Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy by John le Carré

For a while now, Smiley sat silent.

‘I had thrown psychology to the winds, such as I possess; tradecraft too. You can imagine what Control said. My story amused him, all the same; he loved to hear of people’s weakness. Mine especially, for some reason.’ He had resumed his factual manner. ‘So there we are. When the plane arrived I climbed aboard with him, and flew part of the distance: in those days it wasn’t all jet. He was slipping away from me and I couldn’t do anything to stop him. I’d given up talking but I was there if he wanted to change his mind. He didn’t. He would rather die than give me what I wanted; he would rather die than disown the political system to which he was committed. The last I saw of him, so far as I know, was his expressionless face framed in the cabin window of the aeroplane, watching me walk down the gangway. A couple of very Russian-looking thugs had joined us and were sitting in the seats behind him and there was really no point in my staying. I flew home, and Control said: “Well I hope to God they do shoot him,” and restored me with a cup of tea. That filthy China stuff he drinks, lemon jasmine or whatever, he sends out for it to that grocer’s round the corner. I mean he used to. Then he sent me on three months’ leave without the option. “I like you to have doubts,” he said. “It tells me where you stand. But don’t make a cult of them or you’ll be a bore.” It was a warning. I heeded it. And he told me to stop thinking about the Americans so much; he assured me that he barely gave them a thought.’

Guillam gazed at him, waiting for the resolution. ‘But what do you make of it?’ he demanded, in a tone that suggested he had been cheated of the end. ‘Did Karla ever really think of staying?’

‘I’m sure it never crossed his mind,’ said Smiley with disgust. ‘I behaved like a soft fool. The very archetype of a flabby Western liberal. But I would rather be my kind of fool than his for all that. I am sure,’ Smiley repeated vigorously, ‘that neither my arguments nor his own predicament at Moscow Centre would ultimately have swayed him in the least. I expect he spent the night working out how he would outgun Rudnev when he got home. Rudnev was shot a month later, incidentally. Karla got Rudnev’s job and set to work reactivating his old agents. Among them Gerald, no doubt. It’s odd to reflect that all the time he was looking at me, he could have been thinking of Gerald. I expect they’ve had a good laugh about it since.’

The episode had one other result, said Smiley. Since his San Francisco experience Karla had never once touched illegal radio. He cut it right out of his handwriting: ‘Embassy links are a different matter. But in the field his agents aren’t allowed to go near it. And he still has Ann’s cigarette lighter.’

‘Yours,’ Guillam corrected him.

‘Yes. Yes, mine. Of course. Tell me,’ he continued, as the waiter took away his money, ‘was Tarr referring to anyone in particular when he made that unpleasant reference to Ann?’

‘I’m afraid he was. Yes.’

‘The rumour is as precise as that?’ Smiley enquired. ‘And it goes that far down the line? Even to Tarr?’

‘Yes.’

‘And what does it say precisely?’

‘That Bill Haydon was Ann Smiley’s lover,’ said Guillam, feeling that coldness coming over him which was his protection when he broke bad news, such as: you’re blown; you’re sacked; you’re dying.

‘Ah. I see. Yes. Thank you.’

There was a very awkward silence.

‘And was there, is there a Mrs Gerstmann?’ Guillam asked.

‘Karla once made a marriage with a girl in Leningrad, a student. She killed herself when he was sent to Siberia.’

‘So Karla is fireproof?’ Guillam asked finally. ‘He can’t be bought and he can’t be beaten?’

They returned to the car.

‘I must say that was rather expensive for what we had,’ Smiley confessed. ‘Do you think the waiter robbed me?’

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