The Looking Glass War (32 page)

Smiley said, ‘Is there a schedule tonight, Johnson?’

‘Yes, sir. Twenty-one hundred.’

‘I was surprised, Adrian, that you felt the indicators were strong enough for such a
big
operation.’

‘Haldane was not responsible,’ Leclerc said crisply. ‘The decision was a collective one; ourselves on the one side, the Ministry on the other.’ His voice changed key. ‘When the schedule is finished I shall want to know, Smiley, I have a right to know, how you came to see those files.’ It was his committee voice, powerful and fluent; for the first time it had the ring of dignity.

Smiley moved towards the centre of the room. ‘Something’s happened; something you couldn’t know about. Leiser killed a man on the border. Killed him with a knife as he went over, two miles from here, at the crossing point.’

Haldane said, ‘That’s absurd. It needn’t be Leiser. It could have been a refugee coming west. It could have been anyone.’

‘They found tracks leading east. Traces of blood in the hut by the lake. It’s in all the East German papers. They’ve been putting it over the wireless since midday yesterday …’

Leclerc cried, ‘I don’t believe it. I don’t believe he did it. It’s some trick of Control’s.’

‘No,’ Smiley replied gently. ‘You’ve got to believe me. It’s true.’

‘They killed Taylor,’ Leclerc said. ‘Have you forgotten that?’

‘No, of course not. But we shall never know, shall we? How he died, I mean … whether he was murdered …’ Hurriedly he continued, ‘Your Ministry informed the Foreign Office yesterday afternoon. The Germans are bound to catch him, you see; we have to assume that. His transmissions are slow … very slow. Every policeman, every soldier is after him. They want him alive. We think they’re going to stage a show trial, extract a public confession, display the equipment. It could be very embarrassing. You don’t have to be a politician to sympathise with the Minister. So there’s the question of what to do.’

Leclerc said, ‘Johnson, keep an eye on the clock.’ Johnson put his earphones on again, but without conviction.

Smiley appeared to want someone else to speak, but no one did, so he repeated ponderously, ‘It’s a question of what to do. As I say, we’re not politicians, but one can see the dangers. A party of Englishmen in a farmhouse two miles from where the body was found, posing as academics, stores from the Naafi and a house full of radio equipment. You see what I mean? Making your transmissions,’ he went on, ‘on a single frequency … the frequency Leiser receives on … There could be a very big scandal indeed. One can imagine even the West Germans getting awfully angry.’

Haldane spoke first again: ‘What are you trying to say?’

‘There’s a military plane waiting at Hamburg. You fly in two hours; all of you. A truck will collect the equipment. You’re to leave nothing behind, not even a pin. Those are my instructions.’

Leclerc said, ‘What about the target? Have they forgotten why we’re here? They’re asking a lot, you know, Smiley: a great lot.’

‘Yes, the target,’ Smiley conceded. ‘We’ll have a conference in London. Perhaps we could do a joint operation.’

‘It’s a military target. I shall want my Ministry represented. No monolith; it’s a policy decision, you know.’

‘Of course. And it’ll be your show.’

‘I suggest the product go out under our joint title: my Ministry could retain autonomy in the matter of distribution. I imagine that would meet their more obvious objections. How about your people?’

‘Yes, I think Control would accept that.’

Leclerc said casually, everyone watching, ‘And the schedule? Who takes care of that? We’ve an agent in the field, you know.’ It was only a small point.

‘He’ll have to manage by himself.’

‘The war rules.’ Leclerc spoke proudly. ‘We play the war rules. He knew that. He was well trained.’ He seemed reconciled; the thing was dismissed.

Avery spoke for the first time. ‘You can’t leave him out there alone.’ His voice was flat.

Leclerc intervened: ‘You know Avery, my aide?’ This time no one came to his rescue. Smiley, ignoring him, observed, ‘The man’s probably been caught already. It’s only a matter of hours.’

‘You’re leaving him there to die!’ Avery was gathering courage.

‘We’re disowning him. It’s never a pretty process. He’s as good as caught already, don’t you see?’

‘You can’t do it,’ he shouted. ‘You can’t just leave him there for some squalid diplomatic reason!’

