What does Siebkron want? he wondered for the hundredth time since the terse summons at nine o’clock that morning.
The Conference began, like all conferences, with a resumé of what was said at a previous occasion. Lieff read the minutes in a tone of unctuous flattery, like a man awarding a medal. It was an occasion, he implied, of the greatest felicity. The Polizeidirektor unbuttoned his green jacket, and lit a length of Dutch cigar till it burned like a spill. Siebkron coughed angrily but the old policeman ignored him.
‘You have no objection to these minutes, Mr Bradfield?’ Siebkron usually smiled when he asked this question, and although his smile was as cold as the north wind, de Lisle could have wished for it today.
‘Off the cuff, none,’ Bradfield replied easily, ‘But I must see them in writing before I can sign them.’
‘No one is asking you to sign.’
De Lisle looked up sharply.
‘You will allow me,’ Siebkron declared, ‘to read the following statement. Copies will be distributed.’
It was quite short.
The doyen, he said, had already discussed with Herr Lieff of Protocol Department, and with the American Ambassador, the question of the physical security of diplomatic premises in the event of civil unrest arising out of minority demonstrations in the Federal Republic. Siebkron regretted that additional measures were proving necessary, but it was desirable to anticipate unhappy eventualities rather than attempt to correct them when it was too late. Siebkron had received the doyen’s assurance that all diplomatic Heads of Missiori would cooperate to the utmost with the Federal authorities. The British Ambassador had already associated himself with this undertaking. Siebkron’s voice had found a hard edge which was uncommonly close to anger. Lieff and the old policeman had turned deliberately to face Bradfield, and their expressions were frankly hostile.
‘I am sure you subscribe to this opinion,’ Siebkron said in English, handing a copy of the statement down the table. Bradfield had noticed nothing. Taking his fountain pen from an inside pocket, he unscrewed the cap, fitted it carefully over the butt and ran the nib along line after line of the text.
‘This is an aide-memoire?’
‘A memorandum. You will find the German translation attached.’
‘I can see nothing here that requires to be in writing at all,’ Bradfield said easily. ‘You know very well, Ludwig, that we always agree on such matters. Our interests are identical.’
Siebkron disregarded this pleasant appeal: ‘You also understand that Doktor Karfeld is not well disposed towards the British. This places the British Embassy in a special category.’
Bradfield’s smile did not flinch. ‘It has not escaped our notice. We rely on you to see that Herr Karfeld’s sentiments are not expressed in physical terms. We have every confidence in your ability to do so.’
‘Precisely. Then you will appreciate my concern for the safety of all personnel of the British Embassy.’
Bradfield’s voice came quite close to banter. ‘Ludwig, what is this? A declaration of love?’
The rest came very fast, thrown down like an ultimatum: ‘I must accordingly ask you that until further notice all British Embassy staff below the rank of Counsellor be confined to the area of Bonn. You will kindly instruct them that for their own safety they will please be in their residences-‘ he was reading again from the folder before him – ‘henceforth and until further notice, by eleven o’clock at night, local time.’ The white faces peered at them through the swathes of tobacco smoke like lamps through an anaesthetic. In the momentary confusion and bewilderment, only Bradfield’s voice, fluent and decisive as the voice of a commander in battle, did not waver.
It was a principle of civil order which the British had learnt by bitter experience in many parts of the world, he said, that unpleasant incidents were actually provoked by over-elaborate precautions.
Siebkron offered no comment.
While making every allowance for Siebkron’s professional and personal concern, Bradfield felt obliged to warn him strongly against any gesture which might be misinterpreted by the outside world.
Siebkron waited.
Like Siebkron, Bradfield insisted, he himself had a responsibility to preserve Embassy morale and thus fortify the Junior Staff against strains yet to come. He could not support any measure at this stage which would look like a retreat in the face of an enemy who as yet had barely advanced… Did Siebkron really wish it said that he could not control a handful of hooligans?…