THE LOOKING GLASS WAR by John LeCarré

Sandford had raised his hand. What kind of missile was this supposed to be?

“A Sandal, Medium Range. I am told by Research that it was first shown in Red Square in November sixty-two. It has achieved a certain notoriety since then. It was the Sandal which the Russians installed in Cuba. The Sandal is also”— a glance at Woodford—”the linear descendant of the wartime German V-2.”

He fetched other photographs from the desk and laid them on the table.

“Here is a Research Section photograph of the Sandal missile. They tell me it is distinguished by what is called a flared skirt”—he pointed to the formation at the base—”and by small fins. It is about forty feet long from base to cone. If you look carefully you will see tucks near the clamp—just here—which hold the protective cloth cover in position. There is, ironically, no extant picture of the Sandal in protective covers. Possibly the Americans have one, but I don’t feel able to approach them at this stage.”

Woodford reacted quickly. “Of course not,” he said.

“The Minister was anxious that we shouldn’t alarm them prematurely. One only has to suggest rockets to the Americans to get the most drastic reaction. Before we know where they are they’ll be flying U-2s over Rostock.” Encouraged by their laughter, Leclerc continued. “The Minister made another point which I think I might pass on to you. The country which comes under maximum threat from these rockets—they have a range of around eight hundred miles—might well be our own. It is certainly not the United States. Politically, this would be a bad moment to go hiding our faces in the Americans’ skirts. After all, as the Minister put it, we still have one or two teeth of our own.”

Haldane said sarcastically, “That is a charming notion,” and Avery turned on him with all the anger he had fought away.

“I think you might do better than that,” he said. He nearly added: Have a little mercy.

Haldane’s cold gaze held Avery for a moment, then released him, his case not forgiven but suspended.

Someone asked what they would do next: suppose Avery did not find Taylor’s film? Suppose it just wasn’t there? Could they mount another overflight?

“No,” Leclerc replied. “Another overflight is out of the question. Far too dangerous. We shall have to try something else.” he seemed disinclined to go further, but Haldane said, “What, for instance?”

“We may have to put a man in. It seems to be the only way.”

“This Department?” Haldane asked incredulously. “Put a man in? The Ministry would never tolerate such a thing. You mean, surely, you’ll ask the Circus to do it?”

“I have already told you the position. Heaven knows, Adrian, you’re not going to tell me we can’t do it?” He looked appealing round the table. “Every one of us here except young Avery has been in the business twenty years or more. You yourself have forgotten more about agents than half those people in the Circus ever knew.”

“Hear, hear!” Woodford cried.

“Look at your own section, Adrian; look at Research. There must have been half-a-dozen occasions in the last five years when the Circus actually came to you, asked you for advice, used your facilities and skills. The time may come when they do the same with agents! The Ministry granted us an overflight. Why not an agent too?”

“You mentioned a third indicator. I don’t follow you. What was that?”

“Taylor’s death,” said Leclerc.

Avery got up, nodded goodbye and tiptoed to the door. Haldane watched him go.

Five

There was a note on his desk from Carol: Your wife rang.

He walked into her office and found her sitting at her typewriter but not typing. “You wouldn’t talk about poor Wilf Taylor like that,” she said, “if you’d known him better.”

“Like what? I haven’t talked about him at all.”

He thought he should comfort her, because sometimes they touched one another; he thought she might expect that now.

He bent forward, advancing until the sharp ends of her hair touched his cheek. Inclining his head inward so that their temples met, he felt her skin travel slightly across the flat bone of her skull. For a moment they remained thus, Carol sitting upright, looking straight ahead of her, her hands either side of the typewriter, Avery awkwardly stooping. He thought of putting his hand beneath her arm and touching her breast, but did not; both gently recoiling, they separated and were alone again. Avery stood up.

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