Now Haldane swung round on Avery, furious. ‘You of all people should not complain! You wanted a faith, didn’t you? You wanted an eleventh Commandment that would match your rare soul!’ He indicated Smiley and Leclerc. ‘Well, here you have it: here is the law you were looking for. Congratulate yourself; you found it. We sent him because we needed to; we abandon him because we must. That is the discipline you admired.’ He turned to Smiley. ‘You too: I find you contemptible. You shoot us, then preach to the dying. Go away. We’re technicians, not poets. Go away!’

Smiley said, ‘Yes. You’re a very good technician, Adrian. There’s no pain in you any more. You’ve made technique a way of life … like a whore … technique replacing love.’ He hesitated. ‘Little flags … the old war piping in the new. There was all that, wasn’t there? And then the man … he must have been heady wine. Comfort yourself, Adrian, you weren’t fit.’

He straightened his back, making a statement. ‘A British-naturalised Pole with a criminal record escapes across the border to East Germany. There is no extradition treaty. The Germans will say he is a spy and produce the equipment; we shall say they planted it and point out that it’s twenty-five years old. I understand he put out a cover story that he was attending a course in Coventry. That is easily disproved: there is no such course. The conclusion is that he proposed to flee the country; and we shall imply that he owed money. He was keeping some young girl, you know; she worked in a bank. That ties in quite nicely. I mean with the criminal record, since we have to make one up …’ He nodded to himself. ‘As I say, it’s not an attractive process. By then we shall all be in London.’

‘And he’ll be transmitting,’ Avery said, ‘and no one will listen.’

‘To the contrary,’ Smiley retorted bitterly. ‘They’ll be listening.’

Haldane asked: ‘Control too, no doubt. Isn’t that right?’

‘Stop!’ Avery shouted suddenly. ‘Stop, for God’s sake! If anything matters, if anything is real, we’ve got to hear him now! For the sake of …’

‘Well?’ Haldane inquired with a sneer.

‘Love. Yes, love! Not yours, Haldane, mine. Smiley’s right! You made me do it for you, made me love him! It wasn’t in you any more! I brought him to you, I kept him in your house, made him dance to the music of your bloody war! I piped for him, but there’s no breath in me now. He’s Peter Pan’s last victim, Haldane, the last one, the last love; the last music gone.’

Haldane was looking at Smiley: ‘My congratulations to Control,’ he said. ‘Thank him, will you? Thank him for the help, the
technical
help, Smiley; for the encouragement, thank him for the rope. For the kind words too: for lending you to bring the flowers. So nicely done.’

But Leclerc seemed impressed by the neatness of it.

‘Let’s not be hard on Smiley, Adrian. He’s only doing his job. We must all get back to London. There’s the Fielden report … I’d like to show you that, Smiley. Troop dispositions in Hungary: something new.’

‘And I’d like to see it,’ Smiley replied politely.

‘He’s right, you know, Avery,’ Leclerc repeated. His voice was quite eager. ‘Be a soldier. Fortunes of war; keep to the rules! We play the war rules in this game. Smiley, I owe you an apology. And Control too, I fear. I had thought the old rivalry was awake. I’m wrong.’ He inclined his head. ‘You must dine with me in London. My club is not your mark, I know, but it’s quiet there; a good set. Very good. Haldane must come. Adrian, I invite you!’

Avery had buried his face in his hands.

‘There’s something else I want to discuss with you, Adrian – Smiley, you won’t mind this I’m sure, you’re practically one of the family – the question of Registry. The system of library files is really out of date. Bruce was on to me about it just before I left. Poor Miss Courtney can hardly keep pace. I fear the answer is more copies … top copy to the case officer, carbons for information. There’s a new machine on the market, cheap photostats, threepence halfpenny a copy, that seems quite reasonable in these dog days … I must speak to the people about it … the Ministry … they know a good thing when they see one. Perhaps—’ he broke off. ‘Johnson, I could wish you made less noise, we’re still operational, you know.’ He spoke like a man intent upon appearances, conscious of tradition.

Johnson had gone to the window. Leaning on the sill he reached outside and with his customary precision began winding in the aerial. He held a spool in his left hand like a bobbin. As he gathered in the wire he gently turned it as an old woman spins her thread. Avery was sobbing like a child. No one heeded him.

The green van moved slowly down the road, crossed the Station Square where the empty fountain stood. On its roof the small loop aerial turned this way and that like a hand feeling for the wind. Behind it, well back, were two trucks. The snow was settling at last. They drove on sidelights, twenty yards apart, following each other’s tyre marks.

