‘It’s no good giving up, Fred.’
‘Leave me alone.’
‘Look, Fred, you did it all wrong. I told you to send the number of groups before you send the message. You can’t remember a thing, can you—’
‘Look, leave me alone, I said!’ He was about to add something when the door bell rang. It was Hyde. He had brought an assistant, a plump man who was sucking something against the weather.
They did not play the tapes at lunch. Their guests sat side by side, eating glumly as if they had the same food every day because of the calories. Hyde was a meagre, dark-faced man without a trace of humour who reminded Avery of Sutherland. He had come to give Leiser a new identity. He had papers for him to sign, identity documents, a form of ration card, a driving licence, a permit to enter the border zone along a specified area, and an old shirt in a briefcase. After lunch he laid them all out on the drawing-room table while the photographer put up his camera.
They dressed Leiser in the shirt and took him full face with both ears showing according to the German regulations, then led him to sign the papers. He seemed nervous.
‘We’re going to call you Freiser,’ Hyde said, as if that were an end to the matter.
‘Freiser? That’s like my own name.’
‘That’s the idea. That’s what your people wanted. For signatures and things, so that there’s no slip-up. You’d better practise it a bit before you sign.’
‘I’d rather have it different. Quite different.’
‘We’ll stick to Freiser, I think,’ said Hyde. ‘It’s been decided at high level.’ Hyde was a man who leant heavily upon the Passive Voice.
There was an uncomfortable silence.
‘I want it different. I don’t like Freiser and I want it different.’ He didn’t like Hyde either, and in half a minute he was going to say so.
Haldane intervened. ‘You’re under instructions. The Department has taken the decision. There is no question of altering it now.’
Leiser was very pale.
‘Then they can bloody well change the instructions. I want a different name, that’s all. Christ, it’s only a little thing, isn’t it? That’s all I’m asking for: another name, a proper one, not a half-cock imitation of my own.’
‘I don’t understand,’ Hyde said. ‘It’s only training, isn’t it?’
‘You don’t have to understand! Just change it, that’s all. Who the hell d’you think you are, coming in here and ordering me about?’
‘I’ll telephone London,’ Haldane said, and went upstairs. They waited awkwardly until he came down.
‘Will you accept Hartbeck?’ Haldane inquired. There was a note of sarcasm in his voice.
Leiser smiled. ‘Hartbeck. That’s fine.’ He spread out his hands in a gesture of apology. ‘Hartbeck’s fine.’
Leiser spent ten minutes practising a signature then signed the papers, with a little flourish each time as if there were dust on them. Hyde gave them a lecture on the documents. It took a very long time. There were no actual ration cards in East Germany, Hyde said, but there existed a system of registration with food shops, who provided a certificate. He explained the principle of travel permits and the circumstances under which they were granted, he talked at length about the obligation on Leiser to show his identity card, unasked, when he bought a railway ticket or put up at an hotel. Leiser argued with him and Haldane attempted to terminate the meeting. Hyde paid no attention. When he had finished he nodded and went away with his photographer, folding the old shirt into his briefcase as if it were part of his equipment.
This outburst of Leiser’s appeared to cause Haldane some concern. He telephoned to London and ordered his assistant, Gladstone, to go over Leiser’s file for any trace of the name Freiser; he had a search made in all the indices, but without success. When Avery suggested Haldane was making too much of the incident the other shook his head. ‘We’re waiting for the second vow,’ he said.
Following upon Hyde’s visit, Leiser now received daily briefings about his cover. Stage by stage he, Avery and Haldane constructed in tireless detail the background of the man Hartbeck, establishing him in his work, his tastes and recreations, in his love life and choice of friends. Together, they entered the most obscure corners of the man’s conjectured existence, gave him skills and attributes which Leiser himself barely possessed.
Woodford came with news of the Department.
