Smiley’s People by John le Carré

Smiley turned to Strickland. ‘I thought you said that all the émigré files had been consigned to special keeping?’

‘Correct.’

‘Shouldn’t there have been something on the selector card to that effect?’

‘There should and there wasn’t,’ Strickland said.

‘That is just the point, sir,’ Mostyn agreed, talking only to Smiley. ‘At that stage there was no suggestion that Vladimir or his Group was out of bounds. From the card, he looked just like any other pensioned-off agent raising a wind. I assumed he wanted a bit of money, or company, or something. We get quite a few of those. Leave him to the section head, I thought.’

‘Who shall remain nameless, Mostyn,’ Strickland said. ‘Remember that.’

It crossed Smiley’s mind at this point that the reticence in Mostyn – his air of distastefully stepping round some dangerous secret all the time he spoke – might have something to do with protecting a negligent superior. But Mostyn’s next words put paid to this, for he went out of his way to imply that his superior was at fault.

‘The trouble was, my section head didn’t get back from lunch till three-fifteen, so that when Vladimir rang in at two-thirty, I had to put him off again. He was furious,’ said Mostyn. ‘Vladimir was, I mean. I asked whether there was anything I could do in the meantime and he said, “Find Max. Just find me Max. Tell Max I have been in touch with certain friends, also through friends with neighbours.” There were a couple of notes on the card about his word code and I saw that “neighbour” meant Soviet Intelligence.’

A mandarin impassivity had descended over Smiley’s face. The earlier emotion was quite gone.

‘All of which you duly reported to your section head at three-fifteen?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Did you play him the tape?’

‘He hadn’t time to hear,’ said Mostyn mercilessly. ‘He had to leave straight away for a long weekend.’

The stubborn brevity in Mostyn was now so strong that Strickland apparendy felt obliged to fill the gaps.

‘Yes, well, there’s no question but that if we’re looking for scapegoats, George, that section head of Mostyn’s made a monumental fool of himself, no question at all,’ Strickland declared brightly. ‘He omitted to send for Vladimir’s papers – which would not, of course, have been forthcoming. He omitted to acquaint himself with standing orders on the handling of émigrés. He also appears to have succumbed to a severe dose of weekend fever, leaving no word of his whereabouts should he be required. God help him on Monday morning, say I. Oh, yes. Come, Mostyn, we’re waiting, boy.’

Mostyn obediently took back the story. ‘Vladimir rang for the third and last time at three-forty-three, sir,’ he said, speaking even more slowly than before. It should have been quarter to four, but he jumped the gun by two minutes. Mostyn had by then a rudimentary brief from his section head, which he now repeated to Smiley : ‘He called it a bromide job. I was to find out what, if anything, the old boy really wanted and, if all else failed, make a rendezvous with him to cool him down. I was to give him a drink, sir, pat him on the back, and promise nothing except to pass on whatever message he brought me.’

‘And the “neighbours”?’ Smiley asked. ‘They were not an issue to your section head?’

‘He rather thought that was just a bit of agent’s histrionics, sir.’

‘I see. Yes, I see.’ Yet his eyes, in contradiction, closed completely for a moment. ‘So how did the dialogue with Vladimir go this third time?’

‘According to Vladimir, it was to be an immediate meeting or nothing, sir. I tried out the alternatives on him as instructed “Write us a letter – is it money you want? Surely it can wait till Monday” – but by then he was shouting at me down the phone. “A meeting or nothing. Tonight or nothing. Moscow Rules. I insist Moscow Rules. Tell this to Max-” ‘

Interrupting himself, Mostyn lifted his head and with unblinking eyes returned Lauder Strickland’s hostile stare.

‘Tell what to Max?’ said Smiley, his gaze moving swiftly from one to the other of them.

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