Spy Story. Len Deighton

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      ‘At the Lighthouse?’

      ‘Wherever you like.’

      Ferdy was usually more imperious in his invitations. I interpreted it as a plea. I said, ‘As long as I’m not too late home.’

      It was a cold evening. The Lighthouse was crowded: regulars mostly, some medical students and a Welsh Rugby club that had been infiltrated by hard-drinking Australians. ‘I knew he’d turn out a bastard,’ said Ferdy, pulling a cashmere scarf tight around his throat. The drinks came and he pushed a pound across the counter. ‘Have one with us, Landlord.’

      ‘Thank you, Mr Foxwell, a small bitter,’ said the barman. Characteristically, Ferdy chose a sheltered piece of bar counter under one of the huge sherry casks that formed one wall.

      ‘You’re the only one who can run the Russian desk, Ferdy,’ I told him. ‘Why don’t you talk to Schlegel tomorrow? Tell him that if he doesn’t give you the two girls and your programmer back you’ll do something drastic.’

      ‘Drastic?’ said Ferdy. ‘You mean the old karate chop: zap! Pow! Wallop!’

      ‘Well he couldn’t get anyone else for weeks, Ferdy. And they couldn’t leave the desk unmanned, could they? Hell, you don’t need the money anyway. I don’t know why you’ve stuck it as long as this.’

      ‘Zap, pow, wallop, Schlegel,’ said Ferdy experimentally. ‘No, I don’t think that’s my style.’

      ‘More my style, you mean?’

      ‘I didn’t say that, old chap.’

      Ferdy twisted up his face and gave an impression of Schlegel. ‘And cut out this zap, pow, wallop crap, Foxwell. You show me a good loser and I’ll show you a loser.’ He let a trace of Schlegel’s suppressed Southern drawl creep in at the end. I dreaded to think what Ferdy did to imitate me when I wasn’t around.

      I said, ‘You should get some of your titled relatives down to your place one weekend …’

      ‘And invite Schlegel and his “bride”. You know I had considered even that …’

      ‘Big heads think the same.’

      ‘But it’s a bit feeble, isn’t it?’

      ‘You know your relatives better than I do.’

      ‘Yes, well, not even my bloody titled relatives deserve a weekend of Schlegel. Drink up, old lad, he’s bringing some more.’

      Ferdy had ordered more drinks by raising an eyebrow at a garrulous barman that he treated like an old family retainer. I paid for them, and Ferdy laid into his brandy and soda as though he didn’t want to risk it being knocked over. ‘What’s the difference,’ he said, after draining it. ‘It’s obvious the bloody Yanks are going to close us.’

      ‘You’re wrong there,’ I told him.

      ‘Time will tell,’ he said portentously.

      ‘No need to wait. I can tell you that they are pumping a couple of million into the Studies Group over the next six months. We’re going to have five hours a day computer time, including Saturdays and Sundays.’

      ‘You can’t be serious.’

      But Ferdy knew that I was in a position to tell him. ‘Scenarios,’ I said. Instead of the studies, we were going to do projections forward: strategic guesses on what might happen in the future.

      Ferdy is only a few inches taller than me but he is able to make me feel like a dwarf when he leans forward to murmur in my earhole. ‘We’d need all the American data – the real hard stuff,’ he said.

      ‘I think we’re going to get it, Ferdy.’

      ‘That’s pretty high-powered. Scenarios would be top level security. Joint Chiefs level! I mean we’d be running alive with Gestapo! … plastic credit cards with our photos, and Schlegel looking at our bank balances.’

      ‘Don’t quote me, but …’ I shrugged.

      Ferdy tucked into his brandy and soda. ‘OK,’ Ferdy muttered, ‘industrial action it is then.’

      As if on cue Schlegel came into the saloon bar. I saw him look round for us. Systematically he checked everyone along the counter and then came through into the public bar. ‘I’m glad I found you,’ he said. He smiled to indicate that he’d overlook the fact that it was still office hours.

      ‘Brandy and soda for me,’ said Ferdy. ‘And this is a Barley Wine.’

      ‘OK,’ said Schlegel; he waved his hand to indicate that he’d understood. ‘Can you do the Red Admiral tomorrow for some visiting firemen from CINCLANT?’

      ‘Zap, pow, wallop,’ said Ferdy.

      ‘How’s that again?’ said Schlegel, cupping his ear.

      ‘Bit short notice,’ said Ferdy. He shuffled his feet and bit his lip as if trying to work out the difficulties involved, although we all knew that he’d have to do it if Schlegel asked.

      ‘So was Pearl Harbor,’ said Schlegel. ‘All I’m asking for is a simple ASW run-through, to show these idiots how we work.’

      ‘Anti-Submarine Warfare run-through,’ said Ferdy patiently, as though encountering the expression for the very first time. It was easy to understand why Schlegel got angry.

      ‘Anti-Submarine Warfare run-through,’ said Schlegel, without concealing the self-restraint. He spoke as if to a small child. ‘With you acting as the C-in-C of the Russian Northern Fleet and these NATO people running the Blue Suite to fight you.’

      ‘Which game?’

      ‘The North Cape Tactical Game, but if it escalates we’ll let it go.’

      ‘Very well,’ said Ferdy, after stretching his silence to breaking point.

      ‘Great!’ said Schlegel, with enough enthusiasm to make some of the Welsh Rugby club stop singing.

      He looked at the two of us and gave a big smile. ‘There’ll be Admiral Cassidy and Admiral Findlater: top brass from CINCLANT. Well, I’ve got a lot to do before they arrive.’ He looked around the pub as if to check on our associates. ‘Don’t be late in the morning.’

      Ferdy watched him all the way to the door. ‘Well at least we know how to get rid of the bastard,’ said Ferdy. ‘Ask him to buy a round of drinks.’

      ‘Give it a rest, Ferdy.’

      ‘Oh, don’t think I don’t see what’s going on. You come out and buy me a drink and soften me up for him.’

      ‘OK, Ferdy,’ I said. ‘You have it your way.’ Just for a minute I was about to blow my top, the way I would have done in the old days. But I had to admit, I was Schlegel’s assistant, and it could СКАЧАТЬ