“Malherbe? Was that Taylor’s cover name?”
“Yes. I’ll have to get a couple of cars from the Ministry pool,” Leclerc said. “Quite absurd not having our own cars. The Circus has a whole fleet.” And then, “Perhaps the Ministry will believe me now. Perhaps they’ll finally accept we’re still an operational department.”
“Did Taylor collect the film?” Avery asked. “Do we know whether he got it?”
“I’ve no inventory of his possessions,” Leclerc replied indignantly. “At the moment, all his effects are impounded by the Finnish police. Perhaps the film is among them. It’s a small place and I imagine they like to stick to the letter of the law.” And casually, so that Avery knew it mattered, “The Foreign Office is afraid there may be a muddle.”
“Oh dear,” said Avery automatically. It was their practice in the Department: antique and understated.
Leclerc looked directly at him now, taking interest. “The Resident Clerk at the Foreign Office spoke to the Assistant half an hour ago. They refuse to involve themselves. They say we’re a clandestine service and must do it our own way. Somebody’s got to go out there as next of kin; that is the course they favor. To claim the body and effects and get them back here. I want you to go.”
Avery was suddenly aware of the pictures round the room, of the boys who had fought in the war. They hung in two rows of six, either side of the model of a Wellington bomber, rather a dusty one, painted black with no insignia. Most of the photographs had been taken out of doors. Avery could see the hangars behind, and between the young, smiling faces the half-hidden fuselages of parked aircraft.
Beneath each photograph were signatures, already brown and faded, some fluent and racy, others—they must have been the other-ranks—self-conscious and elaborate, as if the writers had come unnaturally to fame. There were no surnames, but sobriquets from children’s magazines: Jacko, Shorty, Pip and Lucky Joe. Only the Mae West was uniform, the long hair and the sunny, boyish smile. They seemed to like having their photographs taken, as if being together were an occasion for laughter which might not be repeated. The men in front were crouching comfortably, like men used to crouching in gun turrets, and those behind had put their arms carelessly over one another’s shoulders. There was no affectation but a spontaneous goodwill which does not seem to survive war or photographs.
One face was common to every picture, right to the end: the face of a slim, bright-eyed man in a duffle coat and corduroy trousers. He wore no life jacket and stood a little apart from the men as if he were somehow extra. He was smaller than the rest, older. His features were formed; he had a purpose about him which the others lacked. He might have been their schoolmaster. Avery had once looked for his signature to see if it had altered in the nineteen years, but Leclerc had not signed his name. He was still very like his photograph: a shade more set around the jaw perhaps, a shade less hair.
“But that would be an operational job,” said Avery uncertainly.
“Of course. We’re an operational department, you know.” A little buck of the head. “You are entitled to operational subsistence. All you have to do is collect Taylor’s stuff. You’re to bring back everything except the film, which you deliver to an address in Helsinki. You’ll be instructed about that separately. You come back and you can help me with Leiser—”
“Couldn’t the Circus take it on? I mean, couldn’t they do it more simply?”
This smile came slowly. “I’m afraid that wouldn’t answer at all. It’s our show, John: the commitment is within our competence. A military target. I would be shirking our responsibility if I gave it to the Circus. Their charter is political, exclusively political.”
His small hand ran over his hair, a short, concise movement, tense and controlled. “So it’s our problem. Thus far, the Ministry approves my reading”—a favorite expression— “I can send someone else if you prefer—Woodford or one of the older men. I thought you’d enjoy it. It’s an important job, you know; something new for you to tackle.”