Honourable Schoolboy (66 page)

It was also, for once, the hour of the quiet men: ‘our final detailed briefing’, Martello had called it. ‘Ah, that’s if it’s okay by you, George.’ Pale Murphy, wearing a white shirt and blue trousers, was standing on the raised podium before a wall chart soliloquising from pages of notes. The rest of them, including Smiley and Martello, sat at his feet and listened mainly in silence. Murphy could have been describing a vacuum cleaner, and to Guillam that made his monologue the more hypnotic. The chart showed largely sea, but at the top and to the left hung a lace-fringe of the South China coast. Behind Hong Kong, the spattered outskirts of Canton were just visible below the batten which held the chart in place, and due south of Hong Kong at the very mid-point of the chart stretched the green outline of what looked to be a cloud divided into four sections marked A, B, C and D respectively. These, said Murphy reverently, were the fishing beds and the cross at the centre was Centre Point, sir. Murphy spoke only to Martello, whether it was George’s show from soup to nuts or not.

‘Sir, basing on the last occasion Drake exited Red China, sir, and updating our assessment to the situation as of now, we and navy int. between us, sir -’

‘Murphy, Murphy,’ put in Martello quite kindly, cease off a little, will you, friend? This isn’t training school any more, okay? Loosen your girdle, will you, son?’

‘Sir. One. Weather,’ Murphy said, quite untouched by this appeal. ‘April and May are the transitional months, sir, between the north-east monsoons and the beginning of the south-west monsoons. Forecasts day-to-day are unpredictable, sir, but no extreme conditions are foreseen for the trip.’ He was using the pointer to show the line from Swatow southward to the fishing beds, then from the fishing beds north-west past Hong Kong up the Pearl River to Canton.

‘Fog?’ Martello said.

‘Fog is traditional for the season and cloud is anticipated at six to seven oktas, sir.’

‘What the hell’s an okta, Murphy?’

‘One okta is one eighth of sky area covered, sir. Oktas have replaced the former tenths. No typhoons have been recorded in April for over fifty years and navy int. call typhoons unlikely. Wind is easterly, nine to ten knots but any fleet that runs with it must count on periods of calm, also contrary winds too, sir. Humidity around eighty per cent, temperature fifteen to twenty-four centigrade. Sea conditions calm with a small swell. Currents around Swatow tend to run north-east through the Taiwan Strait, at around three sea miles per day. But further westward -on this side, sir -’

‘That’s one thing I do know, Murphy,’ Martello put in sharply. ‘I know where west is, dammit.’ Then he grinned at Smiley as if to say ‘these young whipper-snappers’.

Murphy was again unmoved. ‘We have to be prepared to calculate the speed factor and consequently the progress of the fleet at any one point in its journey, sir.’

‘Sure, sure.’

‘Moon, sir,’ Murphy continued. ‘Assuming the fleet to have exited Swatow on the night of Friday April twenty-fifth, the moon would be three days off of full -’

‘Why do we assume that, Murphy?’

‘Because that’s when the fleet exited Swatow, sir. We had confirmation from navy int. one hour ago. Column of junks sighted at the eastern end of fishing bed C and easing westward with the wind, sir. Positive identification of the lead junk confirmed.’

There was a prickly pause. Martello coloured.

‘You’re a clever boy, Murphy,’ Martello said, in a warning tone.

‘But you should have given me that information a little earlier.’

‘Yes, sir. Assuming also that the intention of the junk containing Nelson Ko is to hit Hong Kong waters on the night of May four, the moon will be in its last quarter, sir. If we follow precedents right down the line -’

‘We do,’ said Smiley firmly. ‘The escape is to be an exact repetition of Drake’s own journey in fifty-one.’

Once more, no one doubted him, Guillam noticed. Why not? It was utterly bewildering.

‘- then our junk should hit the southernmost out-island of Po Toi at twenty hundred hours tomorrow, and rejoin the fleet up along the Pearl River in time to make Canton harbour between zero ten thirty and twelve hundred hours following day, May five, sir.’

While Murphy droned on, Guillam covertly kept his eye on Smiley, thinking, as he often thought, that he knew him no better today than when he first met him back in the dark days of the cold war in Europe. Where did he slip away to at all odd hours? Mooning about Ann? About Karla? What company did he keep that brought him back to the hotel at four in the morning? Don’t tell me George is having a second spring, he thought. Last night at eleven there had been a scream from London, so Guillam had trailed up here to unbutton it. Westerby adrift, they said. They were terrified Ko had had him murdered or, worse, abducted and tortured, and that the operation would abort in consequence. Guillam thought it more likely Jerry was holed up with a couple of air-hostesses somewhere en route to London but with that priority on the signal he had no option but to wake Smiley and tell him. He rang his room and got no answer so he dressed and banged on Smiley’s door and finally he was reduced to picking the lock, for now it was Guillam’s turn to panic: he thought Smiley might be ill.

