minor contractual error but, assessed against the time involved for a man of Hollis’s stature and commitment, the visit to Germany was pointless. And it was even more so here, in Prague. He’d already listened to the recording of the diatribe against Kodes and witnessed the frigid meal.

  So why would a multi-millionaire who had contemptuously rejected an approach to become involved in what he had then believed to be intelligence-gathering for his own country set up this meaningless exercise? The Russians were convinced it indicated a decision to become involved and was designed to re-establish contact. That could be the only interpretation, admitted Altmann. But to spy? Certainly that had been Turgonev’s guess, and so excited had he sounded on the telephone that afternoon that Altmann suspected it was Melkovsky’s feeling too. Altmann still drew away from the logical, inescapable conclusion.