“That’s terrific,” Avery said.
“It could be very useful. We must be sure not to abuse our trust.”
“Of course.”
There was a draft, followed by the sound of someone cautiously ascending the stairs. A figure appeared in the attic doorway. He wore an expensive overcoat of brown tweed, a little too long in the sleeve. It was Smiley.
Twenty-Two
Smiley peered around the room, at Johnson, now in earphones, busy with the controls of his set, at Avery staring over Haldane’s shoulder at the signal plan, at Leclerc who stood like a soldier, who alone had noticed him, whose face, though turned to him, was empty and far away.
“What do you want here?” Leclerc said at last. “What do you want with me?”
“I’m sorry. I was sent.”
“So were we all,” Haldane said, not moving.
A note of warning entered Leclerc’s voice. “This is my operation, Smiley. We’ve no room for your people here.”
There was nothing in Smiley’s face but compassion, nothing in his voice but that dreadful patience with which we speak to the insane.
“It wasn’t Control who sent me,” he said. “It was the Ministry. They asked for me, you see, and Control let me go. The Ministry laid on a plane.”
“Why?” Haldane inquired. He seemed almost amused.
One by one they stirred, waking from a single dream. Johnson laid his earphones carefully on the table.
“Well?” Leclerc asked. “Why did they send you?”
“They called me around last night.” He managed to indicate that he was as bewildered as they. “I had to admire the operation, the way you’d conducted it; you and Haldane. All done from nothing. They showed me the files. Scrupulously kept… Library Copy, Operational Copy, sealed minutes: just like in the war. I congratulate you … I really do.”
“They showed you the files? Our files?” Leclerc repeated. “That’s a breach of security: interconsciousness between Departments. You’ve committed an offense, Smiley. They must be mad! Adrian, do you hear what Smiley has told me?”
Smiley said, “Is there a schedule tonight, Johnson?”
“Yes, sir. Twenty-one hundred.”
“I was surprised, Adrian, that you felt the indicators were strong enough for such a big operation.”
“Haldane was not responsible,” Leclerc said crisply. “The decision was a collective one: ourselves on the one side, the Ministry on the other.” His voice changed key. “When the schedule is finished I shall want to know, Smiley, I have a right to know, how you came to see those files.” It was his committee voice, powerful and fluent; for the first time it had the ring of dignity.
Smiley moved toward the center of the room. “Something’s happened; something you couldn’t know about. Leiser killed a man on the border. Killed him with a knife as he went over, two miles from here, at the crossing point.”
Haldane said, “That’s absurd. It needn’t be Leiser. It could have been a refugee coming west. It could have been anyone.”
“They found tracks leading east. Traces of blood in the hut by the lake. It’s in all the East German papers. They’ve been putting it over the wireless since midday yesterday—”
Leclerc cried, “I don’t believe it. I don’t believe he did it. It’s some trick of Control’s.”
“No,” Smiley replied gently. “You’ve got to believe me. It’s true.”
“They killed Taylor,” Leclerc said. “Have you forgotten that?”
“No, of course not. But we shall never know, shall we? How he died, I mean. Whether he was murdered …” Hurriedly he continued, “Your Ministry informed the Foreign Office yesterday afternoon. The Germans are bound to catch him, you see; we have to assume that. His transmissions are slow … very slow. Every policeman, every soldier, is after him. They want him alive. We think they’re going to stage a show trial, extract a public confession, display the equipment. It could be very embarrassing. You don’t have to be a politician to sympathize with the Minister. So there’s the question of what to do.”
Leclerc said, “Johnson, keep an eye on the clock.” Johnson put on his earphones, but without conviction.
Smiley appeared to want someone else to speak, but no one did, so he repeated ponderously, “It’s a question of what to do. As I say, we’re not politicians, but one can see the dangers. A party of Englishmen in a farmhouse two miles from where the body was found, posing as academics, stores from the Naafi and a house full of radio equipment. You see what I mean? Making your transmissions,” he went on, “on a single frequency … the frequency Leiser receives on…. There could be a very big scandal indeed. One can imagine even the West Germans getting awfully angry.”