“What other ways are there then?” he insisted.
Leclerc smiled again, as if he would like to help a friend but could not work miracles. “An agent. A short-term operation. In and out: a week altogether perhaps.”
The Under Secretary said, “But who could you find for a job like that? These days?”
“Who indeed? It’s a very long shot.”
The Under Secretary’s room was large but dark, with rows of bound books. Modernization had encroached as far as his private office, which was done in the contemporary style, but there the process had stopped. They could wait till he retired to do his room. A gas fire burned in the marble fireplace. On the wall hung an oil painting of a battle at sea. They could hear the sound of barges in the fog. It was an oddly maritime atmosphere.
“Kalkstadt’s pretty close to the border,” Leclerc suggested. “We wouldn’t have to use a scheduled airline. We could do a training flight, lose our way. It’s been done before.”
“Precisely,” said the Under Secretary; then: “This man of yours who died.”
“Taylor?”
“I’m not concerned with names. He was murdered, was he?”
“There’s no proof,” Leclerc said.
“But you assume it?”
Leclerc smiled patiently. “I think we both know, Under Secretary, that it is very dangerous to make broad assumptions when decisions of policy are involved. I’m still asking for another overflight.”
The Under Secretary colored.
“I told you it’s out of the question. No! Does that make it clear? We were talking of alternatives.”
“There’s one alternative, I suppose, which would scarcely touch on my Department. It’s more a matter for yourselves and the Foreign Office.”
“Oh?”
“Drop a hint to the London newspapers. Stimulate publicity. Print the photographs.”
“And?”
“Watch them. Watch the East German and Soviet diplomacy, watch their communications. Throw a stone into the nest and see what comes out.”
“I can tell you exactly what would come out. A protest from the Americans that would ring through these corridors for another twenty years.”
“Of course. I was forgetting that.”
“Then you’re very lucky. You suggested putting an agent in.”
“Only tentatively. We’ve no one in mind.”
“Look,” said the Under Secretary, with the finality of a man much tried. “The Minister’s position is very simple. You have produced a report. If it is true, it alters our entire defense position. In fact it alters everything. I detest sensation, so does the Minister. Having put up the hare, the least you can do is have a shot at it.”
Leclerc said, “If I found a man there’s the problem of resources. Money, training and equipment. Extra staff perhaps. Transport. Whereas an overnight…”
“Why do you raise so many difficulties? I understood you people existed for this kind of thing.”
“We have the expertise, Under Secretary. But I cut down, you know. I have cut down a lot. Some of our functions have lapsed: one must be honest. I have never tried to put the clock back. This is, after all”—a delicate smile—”a slightly anachronistic situation.”
The Under Secretary glanced out of the window at the lights along the river.
“It seems pretty contemporary to me. Rockets and that kind of thing. I don’t think the Minister considers it anachronistic.”
“I’m not referring to the target but the method of attack: it would have to be a crash operation at the border. That has scarcely been done since the war. Although it is a form of clandestine warfare with which my Department is traditionally at home. Or used to be.”
“What are you getting at?”
“I’m only thinking aloud, Under Secretary. I wonder whether the Circus might not be better equipped to deal with this. Perhaps you should approach Control. I can promise him the support of my armaments people.”
“You mean you don’t think you can handle it?”
“Not with my existing organization. Control can. As long, that is, as the Minister doesn’t mind bringing in another Department. Two, really. I didn’t realize you were so worried about publicity.”
“Two?”
“Control will feel bound to inform the Foreign Office. It’s his duty. Just as I inform you. And from then on, we must accept that it will be their headache.”