The Ginger Pig made his pitch so badly, said Connie, that Otto had at first to deride the proposal simply for the sake of verisimilitude : it was too crazy, too hole-in-corner, he said secret lists, what nonsense! Why didn’t Kirov approach the émigré organizations themselves and swear them to secrecy? Why employ a total outsider to do his dirty work? As Leipzig teased, Kirov grew more heated. It was not Leipzig’s job to make fun of Moscow’s secret edicts, said Kirov. He began shouting at him, and somehow Connie discovered the energy to shout too, or at least to lift her voice above its weary level, and to give it the guttural Russian ring she thought Kirov ought to have : ‘ “Where is your compassion?” he says. “Don’t you want to help people? Why do you sneer at a human gesture merely because it comes from Russia! ” ‘ Kirov said he had approached some families himself, but found no trust, and made no headway. He began to put pressure on Leipzig, first of a personal kind – ‘Don’t you want to help me in my career?’ – and when this failed, he suggested to Leipzig that since he had already supplied secret information to the Embassy for money, he might consider it prudent to continue, lest the West German authorities somehow got to hear of this connection and threw him out of Hamburg – maybe out of Germany altogether. How would Otto like that? And finally, said Connie, Kirov offered money, and that was where the wonder lay. ‘For each successful reunion effected, ten thousand US dollars,’ she announced. ‘For each suitable candidate, whether a reunion takes place or not, one thousand US on the nail. Cash-cash.’
At which point, of course, said Connie, the fifth floor decided Kirov was off his head, and ordered the case abandoned immediately.
‘And I returned from the Far East,’ said Smiley.
‘Like poor King Richard from the Crusades, you did, darling!’ Connie agreed. ‘ And found the peasants in uproar and your nasty brother on the throne. Serves you right.’ She gave a gigantic yawn. ‘Case dustbinned,’ she declared. ‘The Kraut police wanted Leipzig extradited from France; we could perfectly well have begged them off but we didn’t. No honey-trap, no dividend, no bugger-all. Fixture cancelled.’
‘And how did Vladimir take all that?’ Smiley asked, as if he really didn’t know.
Connie opened her eyes with difficulty. ‘Take what?’
‘Cancelling the fixture.’
‘Oh, roared, what do you expect? Roar, roar. Said we’d spoilt the kill of the century. Swore to continue the war by other means.’
‘What kind of kill?’
She missed his question. ‘It’s not a shooting war any more, George,’ she said, as her eyes closed again. ‘That’s the trouble. It’s grey. Half-angels fighting half-devils. No one knows where the lines are. No bang-bangs.’
Once again, Smiley in his memory saw the tartan hotel bedroom and the two black overcoats side by side, as Vladimir appealed desperately to have the case reopened : ‘Max, hear us one more time, hear what has happened since you ordered us to stop!’ They had flown from Paris at their own expense to tell him, because Finance Section on Enderby’s orders had closed the case account. ‘Max, hear us, please,’ Vladimir had begged. ‘Kirov summoned Otto to his apartment late last night. They had another meeting, Otto and Kirov. Kirov got drunk and said amazing things!’
He saw himself back in his old room at the Circus, Enderby already installed in his desk. It was the same day, just a few hours later.
‘Sounds like little Otto’s last-ditch effort at keeping out of the hands of the Huns,’ Enderby said when he had heard Smiley out. ‘What do they want him for over there, theft or rape?’
‘Fraud,’ Smiley had replied hopelessly, which was the wretched truth.
Connie was humming something. She tried to make a song of it, then a limerick. She wanted more drink but Hilary had taken away her glass.
‘I want you to go,’ Hilary said, straight into Smiley’s face.
Leaning forward on the wicker sofa, Smiley asked his last question. He asked it, one might have thought, reluctantly; almost with distaste. His soft face had hardened with determination, but not enough to conceal the marks of disapproval. ‘Do you remember a story old Vladimir used to tell, Con? One we never shared with anyone? Stored away, as a piece of private treasure? That Karla had a mistress, someone he loved?’