The barman briskly buttoned up his jacket, unlocked the cupboard and poured out a large Steinhager. He gave Lansen a beer from the cooler.
“Are you from Leclerc?” Lansen inquired shortly. Anyone could have heard.
“Yes.” He added tamely, far too late, “Leclerc and Company, London.”
Lansen picked up his beer and took it to the nearest table. His hand was shaking. They sat down.
“Then you tell me,” he said fiercely, “which damn fool gave me those instructions?”
“I don’t know.” Taylor was taken aback. “I don’t even know what your instructions were. It’s not my fault. I was sent to collect the film, that’s all. It’s not even my job, this kind of thing. I’m on the overt side—courier.”
Lansen leaned forward, his hand on Taylor’s arm. Taylor could feel him trembling. “I was on the overt side too. Until today. There were kids on that plane. Twenty-five German schoolchildren on winter holidays. A whole load of kids.”
“Yes.” Taylor forced a smile. “Yes, we had the reception committee in the waiting room.”
Lansen burst out, “What were we looking for, that’s what I don’t understand. What’s so exciting about Rostock?”
“I tell you I’ve nothing to do with it.” He added inconsistently: “Leclerc said it wasn’t Rostock but the area south.”
“The triangle south: Kalkstadt, Langdorn, Wolken. You don’t have to tell me the area.”
Taylor looked anxiously toward the barman.
“I don’t think we should talk so loud,” he said. “That fellow’s a bit anti.” He drank some Steinhager.
Lansen made a gesture with his hand as if he were brushing something from in front of his face. “It’s finished,” he said. “I don’t want any more. It’s finished. It was O.K. when we just stayed on course photographing whatever there was; but this is too damn much, see? Just too damn, damn much altogether.” His accent was thick and clumsy, like an impediment.
“Did you get any pictures?” Taylor asked. He must get the film and go.
Lansen shrugged, put his hand in his raincoat pocket and, to Taylor’s horror, extracted a zinc container for thirty-five-millimeter film, handing it to him across the table.
“What was it?” Lansen asked again. “What were they after in such a place? I went under the cloud, circled the whole area. I didn’t see any atom bombs.”
“Something important, that’s all they told me. Something big. It’s got to be done, don’t you see? You can’t make illegal flights over an area like that.” Taylor was repeating what someone had said. “It has to be an airline, a registered airline, or nothing. There’s no other way.”
“Listen. They picked us up as soon as we got into the place. Two MIGs. Where did they come from, that’s what I want to know? As soon as I saw them I turned into a cloud; they followed me. I put out a signal, asked for bearings. When we came out of the cloud, there they were again. I thought they’d force me down, order me to land. I tried to jettison the camera but it was stuck. The kids were all crowding the windows, waving at the MIGs. They flew alongside for a time, then peeled off. They came close, very close. It was bloody dangerous for the kids.” He hadn’t touched his beer. “What the hell did they want?” he asked. “Why didn’t they order me down?”
“I told you: it’s not my fault. This isn’t my kind of work. But whatever London is looking for, they know what they’re doing.” He seemed to be convincing himself; he needed to believe in London. “They don’t waste their time. Or yours, old boy. They know what they’re up to.” He frowned, to indicate conviction, but Lansen might not have heard.
“They don’t believe in unnecessary risks either,” Taylor said. “You’ve done a good job, Lansen. We all have to do our bit… take risks. We all do. I did in the war, you know. You’re too young to remember the war. This is the same job: we’re fighting for the same thing.” He suddenly remembered the two questions.
“What height were you doing when you took the pictures?”
“It varied. We were down to six thousand feet over Kalkstadt.”