But Smiley’s room was empty and his bed unslept in, and when Guillam went through his things he was fascinated to see that the old fieldman bad gone to the length of sewing false name tapes in his shirts. That was all he discovered, however. So he settled in Smiley’s chair and dozed and didn’t wake till four when he heard a tiny flutter and opened his eyes to see Smiley stooped and peering at him about six inches away. How he got into the room so silently, God alone knew.

‘Gordon?’ he asked softly. ‘What can I do for you?’ for they were on an operational footing, of course, and lived with the assumption the rooms were bugged. For the same reason Guillam did not speak, but handed Smiley the envelope containing Connie’s message, which he read and re-read, then burned. Guillam was impressed how seriously he took the news. Even at that hour, he insisted on going straight up to the Consulate to attend to it, so Guillam went along to carry his bags.

‘Instructive evening?’ he asked lightly, as they plodded the short way up the hill.

‘I? Oh, to a point, thank you, to a point.’ Smiley replied, doing his disappearing act, and that was all Guillam or anyone could get out of him about his nocturnal or other ambles. Meanwhile, without the smallest explanation of his source, George was bringing in hard operational data in a manner which brooked no enquiry from anyone.

‘Ah George, we can count on that, can we?’ Martello asked in bewilderment, on the first occasion that this happened.

‘What? Oh yes, yes, indeed you may.’

‘Great. Great footwork, George. I admire you,’ said Martello heartily, after a further puzzled silence, and from then on they had gone along with it, they had no choice. For nobody, not even Martello, quite dared to challenge his authority.

‘How many days’ fishing is that, Murphy?’ Martello was asking.

‘Fleet will have had seven days’ fishing and hopefully make Canton with full holds, sir.’

‘That figure, George?’

‘Yes, oh yes, nothing to add, thank you.’

Martello asked what time the fleet would have to leave the fishing beds in order for Nelson’s junk to make tomorrow evening’s rendezvous on time.

‘I have put it at eleven tomorrow morning,’ Smiley said, without looking up from his notes.

‘Me too,’ said Murphy.

‘This rogue junk, Murphy,’ Martello said, with another deferential glance at Smiley.

‘Yes, sir,’ said Murphy.

‘Can it break away from the pack that easy? What would be its cover for entering Hong Kong waters, Murphy?’

‘Happens all the time, sir. Red Chinese junk fleets operate a collective catch system without profit motivation, sir. Consequence of that, you get the single junks that break away at night time and come in without lights and sell their fish to the out-islanders for money.’

‘Literally moonlighting!’ Martello exclaimed, much amused by the felicity of the expression.

Smiley had turned to the map of Po Toi island on the other wall and was tilting his head in order to intensify the magnification of his spectacles.

‘What size of junk are we talking on’ Martello asked.

‘Twenty-eight man long-liners, sir, baited for shark, golden thread and conger.’

‘Did Drake use that type also?’

‘Yes,’ said Smiley, still watching the map. ‘Yes, he did.’

‘And she can come that close in, can she? Provided the weather allows?’

Again it was Smiley who answered. Till today, Guillam had not heard him so much as speak of a boat in his life.

‘The draw of a long-liner is less than five fathoms,’ he remarked. ‘She can come in as close as she wishes, provided always that the sea is not too rough.’

From the back bench, Fawn gave an immoderate laugh. Wheeling round in his chair Guillam shot him a foul look. Fawn leered and shook his head, marvelling at his masters’ omniscience.

‘How many junks make up a fleet?’ Martello asked.

‘Twenty to thirty,’ said Smiley.

‘Check,’ said Murphy meekly.

‘So what does Nelson do, George? Kind of get out to the edge of the pack there, and stray a little?’

‘He’ll hang back,’ said Smiley. ‘The fleets like to move in column astern. Nelson will tell his skipper to take the rear position.’

‘Will he, by God,’ Martello muttered under his breath. ‘Murphy, what identifications are traditional?’

‘Very little known in that area, sir. Boat people are notoriously evasive. They have no respect for marine regulations. Out to sea they show no lights at all, mostly for fear of pirates.’

Smiley was lost to them again. He had sunk into a wooden immobility, and though his eyes stayed fixed on the big sea chart, his mind, Guillam knew, was anywhere but with Murphy’s dreary recitation of statistics. Not so Martello.

