Spy Sinker. Len Deighton

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СКАЧАТЬ style="font-size:15px;">      ‘This particular Mrs X …’

      ‘Never mind the psychologist’s report,’ said Bret. ‘She’ll know that you measured the risk, that you put her in the scales, with this Russian defector in the other pan.’

      ‘I don’t see it that way.’

      ‘Never mind how you see it. In fact never mind the way it really is. We are sitting here talking about an agent whom you call “unique”. Right?’

      ‘Whose position and opportunity may be unique.’

      ‘May be unique. Okay. Well I’m telling you that if you compromise her, in even the slightest degree, in order to play footsie with a Russian agent, Mrs X will never deliver one hundred per cent.’

      ‘It might go the other way. Perhaps she’ll feel distressed that we sacrificed this Blum fellow,’ said the D-G gently. ‘Already she’s expressed her concern. Remember it’s a woman.’

      ‘I’m remembering that. She must contact them right away and reveal Blum’s approach to her. If you show any hesitation in telling her that, she’ll deeply resent your inaction for ever after. A woman may express her concern but she doesn’t want to be neglected in favour of a rival. In hindsight it will infuriate her. Yes, I’m remembering it’s a woman, Sir Henry.’

      ‘This fellow Blum might be bringing us something very good,’ said the D-G.

      ‘Never mind if he’s bringing an inside line to the Politburo. You’ll have to choose one or the other: not both.’ The two men looked at each other. Bret said, ‘I take it that Mrs X is separated from her husband?’

      The D-G didn’t answer the question. He sat back and sniffed. After a moment’s thought he said, ‘You’re probably right, Bret.’

      ‘On this one, I am, sir. Never mind that I don’t know Mrs X; I know that much about women.’

      ‘Oh, but you do.’

      ‘Do?’

      ‘You do know Mrs X. You know her very well.’

      The two men looked at each other, both knowing that the old man would only divulge the name if Bret Rensselaer agreed to take on the job of running her. ‘If you think I’m the right person for the job,’ said Bret, yielding to the inevitable. They’d both known he’d have to say yes right from the very beginning. This wasn’t the sort of job you advertised on the notice-board.

      ‘Capital!’ said the D-G in the firm bass tone that was the nearest he ever got to expressing his enthusiasm. He looked at his watch. ‘My goodness, it’s been such a splendid evening that the time has flown.’

      Bret was still waiting to hear the name but he responded to his cue. He got to his feet and said, ‘Yes, I must be going.’

      ‘I believe your driver is in the kitchen, Bret.’

      ‘Eating? That’s very civil of you, Sir Henry.’

      ‘There’s nowhere round here for a chap to get a meal.’ Sir Henry pulled the silk cord and a bell jangled somewhere in a distant part of the house. ‘We’re in the wilds here. Even the village shop has closed down. I don’t know how on earth we’ll manage in future,’ he said, without any sign that the problem was causing him great stress.

      ‘It’s a magnificent old house.’

      ‘You must come in summer,’ said Sir Henry. ‘The garden is splendid.’

      ‘I would like that,’ Bret responded.

      ‘Come in August. We have an open day for the local church.’

      ‘That sounds most enjoyable.’ His enthusiasm dampened as he realized that the D-G was inviting him to be marshalled around the garden with a crowd of gawking tourists.

      ‘Do you fish?’ said the D-G, shepherding him towards the door.

      ‘I never seem to have enough time,’ said Bret. He heard his driver at the door. In a moment the servants would be in earshot and it would be too late. ‘Who is it, sir? Who is Mrs X?’

      The D-G looked at him, relishing those last few moments and anticipating Bret’s astonishment. ‘Mrs Samson is the person in question.’

      The door opened. ‘Mr Rensselaer’s car is here, sir.’ Sir Henry’s butler saw the look of dismay on Bret’s face and wondered if he was not well. Perhaps it was something about the food or the wine. He’d wondered about that Montrachet: in the same case he’d come upon a couple of corked bottles.

      ‘I see,’ said Bret Rensselaer, who didn’t see at all, and was even more surprised than Sir Henry thought he would be. All sorts of thoughts and consequences were whirling round in his mind. Mrs Bernard Samson. My God! Mrs Samson had a husband and young children. How the hell could it be Mrs Samson?

      ‘Goodnight, Bret. Look at all those stars … It will freeze hard tonight unless we get that rain those idiots on the TV keep forecasting.’

      Bret almost got back out of the car. He felt like insisting that he should have another half an hour to discuss it all. Instead he dutifully said, ‘Yes, I’m afraid so. Look here, sir, we can’t possibly give Bernard Samson the German Desk in view of what you’ve told me.’

      ‘You think not? Samson was the only one to get across alive the other night, wasn’t he?’

      ‘Yes, that’s right.’

      ‘What bad luck. It was the other one – Busby – we needed to talk to. Yes, that’s right: Samson. No proper schooling of course, but he has flair and deserves a shot at the German Desk.’

      ‘I was going to make it official tomorrow.’

      ‘Whatever you say, Bret, old chap.’

      ‘It’s unthinkable with this other business on the cards. From every point of view … unthinkable. We’d better give the desk to Cruyer.’

      ‘Can he cope?’

      ‘With Samson as an assistant he’ll manage.’ Bret shifted position on the car seat. He began to think that the D-G had planned all this, knowing that Bernard Samson was about to be promoted. He’d invited Bret out here to dinner just to prevent him appointing Samson and thus threatening the prospect of the big one: putting Mrs Samson into ‘The Kremlin’. The cunning old bastard.

      ‘I’ll leave it with you,’ said the D-G.

      ‘Very well, sir. Thank you. Goodnight, Sir Henry.’

      The D-G leaned into the car and said. ‘Oh, yes. On that matter we discussed: not a word to Silas Gaunt. For the time being it’s better he doesn’t know you’re a party to it.’

      ‘Is that wise, sir?’ said Bret, piqued that the D-G had obviously passed it off as his own idea when talking to ‘Uncle’ Silas.

      The D-G knew what was going through Bret’s mind. He touched the side of his nose. ‘You can’t dance at two weddings with one bottle СКАЧАТЬ