A Perfect Spy

He laughed for her, rang the Great Eastern Hotel, and got a similar result. He rang Independent Television News and asked for the night editor. He said he was Inspector Markley of Scotland Yard with an urgent enquiry: He wanted the time of transmission of the item on the Lebanese bombing story on Monday night News at Ten. He held on for as long as it took, while he continued to leaf through the pages of Pym’s letter. Postmark Reading. Posted Monday night or Tuesday morning.

“Ten-seventeen and ten seconds. That’s when he rang you,” he said, and glanced round to make sure she was all right. She was sitting up against the pillow, head back like a boxer between rounds.

He rang the post office investigation unit and got the night officer. He gave her the Firm’s codeword and she responded with a doom-laden “I hear you,” as if the third world war was about to happen.

“I’m asking the impossible and I want it by yesterday,” he said.

“We’ll try our best,” she said.

“I want a backtrack on any cash call to London made from a Reading area telephone box between ten-eighteen and ten-twenty-one on Monday night. Duration around twenty minutes.”

“Can’t be done,” she said promptly.

“I love her,” he told Kate over his shoulder. She had rolled over and was lying on her stomach with her face buried in her arm.

He rang off and addressed himself in earnest to Kate’s purloined pages from Pym’s personal file. Three of them, extracted from the army record of First Lieutenant Magnus Pym, number supplied, of the Intelligence Corps, attached No. 6 Field Interrogation Unit, Graz, described in a footnote as an offensive military intelligence-gathering unit with limited permission to run local informants. Dated 18 July 1951, writer unknown, relevant passage sidelined by Registry. Date of entry to Pym’s P.F., 12 May 1952. Reason for entry, Pym’s formal candidature for admission to this service. The extract was from his commanding officer’s conduct report at the close of Pym’s tour of duty in Graz, Austria: “. . exceptional young officer. . popular and courteous in the mess. . earned a high reputation for his skilful running of source GREENSLEEVES who over the last eleven months has supplied this unit with secret and top-secret intelligence on the Soviet Order of Battle in Czechoslovakia.”

“You all right there?” he called to Kate. “Listen. You did nothing wrong. Nobody even missed this stuff. Nobody would have been the wiser for it. Nobody ever tried to follow it up.”

He turned a page: “. . close personal relationship established between source and case officer. . Pym’s calm authority during crisis. . source’s insistence on operating through Pym only. .” He read fast to the end then began again at the beginning more slowly.

“His C.O. was in love with him too,” he called to Kate. “‘. . his excellent memory for detail,’” he read, “‘. . lucid report writing, often done in the early hours of the morning after a long debriefing. . high entertainment value…’

“Doesn’t even mention Sabina,” he complained to Kate. “Can’t see what the devil he was so worried about. Why risk his hotline to you to suppress a bit of paper from the dark ages that did him nothing but credit? Must be something in his own nasty little mind, not ours at all. That doesn’t surprise me either.”

The phone was ringing. He glanced round. The bed was empty, the bathroom door closed. Scared, he sprang up and pulled it quickly open. She was standing safely at the basin, chucking water in her face. He closed the door again and hastened back to the telephone. It was a mossy green scrambler with chrome buttons. He picked up the receiver and growled “Yes?”

“Jack? Let’s go over. Ready? Now.”

Brotherhood pressed a button and heard the same tenor voice trilling in the electronic storm.

“You’ll enjoy this, Jack — Jack, can you hear me? Hullo?”

“I can hear you, Bo.”

“I’ve just had Carver on the line.” Carver was the American Head of Station in London. “He insists his people have come up with fresh leads concerning our mutual friend. They want to reopen the story on him immediately. Harry Wexler’s flying over from Washington to see fair play.”

“That all?”

“Isn’t it enough?”

“Where do they think he is?” said Brotherhood.

“That’s exactly the point. They didn’t ask, they weren’t worried. They assume he’s still coping with his father’s affairs,” said Brammel, very pleased. “They actually made the point that this would be an excellent time to meet. While our friend is occupied with his personal affairs. Everything is still in its place as far as they’re concerned. Except for the new leads of course. Whatever they are.”

“Except for the networks,” Brotherhood said.

“I’ll want you with me at the meeting, Jack. I want you in there punching for me, just like your usual self. Will you do that?”

“If it’s an order, I’ll do anything.”