‘The Director’s putting up a marvellous show.’ From the way he spoke, Leclerc might have been fighting an illness. ‘We leave for Lübeck a week today. Jimmy Gorton’s been on to the German frontier people – he says they’re pretty reliable. We’ve got a crossing point lined up and we’ve taken a farmhouse on the outskirts of the town. He’s let it be known that we’re a team of academics wanting a quiet time and a bit of fresh air.’ Woodford looked confidingly at Haldane. ‘The Department is working wonderfully. As one man. And what a spirit, Adrian! No watching the clock these days. And no rank. Dennison, Sandford … we’re just a single team. You should see the way Clarkie’s going for the Ministry about poor Taylor’s pension. How’s Mayfly bearing up?’ he added in a low voice.
‘All right. He’s doing wireless upstairs.’
‘Any more signs of nerves? Outbreaks or anything?’
‘None so far as I know,’ Haldane replied, as if he were unlikely to know anyway.
‘Is he getting frisky? Sometimes they want a girl about now.’
Woodford had brought drawings of Soviet rockets. They had been made by Ministry draughtsmen from photographs held in Research Section, enlarged to about two foot by three, neatly mounted on showcards. Some were stamped with a security classification. Prominent features were marked with arrows; the nomenclature was curiously childish: fin, cone, fuel compartment, payload. Beside each rocket stood a gay little figure like a penguin in a flying helmet, and printed beneath him: ‘size of average man’. Woodford arranged them round the room as if they were his own work; Avery and Haldane watched in silence.
‘He can look at them after lunch,’ Haldane said. ‘Put them together till then.’
‘I’ve brought along a film to give him some background. Launchings, transportation, a bit about destructive capacity. The Director said he should have an idea what these things can do. Give him a shot in the arm.’
‘He doesn’t need a shot in the arm,’ Avery said.
Woodford remembered something. ‘Oh – and your little Gladstone wants to talk to you. He said it was urgent – didn’t know how to get hold of you. I told him you’d give him a ring when you had time. Apparently you asked him to do a job on the Mayfly area. Industry, was it, or manoeuvres? He says he’s got the answer ready for you in London. He’s the best type of NCO, that fellow.’ He glanced at the ceiling. ‘When’s Fred coming down?’
Haldane said abruptly, ‘I don’t want you to meet him, Bruce.’ It was unusual in Haldane to use a Christian name. ‘I’m afraid you must take luncheon in the town. Charge it to Accounts.’
‘Why on earth not?’
‘Security. I see no point in his knowing more of us than is strictly necessary. The charts speak for themselves; so, presumably, does the film.’
Woodford, profoundly insulted, left. Avery knew then that Haldane was determined to preserve Leiser in the delusion that the Department housed no fools.
For the last day of the course, Haldane had planned a full-scale exercise to last from ten in the morning until eight in the evening, a combined affair including visual observation in the town, clandestine photography and listening to tapes. The information which Leiser assembled during the day was to be made into a report, encoded and communicated by wireless to Johnson in the evening. A certain hilarity infected the briefing that morning. Johnson made a joke about not photographing the Oxford Constabulary by mistake; Leiser laughed richly and even Haldane allowed himself a wan smile. It was the end of term; the boys were going home.
The exercise was a success. Johnson was pleased; Avery enthusiastic;
Leiser manifestly delighted. They had made two faultless transmissions, Johnson said, Fred was steady as a rock. At eight o’clock they assembled for dinner wearing their best suits. A special menu had been arranged. Haldane had presented the rest of his burgundy; toasts were made; there was talk of an annual reunion in years to come. Leiser looked very smart in a dark blue suit and a pale tie of watered silk.
Johnson got rather drunk and insisted on bringing down Leiser’s wireless set, raising his glass to it repeatedly and calling it Mrs Hartbeck. Avery and Leiser sat together: the estrangement of the last week over.
The next day, a Saturday, Avery and Haldane returned to London. Leiser was to remain in Oxford with Johnson until the whole party left for Germany on Monday. On the Sunday, an Air Force van would call at the house to collect the suitcase. This would be independently conveyed to Gorton in Hamburg together with Johnson’s own base equipment, and thence to the farmhouse near Lübeck from which Operation Mayfly would be launched. Before he left the house Avery took a last look round, partly for reasons of sentiment, and partly because he had signed the lease and was concerned about the inventory.