The captain sat in the back of the van with a microphone for speaking to the driver, and beside him the sergeant, lost in private memories. The corporal crouched at his receiver, his hand constantly turning the dial as he watched the line tremble in the small screen.

‘The transmission’s stopped,’ he said suddenly.

‘How many groups have you recorded?’ the sergeant asked.

‘A dozen. The call sign over and over again, then part of a message. I don’t think he’s getting any reply.’

‘Five letters or four?’

‘Still four.’

‘Did he sign off?’

‘No.’

‘What frequency was he using?’

‘Three six five zero.’

‘Keep scanning across it. Two hundred either side.’

‘There’s nothing there.’

‘Keep searching,’ he said sharply. ‘Right across the band. He’s changed the crystal. He’ll take a few minutes to tune up.’

The operator began spinning the large dial, slowly, watching the eye of green light in the centre of the set which opened and closed as he crossed one station after another. ‘Here he is. Three eight seven zero. Different call sign but the same handwriting. Quicker than yesterday; better.’

The tape recorder wound monotonously at his elbow. ‘He’s working on alternating crystals,’ the sergeant said. ‘Like they did in the war. It’s the same trick.’ He was embarrassed, an elderly man confronted with his past.

The corporal slowly raised his head. ‘This is it,’ he said. ‘Zero. We’re right on top of him.’

Quietly the two men dismounted from the van. ‘Wait here,’ the sergeant told the corporal. ‘Keep listening. If the signal breaks, even for a moment, tell the driver to flash the headlights, do you understand?’

‘I’ll tell him.’ The corporal looked frightened.

‘If it stops altogether, keep searching and let me know.’

‘Pay attention,’ the captain warned as he dismounted. The sergeant was waiting impatiently; behind him, a tall building standing on waste land.

In the distance, half hidden in the falling snow, lay row after row of small houses. No sound came.

‘What do they call this place?’ the captain asked.

‘A block of flats; workers’ flats. They haven’t named it yet.’

‘No, beyond.’

‘Nothing. Follow me,’ the sergeant said.

Pale lights shone in almost every window; six floors. Stone steps, thick with leaves, led to the cellar. The sergeant went first, shining his torch ahead of them on to the shoddy walls. The captain nearly fell. The first room was large and airless, half of brick and half unrendered plaster. At the far end were two steel doors. On the ceiling a single bulb burnt behind a wire cage. The sergeant’s torch was still on; he shone it needlessly into the corners.

‘What are you looking for?’ the captain asked.

The steel doors were locked.

‘Find the janitor,’ the sergeant ordered. ‘Quickly.’

The captain ran up the stairs and returned with an old man, unshaven, gently grumbling; he held a bunch of long keys on a chain. Some were rusty.

‘The switches,’ said the sergeant. ‘For the building. Where are they?’

The old man sorted through the keys. He pushed one into the lock and it would not fit, he tried another and a third.

‘Quick, you fool,’ the captain shouted.

‘Don’t fuss him,’ said the sergeant.

The door opened. They pushed into the corridor, their torches playing over the whitewash. The janitor was holding up a key, grinning. ‘Always the last one,’ he said. The sergeant found what he was looking for, hidden on the wall behind the door: a box with a glass front. The captain put his hand to the main lever, had half pulled it when the other struck him roughly away.

‘No! Go to the top of the stairs; tell me when the driver flashes his headlights.’

‘Who’s in charge here?’ the captain complained.

‘Do as I ask.’ He had opened the box and was tugging gently at the first fuse, blinking through his gold-rimmed spectacles; a benign man.

With diligent, surgical fingers the sergeant drew out the fuse, cautiously, as if he were expecting an electric shock, then immediately replaced it, his eyes turning towards the figure at the top of the steps; then a second and still the captain said nothing. Outside the motionless soldiers watched the windows of the block, saw how floor by floor the lights went out, then quickly on again. The sergeant tried another and a fourth and this time he heard an excited cry from above him: ‘The headlights! The headlights have gone out.’

‘Quite! Go and ask the driver which floor. But
quietly
.’

‘They’ll never hear us in this wind,’ the captain said irritably, and a moment later: ‘The driver says third floor. The third-floor light went out and the transmission stopped at the same time. It’s started again now.’

‘Put the men round the building,’ the sergeant said. ‘And pick five men to come with us. He’s on the third floor.’