To which Villem had replied as short a time as possible, depending on how long it took him to reload, depending on whether he delivered to the agent or to the addressee, depending what time of day he arrived and how many hours he already had on his sheet. Depending on his return load, if he had one. There were more questions of this sort, which Villem now related, many trivial – where Villem slept on the journey, where he ate – and Smiley knew that the old man in a rather monstrous way was doing what he would have done himself; he was talking Villem into a corner, making him answer as a prelude to making him obey. And only after this did Vladimir explain to Villem, using all his military and family authority, just what he wished Villem to do :
‘He say to me : “Villem, take these oranges to Hamburg for me. Take this basket.” “What for?” I ask him. “General, why do I take this basket?” Then he give me fifty pounds. “For emergencies,” he tell to me. “In emergency, here is fifty pounds.” “But why do I take this basket?” I ask him. “What emergency is considered here, General?” ‘
Then Vladimir recited to Villem his instructions, and they included fallbacks and contingencies – even, if necessary, staying an extra night on the strength of the fifty pounds – and Smiley noticed how the old man had insisted upon Moscow Rules, exactly as he had with Mostyn, and how there was too much, as there always had been – the older he got, the more the old boy had tied himself up in the skeins of his own conspiracies. Villem should lay the yellow Kodak envelope containing Beckie’s photograph on the top of the oranges, he should take his stroll down to the front of the cabin – all as Villem, in the event had done, he said – and the envelope was the letter-box, and the sign that it had been filled would be a chalk mark ‘also yellow like the envelope, which is the tradition of our Group,’ said Villem.
‘And the safety signal?’ Smiley asked. ‘The signal that says “I am not being followed?” ‘
‘Was Hamburg newspaper from yesterday,’ Villem replied swiftly – but on this subject, he confessed, he had had a small difference with Vladimir, despite all the respect he owed to him as a leader, as a General, and as his father’s friend.
‘He tell to me, “Villem, you carry that newspaper in your pocket.” But I tell to him : “Vladi, please, look at me, I have only track suit, no pockets.” So he say, “Villem, then carry the newspaper under your arm.” ‘
‘Bill,’ Stella breathed, with a sort of awe. ‘Oh Bill, you stupid bloody fool.’ She turned to Smiley. ‘I mean, why didn’t they just put it in the bloody post, whatever it is, and be done with it?’
Because it was a negative, and only negatives are acceptable by Moscow Rules. Because the General had a terror of betrayal, Smiley thought. The old boy saw it everywhere, in everyone around him. And if death is the ultimate judge, he was right.
‘And it worked?’ Smiley said finally to Villem with great gentleness. ‘The hand-over worked?’
‘Sure! It work fine,’ Villem agreed heartily, and darted Stella a defiant glance
‘And did you have any idea, for instance, who might have been your contact at this meeting?’
Then with much hesitation, and after much prompting, some of it from Stella, Villem told that also : about the hollowed face that had looked so desperate and had reminded him of his father; about the warning stare which was either real or he had imagined it because he was so excited. How sometimes, when he watched football on the television, which he liked to do very much, the camera caught someone’s face or expression, and it stuck in your memory for the rest of the match, even if you never saw it again – and how the face on the steamer was of this sort exactly. He described the flicked horns of hair, and with his fingertips he lightly drew deep grooves in his own unmarked cheeks. He described the man’s smallness, and even his sexiness – Villem said he could tell. He described his own feelings of being warned by the man, warned to take care of a precious thing. Villem would look the same way himself – he told Stella with a sudden flourish of imagined tragedy – if there was another war, and fighting, and he had to give away Beckie to a stranger to look after! And this was the cue for more tears, and more reconciliation, and more lamentations about the old man’s death, to which Smiley’s next question inevitably contributed.