THE LOOKING GLASS WAR by John LeCarré

“Your wife telephoned,” she said. “I told her you were at the meeting. She wants to talk to you urgently.”

“Thanks. I’m on my way.”

“John, what is going on? What’s all this about the Circus? What’s Leclerc up to?”

“I thought you knew. He said he’d put you on the list.”

“I don’t mean that. Why’s he lying to them again? He’s dictated a memorandum to Control about some training scheme and you going abroad. Pine took it around by hand. He’s gone mad about her pension; Mrs. Taylor’s; looking up precedents and heaven knows what. Even the application is Top Secret.

He’s building one of his card houses, John, I know he is. Who’s Leiser, for instance?”

“You’re not supposed to know. He’s an agent; a Pole.”

“Does he work for the Circus?” She changed her tack. “Well, why are you going? That’s another thing I don’t understand. For that matter, why did Taylor have to go? If the Circus has couriers in Finland, why couldn’t we have used them in the first place? Why send poor Taylor? Even now the P.O. could iron it out, I’m sure they could. He just won’t give them a chance: he wants to send you.”

“You don’t understand,” Avery said shortly.

“Another thing,” she demanded as he was going, “why does Adrian Haldane hate you so?”

He visited the accountant, then took a taxi to the Circus. Leclerc had said he could claim for it. He was cross that Sarah had tried to reach him at such a moment. He had told her never to ring him at the Department. Leclerc said it was insecure.

“What did you read at Oxford? It was Oxford, wasn’t it?” Smiley asked, and gave him a cigarette, rather a muddled one from a packet of ten.

“Languages.” Avery patted his pockets for a match. “German and Italian.” When Smiley said nothing he added. “German principally.”

Smiley was a small, distracted man with plump fingers and a shadowy, blinking way with him which suggested discomfort. Whatever Avery had expected, it was not this.

“Well, well.” Smiley nodded to himself, a very private comment. “It’s a question of a courier, I believe, in Helsinki. You want to give him a film. A training scheme.”

“Yes.”

“It’s a most unusual request. You’re sure … do you know the size of the film?”

“No.”

A long pause.

“You should try to find out that kind of thing,” Smiley said kindly. “I mean, the courier may want to conceal it, you see.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Oh, it doesn’t matter.”

Avery was reminded of Oxford, and reading essays to his tutor.

“Perhaps,” said Smiley thoughtfully, “I might say one thing. I’m sure Leclerc has already had it from Control. We want to give you all the help we can—all the help. There used to be a time,” he mused, with that curious air of indirection which seemed to characterize all his utterances, “when our departments competed. I always found that very painful. But I wondered whether you could tell me a little, just a little. … Control was so anxious to help. We should hate to do the wrong thing out of ignorance.”

“It’s a training exercise. Full dress. I don’t know much about it myself.”

“We want to help,” Smiley repeated simply. “What is your target country, your putative target?”

“I don’t know. I’m only playing a small part. It’s training.”

“But if it’s training, why so much secrecy?”

“Well, Germany,” Avery said.

“Thank you.”

Smiley seemed embarrassed. He looked at his hands folded lightly on the desk before him. He asked Avery whether it was still raining. Avery said he was afraid so.

“I’m sorry to hear about Taylor,” he said. Avery said yes he was a good man.

“Do you know what time you’ll have your film? Tonight? Tomorrow? Leclerc rather thought tonight, I gather.”

“I don’t know. It depends how it goes. I just can’t tell at the moment.”

“No.” There followed a long, unexplained silence. He’s like an old man, thought Avery, he forgets he’s not alone. “No, there are so many imponderables. Have you done this kind of thing before?”

“Once or twice.” Again Smiley said nothing and did not seem to notice the gap.

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