London Match. Len Deighton
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Название: London Match

Автор: Len Deighton

Издательство: HarperCollins

Жанр: Историческая литература

Серия:

isbn: 9780007387205

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СКАЧАТЬ codes?’

      ‘Dicky didn’t seem to be listening. He was hoping the Miller woman would just fade away, and he’s forbidden me to speak with Stinnes.’

      ‘Dicky was never one to go looking for extra work,’ said Werner.

      ‘No one is interested,’ I said. ‘I went down to talk to Silas Gaunt and von Munte and neither of them were very interested. Silas waggled his finger at me when I brought the matter up with von Munte. And he told me not to rock the boat. Don’t start digging into all that again, he said.’

      ‘I don’t know old Mr Gaunt the way you do. I just remember him in the Berlin office at the time when your dad was Resident. We were about eighteen years old. Mr Gaunt bet me that the Wall would never go up. I won fifty marks from him when they built the Wall. And fifty marks was a lot of money in those days. You could have an evening out with all the trimmings for fifty marks.’

      ‘I wish I had one mark for every time you’ve told me that story, Werner.’

      ‘You’re in a filthy mood, Bernie. I’m sorry you got this rotten job, but it’s not my fault.’

      ‘I’d really looked forward to a couple of days with the kids. They’re growing up without me, Werner. And Gloria is there too.’

      ‘I’m glad that’s going well … you and Gloria.’

      ‘It’s bloody ridiculous,’ I said. ‘I’m old enough to be her father. Do you know how old she is?’

      ‘No, and I don’t care. There’s an age difference between me and Zena, isn’t there? But that doesn’t stop us being happy.’

      I turned to Werner so that I could look at him. It was dark. His face was visible only because it was edged with light reflected from the array of floodlights. His heavy-lidded eyes were serious. Poor Werner. Was he really happy? His marriage was my idea of hell. ‘Zena is older than Gloria,’ I said.

      ‘Be happy while you can, Bernie. It’s nothing to do with Gloria’s age. You still feel bad about losing Fiona. You haven’t got over her running away yet. I know you, and I can tell. She was a sort of anchor for you, a base. Without her you are restless and unsure of yourself. But that’s only temporary. You’ll get over it. And Gloria is just what you need.’

      ‘Maybe.’ I didn’t argue with him; he was usually very perceptive about people and their relationships. That was why he’d been such a good field agent back in the days when we were young and carefree, and enjoyed taking risks.

      ‘What’s really on your mind? Code names are just for the analysts and Coordination staff. Why do you care how many code names Fiona used?’

      ‘She used one,’ I snapped. ‘They all use one. Our people have one name per source and so do their agents. That’s what von Munte confirmed. Fiona was Eisenguss – no other names.’

      ‘How can you be so sure?’

      ‘I’m not one hundred per cent sure,’ I told him. ‘Special circumstances come up in this business; we all know that. But I’m ninety-nine per cent sure.’

      ‘What are you saying, Bernie?’

      ‘Surely it’s obvious, Werner.’

      ‘It’s Christmas, Bernie. I had a few drinks just to be sociable. What is it you’re saying?’

      ‘There are two major sources of material that the Miller woman handled. Both top-grade intelligence. Only one of them was Fiona.’

      Werner pinched his nose between thumb and forefinger and closed his eyes. Werner did that when he was thinking hard. ‘You mean there’s someone else still there? You mean the KGB still have someone in London Central?’

      ‘I don’t know,’ I said.

      ‘Don’t just shrug it off,’ said Werner. ‘Don’t hit me in the face with that kind of custard pie and then say you don’t know.’

      ‘Everything points to it,’ I said. ‘But I’ve told them at London Central. I’ve done everything short of drawing a diagram and no one gives a damn.’

      ‘It might just be a stunt, a KGB stunt.’

      ‘I’m not organizing a lynching party, Werner. I’m just suggesting that it should be checked out.’

      ‘The Miller woman might have got it wrong,’ said Werner.

      ‘She might have got it wrong, but even if she got it wrong, that still leaves a question to be answered. And what if someone reads the Miller transcript and starts wondering if I might be the other source?’

      ‘Ahh! You’re just covering your arse,’ said Werner. ‘You don’t really think there’s another KGB source in London Central, but you realized that you’d have to interpret it that way in case anyone thought it was you and you were trying to protect yourself.’

      ‘Don’t be stupid.’

      ‘I’m not stupid, Bernard. I know London Central and I know you. You’re just running round shouting fire in case someone accuses you of arson.’

      I shook my head to say no, but I was wondering if perhaps he was right. He knew me better than anyone, better even than Fiona knew me.

      ‘Are you really going to hang on until they get that motor car out of the water?’

      ‘That’s what I’m going to do.’

      ‘Come back for a bite of dinner. Ask the police inspector to phone us when they start work again.’

      ‘I mustn’t, Werner. I promised Lisl I’d have dinner with her at the hotel in the unlikely event of my getting away from here in time.’

      ‘Shall I phone her to say you won’t make it?’

      I looked at my watch. ‘Yes, please, Werner. She’s having some cronies in to eat there – old Mr Koch and those people she buys wine from – and they’ll get fidgety if she delays dinner for me.’

      ‘I’ll phone her. I took her a present yesterday, but I’ll phone to say Happy Christmas.’ He pulled the collar of his coat up and tucked his white silk scarf into it. ‘Damned cold out here on the river.’

      ‘Get back to Zena,’ I told him.

      ‘If you’re sure you’re not coming … Shall I bring you something to eat?’

      ‘Stop being a Jewish mother, Werner. There are plenty of places where I can get something. In fact, I’ll walk back to your car with you. There’s a bar open on the corner. I’ll get myself sausage and beer.’

      It was nearly ten o’clock at night when they dragged the ambulance out of the Havel. It was a sorry sight, its side caked with oily mud where it had rested on the bottom of the river. One tyre was torn off and some of the bodywork ripped open where it had collided with the railings that were there to prevent such accidents.

      There was a muffled cheer as the car came to rest. But there was no delay in finishing the job. Even СКАЧАТЬ