He was pulling up. The lights of a small café glowed at them through the fog. In its courtyard stood a green Citroën deux-chevaux, Geneva registration. Cardboard boxes were heaped on the back seat, like trade samples. A foxtail dangled from the radio aerial. Springing out, Toby pulled open the flimsy door and hustled Smiley into the passenger seae then handed him a trilby hat, which he put on. For himself, Toby had a Russian-style fur. They drove off again, and Smiley saw their Bernese matron climbing into the front of the orange Volvo they had just abandoned. Her child waved at them despondently through the back window as they left.
‘How is everyone?’ Smiley said.
‘Great. Pawing the earth, George, every one of them. One of the Sartor brothers had a sick kid, had to go home to Vienna. It nearly broke his heart. Otherwise great. You’re Number One for all of them. This is Harry Slingo coming up on the right. Remember Harry? Used to be my sidekick back in Acton.’
‘I read that his son had won a scholarship to Oxford,’ Smiley said.
‘Physics. Wadham, Oxford. The boy’s a genius. Keep looking down the road, George, don’t move your head.’
They passed a blue van with ‘Auto-Schnelldienst’ painted in breezy letters on the side, and a driver dozing at the wheel.
‘Who’s in the back?’ Smiley asked when they were clear.
‘Pete Lusty, used to be a scalp-hunter. Those guys have been having it very bad, George. No work, no action. Pete signed up for the Rhodesian Army. Killed some guys, didn’t care for it, came back. No wonder they love you.’
They were passing Grigoriev’s house again. A light was burning in the other window.
‘The Grigorievs go to bed early,’ Toby said in a sort of awe. A parked limousine lay ahead of them with Zurich consular plates. In the driving seat, a chauffeur was reading a paperback book.
‘That’s Canada Bill,’ Toby explained. ‘Grigoriev leaves the house, turns right, he passes Pete Lusty. Turns left, he passes Canada Bill. They’re good boys. Very vigilant.’
‘Who’s behind us?’
‘The Meinertzhagen girls. The big one got married.’
The fog made their progress private, very quiet. They descended a gentle hill, passing the British Ambassador’s residence on their right, and his Rolls-Royce parked in the sweep. The road led left and Toby followed it. As he did so. the car behind overtook them and conveniently put up its headlights. By their beam, Smiley found himself looking into a wooded cul-de-sac ending in a pair of tall closed gates guarded on the inside by a small huddle of men. The trees cut off the rest entirely.
‘Welcome to the Soviet Embassy, George,’ Toby said, very softly. ‘Twenty-four diplomats, fifty other ranks – cipher clerks, typists, and some very lousy drivers, all home-based. The trade delegation’s in another building, Schanzeneckstrasse 17. Grigoriev visits there a lot. In Berne we got also Tass and Novosti, mostly mainstream hoods. The parent residency is Geneva, UN cover, about two hundred strong. This place is a side-show : twelve, fifteen altogether, growing but only slow. The Consulate is tacked onto the back of the Embassy. You go into it through a door in the fence, like it was an opium den or a cat house. They got a closed-circuit television camera on the path and scanners in the waiting-room. Try applying for a visa once.’
‘I think I’ll give it a miss, thanks,’ said Smiley, and Toby gave one of his rare laughs.
‘Embassy grounds,’ Toby said, as the headlights flashed over steep woods falling away to the right. ‘That’s where Grigorieva plays her volley-ball, gives political instruction to the kids. George, believe me, that’s a very distorting woman. Embassy kindergarten, the indoctrination classes, the Ping-Pong club, women’s badminton – that woman runs the whole show. Don’t take my word for it, hear my boys talk about her.’ As they turned out of the cul-de-sac, Smiley lifted his glance towards the upper window of the corner house and saw a light go out, and then come on again.
‘And that’s Paul Skordeno saying “Welcome to Berne,” , said Toby. ‘We managed to rent the top floor last week. Pauli’s a Reuters stringer. We even faked a press pass for him. Cable cards, everything.’