‘Sure, George,’ said Toby, and licked his lips.
‘Another thesis would be that Alleline was his own Gerald, you see. It just happens that I don’t believe it: I don’t believe Percy is capable of going out and buying himself a top Russian spy and manning his own boat from then on. I think he’d mess it up.’
‘Sure,’ said Esterhase, with absolute confidence.
‘So this, in my thesis, is what Gerald says to Percy next. “We – that is, myself and those like-minded souls who are associated with this project – would like you to act as our father-figure, Percy. We’re not political men, we’re operators. We don’t understand the Whitehall jungle. But you do. You handle the committees, we’ll handle Merlin. If you act as our cut-out, and protect us from the rot that’s set in, which means in effect limiting knowledge of the operation to the absolute minimum, we’ll supply the goods.” They talk over ways and means in which this might be done, then Gerald leaves Percy to fret for a bit. A week, a month, I don’t know. Long enough for Percy to have done his thinking. One day Gerald produces the first sample. And of course it’s very good. Very, very good. Naval stuff as it happens, which couldn’t suit Percy better because he’s very well in at the Admiralty, it’s his supporters’ club. So Percy gives his naval friends a sneak preview and they water at the mouth. “Where does it come from? Will there be more?” There’s plenty more. As to the identity of the source – well that’s a big, big mystery at this stage, but so it should be. Forgive me if I’m a little wide of the mark here and there but I’ve only the file to go by.’
The mention of a file, the first indication that Smiley might be acting in some official capacity, produced in Esterhase a discernible response. The habitual licking of the lips was accompanied by a forward movement of the head and an expression of shrewd familiarity, as if Toby by all these signals was trying to indicate that he too had read the file, whatever file it was, and entirely shared Smiley’s conclusions. Smiley had broken off to drink some tea.
‘More for you, Toby?’ he asked, over his cup.
‘I’ll get it,’ said Guillam with more firmness than hospitality. ‘Tea, Fawn,’ he called through the door. It opened at once and Fawn appeared on the threshold, cup in hand.
Smiley was back at the window. He had parted the curtain an inch, and was staring into the square.
‘Toby?’
‘Yes, George?’
‘Did you bring a babysitter?’
‘No.’
‘No one?’
‘George, why should I bring babysitters if I am just going to meet Peter and a poor Pole?’
Smiley returned to his chair. ‘Merlin as a source,’ he resumed. ‘Where was I? Yes, well conveniently Merlin wasn’t just one source, was he, as little by little Gerald explained to Percy and the two others he had by now drawn into the magic circle. Merlin was a Soviet agent all right, but rather like Alleline he was also the spokesman of a dissident group. We love to see ourselves in other people’s situations, and I’m sure Percy warmed to Merlin from the start. This group, this caucus of which Merlin was the leader, was made up of, say, half a dozen like-minded Soviet officials, each in his way well placed. With time, I suspect, Gerald gave his lieutenants, and Percy, a pretty close picture of these sub-sources, but I don’t know. Merlin’s job was to collate their intelligence and get it to the West, and over the next few months he showed remarkable versatility in doing just that. He used all manner of methods, and the Circus was only too willing to feed him the equipment. Secret writing, microdots stuck over full-stops on innocent-looking letters, dead letter boxes in Western capitals, filled by God knows what brave Russian, and dutifully cleared by Toby Esterhase’s brave lamplighters. Live meetings even, arranged and watched over by Toby’s babysitters’ – a minute pause as Smiley glanced again towards the window – ‘a couple of drops in Moscow that had to be fielded by the local residency, though they were never allowed to know their benefactor. But no clandestine radio; Merlin doesn’t care for it. There was a proposal once – it even got as far as the Treasury – to set up a permanent long-arm radio station in Finland, just to service him, but it all foundered when Merlin said: “Not on your Nellie.” He must have been taking lessons from Karla, mustn’t he? You know how Karla hates radio. The great thing is, Merlin has mobility: that’s his biggest talent. Perhaps he’s in the Moscow Trade Ministry and can use the travelling salesmen. Anyway, he has the resources and he has the leads out of Russia. And that’s why his fellow conspirators look to him to deal with Gerald and agree the terms, the financial terms. Because they do want money. Lots of money. I should have mentioned that. In that respect, secret services and their customers are like anyone else, I’m afraid. They value most what costs most, and Merlin costs a fortune. Ever bought a fake picture?’