Haldane was ill at ease on the journey to London. He was still waiting, apparently, for some unknown crisis in Leiser.
15
It was the same evening. Sarah was in bed. Her mother had brought her to London.
‘If you ever want me,’ he said, ‘I’ll come to you, wherever you are.’
‘You mean when I’m dying.’ Analysing, she added, ‘I’ll do the same for you, John. Now can I repeat my question?’
‘Monday. There’s a group of us going.’ It was like children: parallel playing.
‘Which part of Germany?’
‘Just Germany, West Germany. For a conference.’
‘More bodies?’
‘Oh, for God’s sake, Sarah, do you think I want to keep it from you?’
‘Yes, John, I do,’ she said simply. ‘I think if you were allowed to tell me you wouldn’t care about the job. You’ve got a kind of licence I can’t share.’
‘I can only tell you it’s a big thing … a big operation. With agents. I’ve been training them.’
‘Who’s in charge?’
‘Haldane.’
‘Is that the one who confides in you about his wife? I think he’s utterly disgusting.’
‘No, that’s Woodford. This man’s quite different. Haldane’s odd. Donnish. Very good.’
‘But they’re all good, aren’t they? Woodford’s good too.’
Her mother came in with tea.
‘When are you getting up?’ he asked.
‘Monday, probably. It depends on the doctor.’
‘She’ll need quiet,’ her mother said, and went out.
‘If you believe in it, do it,’ Sarah said. ‘But don’t …’ she broke off, shook her head, little girl now.
‘You’re jealous. You’re jealous of my job and the secrecy. You don’t want me to believe in my work!’
‘Go on. Believe in it if you can.’
For a while they did not look at one another. ‘If it weren’t for Anthony I really would leave you,’ Sarah declared at last.
‘What for?’ Avery asked hopelessly, and then, seeing the opening, ‘Don’t let Anthony stop you.’
‘You never talk to me: any more than you talk to Anthony. He hardly knows you.’
‘What is there to talk about?’
‘Oh, God.’
‘I can’t talk about my work, you know that. I tell you more than I should as it is. That’s why you’re always sneering at the Department, isn’t it? You can’t understand it, you don’t want to; you don’t like it being secret but you despise me when I break the rules.’
‘Don’t go over that again.’
‘I’m not coming back,’ Avery said. ‘I’ve decided.’
‘This time, perhaps you’ll remember Anthony’s present.’
‘I bought him that milk lorry.’
They sat in silence again.
‘You ought to meet Leclerc,’ said Avery; ‘I think you ought to talk to him. He keeps suggesting it. Dinner … he might convince you.’
‘What of?’
She found a piece of cotton hanging from the seam of her bed-jacket. Sighing, she took a pair of nail scissors from the drawer in the bedside table and cut it off.
‘You should have drawn it through at the back,’ Avery said. ‘You ruin your clothes that way.’
‘What are they like?’ she asked. ‘The agents? Why do they do it?’
‘For loyalty, partly. Partly money, I suppose.’
‘You mean you bribe them?’
‘Oh shut up!’
‘Are they English?’
‘One of them is. Don’t ask me any more, Sarah; I can’t tell you.’ He advanced his head towards her. ‘Don’t ask me, Sweet.’ He took her hand; she let him.
‘And they’re all men?’
‘Yes.’
Suddenly she said, it was a complete break, no tears, no precision, but quickly, with compassion, as if the speeches were over and this were the choice: ‘John, I want to know, I’ve got to know, now, before you go. It’s an awful, unEnglish question, but all the time you’ve been telling me something, ever since you took this job. You’ve been telling me people don’t matter, that I don’t, Anthony doesn’t; that the agents don’t. You’ve been telling me you’ve found a vocation. Well, who calls you, that’s what I mean: what sort of vocation? That’s the question you never answer: that’s why you hide from me. Are you a martyr, John? Should I admire you for what you’re doing? Are you making sacrifices?’
Flatly, avoiding her, Avery replied, ‘It’s nothing like that. I’m doing a job. I’m a technician; part of the machine. You want me to say double-think, don’t you? You want to demonstrate the paradox.’
