Finally Leclerc turned to Avery and said, “Now, John.” They were waiting for him to speak.
He could feel his anger dying. He wanted to hold on to it but it was slipping away. He wanted to cry out in indignation: how dare you involve my wife? He wanted to lose control, but he could not. His eyes were on the map.
“Well?”
“The police have been round to Sarah. They woke her in the middle of the night. Two men. Her mother was there. They came about the body at the airport: Taylor’s body. They knew the passport was phony and thought she was involved. They woke her up,” he repeated lamely.
“We know all about that. It’s straightened out. I wanted to tell you but you wouldn’t let me. The body’s been released.”
“It was wrong to drag Sarah in.”
Haldane lifted his head quickly: “What do you mean by that?”
“We’re not competent to handle this kind of thing.” It sounded very impertinent. “We shouldn’t be doing it. We ought to give it to the Circus. Smiley or someone—they’re the people, not us.” He struggled on. “I don’t even believe that report. I don’t believe it’s true! I wouldn’t be surprised if that refugee never existed; if Gorton made the whole thing up. I don’t believe Taylor was murdered.”
“Is that all?” Haldane demanded. He was very angry.
“It’s not something I want to go on with. The operation, I mean. It isn’t right.”
He looked at the map and at Haldane, then laughed a little stupidly. “All the time I’ve been chasing a dead man you’ve been after a live one! It’s easy here, in the dream factory…but they’re people out there, real people!”
Leclerc touched Haldane lightly on the arm as if to say he would handle this himself. He seemed undisturbed. He might almost have been gratified to recognize symptoms which he had previously diagnosed. “Go to your room, John, you’re suffering from strain.”
“But what do I tell Sarah?” He spoke with despair.
“Tell her she won’t be troubled anymore. Tell her it was a mistake . . . tell her whatever you like. Get some hot food and come back in an hour. These airline meals are useless. Then we’ll hear the rest of your news.” Leclerc was smiling, the same neat, bland smile with which he had stood among the dead fliers. As Avery reached the door he heard his name called softly, with affection: he stopped and looked back.
Leclerc raised one hand from the desk and with a semicircular movement indicated the room in which they were standing.
“I’ll tell you something, John. During the war we were in Baker Street. We had a cellar and the Ministry fixed it up as an emergency operations room. Adrian and I spent a lot of time down there. A lot of time.” A glance at Haldane. “Remember how the oil lamp used to swing when the bombs fell? We had to face situations where we had one rumor, John, no more. One indicator and we’d take the risk. Send a man in, two if necessary, and maybe they wouldn’t come back. Maybe there wouldn’t be anything there. Rumors, a guess, a hunch one follows up; it’s easy to forget what intelligence consists of: luck, and speculation. Here and there a windfall, here and there a scoop. Sometimes you stumbled on a thing like this: it could be very big, it could be a shadow. It may have been from a peasant in Flensburg, or it may come from the Provost of King’s, but you’re left with a possibility you dare not discount. You get instructions: find a man, put him in. So we did. And many didn’t come back. They were sent to resolve doubt, don’t you see? We sent them because we didn’t know. All of us have moments like this, John. Don’t think it’s always easy.” A reminiscent smile. “Often we had scruples like you. We had to overcome them. We used to call that the second vow.” He leaned against the desk, informally. “The second vow,” he repeated.
“Now, John, if you want to wait until the bombs are falling, till people are dying in the street…” He was suddenly serious, as if revealing his faith. “It’s a great deal harder, I know, in peacetime. It requires courage. Courage of a different kind.”