‘How much coastal trade do we have overall, Murphy?’

‘Sir, there are no controls and no data.’

‘Any quarantine checks as the junks enter Hong Kong waters, Murphy?’ Martello asked.

‘Theoretically all vessels should stop and have themselves checked, sir.’

‘And in practice, Murphy?’

‘Junks are a law to themselves, sir. Technically Chinese junks are forbidden to sail between Victoria Island and Kowloon Point, sir, but the last thing the Brits want is a hassle with the Mainland over rights of way. Sorry, sir.’

‘Not at all,’ said Smiley politely, still gazing at the chart. ‘Brits we are and Brits we shall remain.’

It’s his Karla expression, Guillam decided: the one that comes over him when he looks at the photograph. He catches sight of it, it surprises him and for a while he seems to study it, its contours, its blurred and sightless gaze. Then the light slowly goes out of his eyes, and somehow the hope as well, and you feel he’s looking inward, in alarm.

‘Murphy, did I hear you mention navigation lights?’ Smiley enquired, turning his head, but still staring toward the chart.

‘Yes, sir.’

‘I expect Nelson’s junk to carry three,’ said Smiley. ‘Two green lights vertically on the stern mast and one red light to starboard.’

‘Yes, sir.’

Martello tried to catch Guillam’s eye but Guillam wouldn’t play.

‘But it may not,’ Smiley warned as an afterthought. ‘It may carry none at all; and simply signal from close in.’

Murphy resumed. A new heading. Communications.

‘Sir, in the communications area, sir, few junks have their own transmitters but most all have receivers. Once in a while you get a skipper who buys a cheap walkie-talkie with range about one mile to facilitate the trawl, but they’ve been doing it so long they don’t have much call to speak to each other, I guess. Then as to finding their way, well navy int. says that’s near enough a mystery. We have reliable information that many long-liners operate on a primitive compass, a hand lead-and-line, or even just a rusty alarm clock for finding true north.’

‘Murphy, how the hell do they work that, for God’s sakes?’ Martello cried.

‘Line with a lead plumb and wax stuck to it, sir. They sound the bed, and know where they are from what sticks to the wax.’

‘Well they really do it the hard way,’ Martello declared. A phone rang. Martello’s other quiet man took the call, listened, then put his hand over the mouthpiece.

‘Quarry Worth’s just gotten back, sir,’ he said to Smiley. ‘Party drove around for an hour, now she’s checked in her car back at the block. Mac says sounds like she’s running a bath so maybe she plans going out again later.’

‘And she’s alone,’ Smiley said impassively. It was a question.

‘She alone there, Mac?’ He gave a hard laugh. ‘I’ll bet you would, you dirty bastard. Yes, sir, the lady’s all alone taking a bath, and Mac there says when will we ever get to use video as well. Is the lady singing in the bath, Mac?’ He rang off. ‘She’s not singing.’

‘Murphy, get on with the war,’ Martello snapped.

Smiley would like the interception plans rehearsed once more, he said.

‘Why George! Please! It’s your show, remember?’

‘Perhaps we could look again at the big map of Po Toi island, could we? And then Murphy could break it down for us, would you mind?’

‘Mind, George, mind!’ Martello cried, so Murphy began again, this time using a pointer. Navy int. observation posts here, sir… constant two-way communication with base, sir… no presence at all within two sea-miles of the landing zone… Navy int. to advise base the moment the Ko launch starts back for Hong Kong, sir… interception will take place by regular British police vessel as the Ko launch enters harbour… US to supply op. int. and stand off only, for unforeseen supportive situation…

Smiley monitored every detail with a prim nod of his head.

‘After all, Marty,’ he put in, at one point, ‘once Ko has Nelson aboard, there’s nowhere else he can go is there? Po Toi is right at the edge of China waters. It’s us or nothing.’

One day thought Guillam, as he continued listening, one of two things will happen to George. He’ll cease to care, or the paradox will kill him. If he ceases to care, he’ll be half the operator he is. If he doesn’t, that little chest will blow up from the struggle of trying to find the explanation for what we do. Smiley himself, in a disastrous off-the-record chat to senior officers, had put the names to his dilemma, and Guillam, with some embarrassment, recalled them to this day. To be inhuman in defence of our humanity, he had said, harsh in defence of compassion. To be single-minded in defence of our disparity. They had filed out in a veritable ferment of protest. Why didn’t George just do the job and shut up instead of taking his faith out and polishing it in public till the flaws showed? Connie had even murmured a Russian aphorism in Guillam’s ear which she insisted on attributing to Karla.