A Perfect Spy

She began to hear the scream inside herself and had no whisky left to quell it. Of all the entries, the dozens and dozens, and he has to pick that one. “I don’t know. A Joe. I don’t know.”

“You wrote it, didn’t you?”

“Magnus asked me to. ‘Put down I’m meeting P.’ He didn’t keep a diary of his own. He said it was insecure.”

“And he made you write the entries for him.”

“He said if anybody looked, they wouldn’t know which were his dates and which were mine. It was part of sharing.” She felt Brotherhood’s stare. He’s making me speak, she thought. He wants to hear the quaver in my voice.

“Sharing what?”

“His work.”

“Explain.”

“He couldn’t tell me what he was doing, but he could show me that he was doing it and when.”

“Did he say that?”

“I could feel it.”

“What could you feel?”

“That he was proud! He wanted me to know!”

“Know what?”

Brotherhood could drive her mad even when she knew he meant to. “Know that he had another life! An important one. That he was being used.”

“By us?”

“By you, Jack. By the Firm! Who do you think — the Americans?”

“Why do you say that — the Americans? Did he have a thing about them?”

“Why should he? He served in Washington.”

“Needn’t stop him. Might even encourage him. Did you know the Lederers in Washington?”

“Of course we did.”

“But better here, eh? I hear she’s quite an armful.”

He was turning forward to the days yet to be endured. Tomorrow and the day after. To the weekend, which was already gaping at her like a hole in her shattered universe.

“Mind if I keep this?” he asked.

Mary damn well did mind. She possessed no spare diary and no spare life either. She snatched it back and let him wait while she copied out her future on a sheet of paper: Drinks Lederer. . dinner Dinkels. . Tom’s school term ends…. She came to “meet P” and left it out.

“Why’s this drawer empty?” he asked.

“I didn’t know it was.”

“So what was it full of?”

“Old photographs. Mementoes. Nothing.”

“How long’s it been empty?”

“I don’t know, Jack. I don’t know! Get off my back, will you?”

“Did he put papers in his suitcase?”

“I didn’t watch him pack.”

“Did you hear him down here while he was packing?”

“Yes.”

The telephone rang. Mary’s hand shot out to take it, but Brotherhood was already grasping her wrist. Still holding her, he leaned towards the door and yelled for Harry while the phone went on ringing. It was rising four a.m. already. Who the hell calls at four in the morning except Magnus? Inside herself Mary was praying so loud she hardly heard Brotherhood’s shout. The phone kept calling her, and she knew now that nothing mattered except Magnus and her family.

“It might be Tom!” she shouted while she struggled. “Let go, damn you!”

“It might be Lederer, too.”

Harry must have flown downstairs. She counted two more rings before he was standing in the doorway.

“Trig this call,” Brotherhood ordered, loud and slow. Harry vanished. Brotherhood released Mary’s hand. “Make it very, very long, Mary. Spread it right out. You know how to play those games. Do it.”

She lifted the phone and said, “Pym residence.”

Nobody answered. Brotherhood was conducting her with his powerful hands, willing her, pressing her to talk. She heard a metallic ping and crammed her hand over the mouthpiece. “It could be a call code,” she breathed. She held up one finger for one ping. Then a second. Then a third. It was a call code. They had used them in Berlin: two for this, three for that. Private and prearranged between the Joe and base. She opened her eyes to Brotherhood to say what shall I do? He shook his head to say I don’t know either.

Speak, he mouthed.

Mary drew a deep breath. “Hullo? Speak up, please.” She took refuge in German. “This is the residence of Counsellor Magnus Pym of the British Embassy. Who is that? Will you speak, please? Mr. Pym is not here at the moment. If you wish to leave a message, you may do so. Otherwise, please call later. Hullo?”

More, Brotherhood was urging. Give me more. She recited her telephone number in German and again in English. The line was open and she could hear a noise like traffic and a noise like scratchy music played at half speed, but no more pings. She repeated the number in English. “Speak up, please. The line is dreadful. Hullo. Can you hear me? Who’s that calling, please? Do — please — speak — up.” Then she couldn’t help herself. Her eyes closed and she screamed, “Magnus, for God’s sake say where you are!” But Brotherhood was miles ahead of her. With a lover’s knowledge he had felt her outburst coming and clapped his hand over the cradle.

“Too short, sir,” Harry lamented from the doorway. “I’d need another minute at the least.”

“Was it foreign?” Brotherhood said.

“Could be foreign, could be next door, sir.”

“That was naughty, Mary. Don’t do those things again. We’re on the same side in this and I’m boss.”

“Someone’s kidnapped him,” she said. “I know they have.”