A SMALL TOWN IN GERMANY by John le Carré

‘England versus the Rest of the World,’ Turner agreed and they both laughed.

Was it with Praschko, then, that he had lunched at the Mat­ernus? If so, Praschko could hardly be his regular contact, for he would not add the tell-tale P, that Harting, who covered his tracks so well; and would not lunch with Praschko in public either, after the trouble he had taken to sever his relationship. Was there, in that case, a middle-man, a cut-out, between Praschko and Harting? Or was this the day the system failed? Hold the line Turner, hold on to reason, for unreason will be your downfall. Make order out of chaos. Was this P the sign that Praschko proposed to see him in person, to warn him perhaps that Siebkron was on his trail? To order him ­here was a chance – to order him at any risk and at all costs to steal the Green File before he ran?

Thursday.

He lifted the keys and swung them gently from his finger. Thursday was the day for meeting… pressure day… the day he was warned… the day before he left… the day of the weekly briefing and de-briefing… the day he borrowed the keys from Pargiter.

Christ: had he really slept with Pargiter? There are certain sacrifices, General Shlobodovitch, which not even Leo Harting will make in the service of Mother Russia.

The useless keys. What did he suppose he would get from them? Entry to the coveted despatch box? Balls. He would have observed the procedure; Meadowes had even instructed him in it. He would know very well there were no spare keys to the despatch box in the Duty Officer’s bunch. Entry to Registry itself then? Balls again. He would know at a glance that Registry was protected with better locks than these.

So what key did he want ?

What key did he want so desperately that he imperilled his whole career as a spy in order to get a copy of it? What key did he want, that he made up to Jenny Pargiter and risked the disapproval of the Embassy – incurred it, indeed, if Mea­dowes and Gaunt were anything to go by. What key? The key to the lift, so that he could smuggle out his files, dump them in some hideaway on an upper floor and remove them singly and at leisure in his briefcase? Was that what the missing trolley meant?

Fantastic visions presented themselves. He saw the little figure of Harting sprinting down the dark corridor, pushing the trolley ahead of him into the open lift, saw the pyramid of box files trembling on the upper shelf, and on the lower shelf the accidental by-product: the stationery, the seal, the diaries, the long-carriage typewriter from the pool… He saw the mini van waiting at the side entrance and Harting’s name­less master holding the door and he said, ‘Oh bugger it,’ schoolboy-style at the very moment when Miss Peate came to fetch the telegrams, and Miss Peate’s sigh was a statement of sexual abstinence.

‘He’ll want his code books too,’ Cork warned her.

‘He happens to be quite aware of the decoding procedure, thank you.’

‘Here, what’s up then, what’s going on in Brussels?’ Turner asked.

‘Rumours.’

‘What of?’

‘If they wanted you to know that, they would hardly use the person to person procedure, would they?’

‘You don’t know London,’ said Turner.

As she left she managed even in her walk – in her loping, English touch-nothing, feel-nothing, sex-is-for-the-lower-classes walk – to convey her particular contempt for Turner and all his works.

‘I could murder her,’ Cork said confidently, ‘I could cut her nasty throat. I wouldn’t have a moment’s regret. Three years she’s been here and the only time she smiled was when the Old Man creased his Rolls-Royce.’

It was absurd. No questions; he knew it was absurd. Spies of Harting’s calibre do not steal; they record, memorise, photo­graph; spies of Harting’s calibre act by graft and calculation, not by impulse. They cover their tracks and survive to deceive again tomorrow.

Nor do they tell transparent lies.

They do not tell Jenny Pargiter that choir practice takes place on Thursdays when she can find out within five minutes that they take place on Fridays. They do not tell Meadowes that they are attending conferences in Bad Godesberg, when both Bradfield and de Lisle know that they are not; and have not done so for two years or more. They do not draw their balance of pay and allowances before they defect, as a signal to anyone who happens to be interested; they do not risk the curiosity of Gaunt in order to work late at night.

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