‘No. You’ve said what I want you to say. You’ve got to draw a circle and not go outside it. That’s not double-think, it’s unthink. It’s very humble of you. Do you really believe you’re that small?’
‘You’ve made me small. Don’t sneer. You’re making me small now.’
‘John, I swear it, I don’t mean to. When you came back earlier in the evening you looked as though you’d fallen in love. The kind of love that gives you comfort. You looked free and at peace. I thought for a moment you’d found a woman. That’s why I asked, really it is, whether they were all men … I thought you were in love. Now you tell me you’re nothing, and you seem proud of that too.’
He waited, then smiling, the smile he gave Leiser, he said, ‘Sarah, I missed you terribly. When I was in Oxford I went to the house, the house in Chandos Road, remember? It was fun there, wasn’t it?’ He gave her hand a squeeze. ‘Real fun. I thought about it, our marriage and you. And Anthony. I love you, Sarah; I love you. For everything … the way you bring up our baby.’ A laugh. ‘You’re both so vulnerable, sometimes I can hardly tell you apart.’
She remained silent, so he continued, ‘I thought perhaps if we lived in the country, bought a house … I’m established now: Leclerc would arrange a loan. Then Anthony could run about more. It’s only a matter of increasing our range. Going to the theatre, like we used to at Oxford.’
She said absently, ‘Did we? We can’t go to the theatre in the country, can we?’
‘The Department gives me something, don’t you understand? It’s a real job. It’s important, Sarah.’
She pushed him gently away. ‘My mother’s asked us to Reigate for Christmas.’
‘That’ll be fine. Look … about the office. They owe me something now, after all I’ve done. They accept me on equal terms. As a colleague. I’m one of them.’
‘Then you’re not responsible, are you? Just one of the team. So there’s no sacrifice.’ They were back to the beginning. Avery, not realising this, continued softly, ‘I can tell him, can’t I? I can tell him you’ll come to dinner?’
‘For pity’s sake, John,’ she snapped, ‘don’t try to run me like one of your wretched agents
.’
Haldane, meanwhile, sat at his desk, going through Gladstone’s report.
There had twice been manoeuvres in the Kalkstadt area; in 1952 and 1960. On the second occasion the Russians had staged an infantry attack on Rostock with heavy armoured support but no air cover. Little was known of the 1952 exercise, except that a large detachment of troops had occupied the town of Wolken. They were believed to be wearing magenta shoulder-boards. The report was unreliable. On both occasions the area had been declared closed; the restriction had been enforced as far as the northern coast. There followed a long recitation of the principal industries. There was some evidence – it came from the Circus, who refused to release the source – that a new refinery was being constructed on a plateau to the east of Wolken, and that the machinery for it had been transported from Leipzig. It was conceivable (but unlikely) that it had come by rail and been sent by way of Kalkstadt. There was no evidence of civil or industrial unrest, nor of any incident which could account for a temporary closure of the town.
A note from Registry lay in his in-tray. They had put up the files he had asked for, but some were Subscription Only; he would have to read them in the library.
He went downstairs, opened the combination lock on the steel door of General Registry, groped vainly for the light switch. Finally he made his way in the dark between the shelves to the small, windowless room at the back of the building where documents of special interest or secrecy were kept. It was pitch dark. He struck a match, put on the light. On the table were two sets of files: Mayfly, heavily restricted, now in its third volume, with a subscription list pasted on the cover, and Deception (Soviet and East Germany), an immaculately kept collection of papers and photographs in hard folders.
After glancing briefly at the Mayfly files he turned his attention to the folders, thumbing his way through the depressing miscellany of rogues, double agents and lunatics who in every conceivable corner of the earth, under every conceivable pretext, had attempted, sometimes successfully, to delude the Western intelligence agencies. There was the boring similarity of technique; the grain of truth carefully reconstructed, culled from newspaper reports and bazaar gossip; the follow-up, less carefully done, betraying the deceiver’s contempt for the deceived; and finally the flight of fancy, the stroke of artistic impertinence which wantonly terminated a relationship already under sentence.
The Looking Glass War Page 18
