Part 25 (1/2)
”What is it?”
”Do you think you could give Magnus a message for me--a friendly one?”
”What is it?”
”Tell him any time--when it's over--any place. I'll be there as his friend.”
With a nod Brotherhood climbed into the taxi and rode away before Lederer could hear his destination.
What Lederer did next should go into history, if not into the larger history of the Pym affair then at least into his own exasperating personal chronicle of seeing everything with perfect vision and being repeatedly dismissed as an unwelcome prophet. Lederer struggled into a phone box intending to call Carver, only to discover he had no English coins. He dived into the Mulberry Arms, fought his way to the bar and bought a beer he did not want in order to have change. He returned to the phone box to find it didn't work, so he pelted back down the road in search of his driver, who, having watched Lederer march by with Brotherhood, had a.s.sumed he was no longer required and had driven home to Battersea where he had a friend. At nine o'clock, Lederer burst in upon Carver at the U.S. Emba.s.sy, where Carver was drafting a signal on the day's events.
”They're lying!” Lederer shouted.
”Who are?”
”The f.u.c.king Brits! Pym's flown the coop. They don't know where he is from the man in the f.u.c.king moon. I asked Brotherhood to pa.s.s him this totally subversive message and he sweet-mouthed me to keep me off the track. Pym jumped s.h.i.+p at London Airport and they're looking for him the same way we are. Those Czech radio transmissions are kosher. The Brits are looking for him, we're looking for him. And the f.u.c.king Czechs are looking for him all over. Listen to me!”
Carver had listened. Carver continued to listen. He took Lederer through his conversation with Brotherhood and concluded it should not have taken place and that Lederer had exceeded his competence. He did not say this to Lederer but he made a note of it, and later that night in a separate telegram to the Agency's personnel people he took care that this note was added to Lederer's file. At the same time he accepted that Lederer might well have stumbled upon the truth, even if by the wrong route, and said this also. Thus Carver covered his back all ways, while at the same time knifing an unpleasing interloper. Never bad.
”The British are not playing this straight,” he confided to people he knew at the top. ”I am going to have to watch this very carefully.”
The Headmaster's study smelt of killing bottles. Mr. Caird, though he hated violence, was a pa.s.sionate lepidopterist. A grim portrait of our founder G. F. Grimble glowered down on cracked leather chairs. In one of them sat Tom. Brotherhood sat opposite'him. Tom was looking at the photograph from the Langley folder on Petz-Hampel-Zaworski. Brotherhood was looking at Tom. Mr. Caird had shaken Brotherhood's hand and left them to it.
”That the one who walked your dad round the cricket ground in Corfu?” said Brotherhood, watching Tom.
”Yes, sir.”
”You weren't far wrong with your description then, were you?”
”No, sir.”
”I thought you'd be amused.”
”I am.”
”He doesn't limp in the photograph, so he doesn't look so hobbly. Had any more letters from your dad? Phone calls?”
”No, sir.”
”Written to him?”
”Don't know where to send it, sir.”
”Why don't you give it to me?”
Tom delved inside his grey pullover and unearthed a sealed envelope with no name or address on it. Brotherhood took it from him and took back the photograph too.
”That inspector fellow hasn't been back to trouble you, has he?”
”No, sir.”
”Anyone else been?”
”Not really, sir.”
”What does that mean?”
”It's just so odd you coming tonight.”
”Why?”
”It's maths prep,” said Tom. ”It's my worst thing.”
”I expect you'd like to get back to it then.” He took Pym's crushed letter from his pocket and handed it across the gap. ”Thought you might like this back, too. It's a fine letter. You should be proud.”
”Thank you, sir.”
”Your dad talks there about an Uncle Syd. Who's that? 'If you're ever down on your luck,' he says, 'or if you need a warm meal and a laugh or a bed for the night, don't forget your Uncle Syd.' Who's Uncle Syd, when he's at home?”
”Syd Lemon, sir.”
”Where does he live?”
”Surbiton, sir. By a railway.”
”Old man, is he? Youngish?”
”He looked after Dad when he was small. He was a friend of Granddad's. He's got a wife called Meg but she's dead.”
They both stood up.
”Dad's still all right, isn't he, sir?” said Tom.
Brotherhood's shoulders stiffened. ”You're to go to your mother, d'you hear? Your mother or me. No one else. That's if things get tough.” He pulled an old leatherbound box from his jacket pocket. ”This is for you.”
Tom opened it. A medal lay inside with a piece of ribbon attached to it--crimson with narrow dark blue stripes on either side.
”What did you get it for?” said Tom.
”Sticking out dark nights alone.” A bell was ringing. ”Now run along and do your job,” said Brotherhood.
The night was foul. Gusts of rain tore across the windscreen as Brotherhood negotiated the narrow lane. The car was a souped-up Ford from the Firm's pool and he had only to stroke the accelerator for it to lunge towards the hedge. Magnus Pym, he thought: traitor and Czech spy. If I know, why don't they? How many times, in how many ways, do they need the proof before they act on it? A pup loomed suddenly out of the rain. He pulled into the forecourt and drank a scotch before going to the phone. Call me on my private line, old boy, Nigel had said expansively.
”The man in the picture is our friend from Corfu. No question about it,” Brotherhood reported.
”You're sure?”
”I'm sure. The boy's sure. I'm sure he's sure. When are you going to give the order to evacuate?”