Harry told him about Shukshin, gave him a brief overview of things as he saw and understood them.
Gormley’s thoughts were wry indeed when he answered: ‘So you’ve been working for us for some time, it appears! What a pity I didn’t know all of this that time I came to see you. We could have done the job that much more quickly. Shukshin might have been import-
ant to you, Harry, but in reality he was very small fry. We might even have been able to use him.’
‘I wanted him for myself,’ said Harry viciously. ‘I wanted him used up! Anyway, I didn’t know there was any connection. I only found that out after I killed him. But that’s done with and now we have to get on. So … you want me to work on my own. But there’s the rub: see, I don’t have the foggiest idea of how to be an agent! I know what I want to do: I have to kill Dragosani, Batu, Borowitz. That is my priority – but I can’t even begin to think how to go about it.’
Gormley seemed to understand his problem. That’s the difference between espionage and ESPionage, Harry. We all understand the first. All the cloak-and-daggery, the thud-and-blundering, the DTB – or Dirty Tricks Brigade – it’s all old hat. But none of us really knows a lot about the second. You do what your talent tells you to do. You find the best possible ways to use it. That’s all any of us can do. For some of us it’s easy: we don’t have sufficient talent to worry about, we can’t expand it. Myself, for example. I can spot another ESPer a mile away; but that’s it, end of story. In your case, however -‘
Harry began to grow frustrated. His task seemed huge, impossible. He was one man, one mind, one barely mature talent. What could he do?
Gormley picked him up on that: ‘You weren’t listening, Harry. I said you have to find the best way to use your talent. Until now you haven’t been doing that. Let’s face it, what have you achieved?’
‘I’ve talked to the dead!’ Harry snapped. “That’s it, it’s what I do. I’m a necroscope.’
Gormley was patient. ‘You’ve scratched the surface, Harry, and that’s all. Look, you’ve written the stories a dead man couldn’t finish. You’ve used the formulae
that a mathematician never had time to develop in life. Dead men have taught you how to drive, how to speak Russian and German. They’ve improved your swimming and your fighting and one or two other things. But what do you personally reckon all of this amounts to?’
‘Nothing!’ Harry answered, after only a moment’s thought.
‘Right, nothing. Because you’ve been talking to the wrong people. You’ve been letting your talent guide you, instead of you guiding your talent. Now I know these are probably bad examples, but you’re like a hypnotist who can only hypnotise himself, or a clairvoyant who forecasts his own death – for tomorrow! You have a ground-breaking talent, but you’re not breaking any ground. The problem is that you’re entirely self-taught. So in a way you’re ignorant: like a heathen at a banquet, stuffing yourself full of everything and savouring none of it. And not recognising the good stuff because of the way it’s dressed up. But if I’m right you had the answer at your fingertips way back when you were a kid. Except your kid’s mind failed to see the possibilities. But you’re a man now and the possibilities should be starting to make themselves obvious. Not obvious to me but to you! After all, it’s your talent. You have to learn how best to use it, that’s all . . .’
What Gormley said made sense and Harry knew it. ‘But where do I start?’ He was desperate.
‘I have what might just be a clue for you,’ Gormley was careful not to be too optimistic. ‘The result of an ESP game I used to play with Alec Kyle, my second in command. I didn’t mention it before because there might not be anything in it, but if we have to have a starting point – ‘