Tapestry of Spies Part 43

"I know that, Holly-Browning. But that's what these d.a.m.ned security people are: are: simplifiers. Everything's black and white to them." simplifiers. Everything's black and white to them."

"Yessir."

"And, I should tell you, there are those in our own house who think Section V ought to leave the red lads alone and concentrate on the gray lads. Jerry's the next big show, eh?"

"Yessir, I suppose Jerry is."

They had reached the next tee. Birds sang, tulips bloomed, still ponds reflected the sun's gold touch, and vivid b.u.t.terflies hung in the light. The sky was cobalt blue, a purity the bizarre English clime permits rarely enough. Ahead, several argyle-clad figures in plus-fours and caps putted out on a par three, 108 yards out.

"d.a.m.n this fellow Hitler. He really has confused the world, hasn't he?"

"Yessir, he has."

C planted his ball on the tee, took his three wood, and addressed the thing with a waggle of his rear end, knotting his fingers into a confusion of sausages about the club.

"And that's why I'm placing you in charge of a key operation, James. It's a big move, James."

Holly-Browning showed nothing on his face. He simply nodded.

"It's a big job, James. Take your wife and daughters out if it suits. It'll get you away from Broadway. Most bracing change, I say. You shall have Jamaica station. d.a.m.n, I must say, I envy envy you. Jamaica!" you. Jamaica!"

The b.l.o.o.d.y colonies! An island full of n.i.g.g.e.rs and flowers!

C swung. The ball popped off the tee, bending oddly in the air, its flight weirdly crippled crippled, and sank itself in a trap with a puff of sand.

"d.a.m.n! d.a.m.n!" said C. "I simply wasn't meant meant to play this b.l.o.o.d.y game. In any event, I suppose I'll have to boost your fellow Vane up to Section V head. He's the right chap, don't you think?" to play this b.l.o.o.d.y game. In any event, I suppose I'll have to boost your fellow Vane up to Section V head. He's the right chap, don't you think?"

Holly-Browning shuddered at the idea of Vane as V (a).

"A splendid idea," he said.

"And I'll bring this young Sampson in to help him. He'll be V (b), eh? He's a bright chap; he can handle London, don't you think?"

"Yessir," said Holly-Browning, addressing his ball. "Yes. Very good, sir." He drew back and seemed to lose himself in the rush of the stroke, and felt his four iron meet the ball with the authority of an edict from Stalin. It rose, a pill, white and nearly invisible against the bright sky, and then fell as if dropped from the Almighty Himself. It landed square on the green perhaps two feet above the pin and began to describe a spin-crazed curlicue over the short gra.s.s in the general vicinity of the ...

"Good Christ," said C, "it went in! in! Holly-Browning, it went Holly-Browning, it went in in the b.l.o.o.d.y hole." the b.l.o.o.d.y hole."

"Yes, yes, it did, didn't it, sir?" said Holly-Browning, handing his club to Davis.

43.

THE HANGAR.

THE OLD MAN GREW STRONGER WITH REMARKABLE SWIFTNESS and was well enough to travel within seven days. The speed of the recovery stunned the British-educated doctor. Pavel Romanov, however, something of a scholar of the lives and times of Emmanuel Ivanovich Levitsky, was not particularly amazed; he knew the old agent to be a man of rare resilience and will. and was well enough to travel within seven days. The speed of the recovery stunned the British-educated doctor. Pavel Romanov, however, something of a scholar of the lives and times of Emmanuel Ivanovich Levitsky, was not particularly amazed; he knew the old agent to be a man of rare resilience and will.

Yet Levitsky still did not talk.

One evening, they drove him by ambulance to the Barcelona airport well after midnight and took him to a special, isolated hangar on the far outskirts of the place, hundreds of meters from the terminal. He was amazed at the activity at the obscure locality; there were armed guards everywhere, Soviet Black Sea Marines with German machine pistols.

Inside the building, he sat ramrod stiff in a wheelchair, a blanket drawn about him, a pair of sungla.s.ses shielding his damaged eye from the harsh light. He could hardly move, what with his shoulders locked in the plaster, but he could still make out the airplane. It was a giant Tupolev TB-3, a four-engine bomber whose fuselage had the odd appearance of having been mounted on its st.u.r.dy wings upside down and whose landing gear was so primitive it looked like gigantic bicycle tires.

"A big aircraft," said Romanov, laughing. "To accommodate both our egos."

Romanov felt loquacious.

"It's a shame you can't talk, old man. We could have had some wonderful conversations. I shall have to do the talking for both of us. Did you know this airplane has been specially modified, with fuel tanks added under the wings and through the fuselage. It's our only bird that can make the straight flight from Barcelona to Sebastopol without refueling. It's taken us a long time to get it ready for tonight."

He looked into the old man's eye for a hint of curiosity, and convinced himself that he found it.

"You're wondering if you are so important a cargo?" he asked. "Well, it's not quite all for you, old man."

Listening exhausted Levitsky. He sat back and settled into his perpetual semidarkness and his silence. With an act of will, he restrained himself from his memories, which sometimes threatened to consume him these dark days. He had ordered himself not to think. To think was to yield to regret, to the infinite allure of what might have been, in another world. Be strong, old one, he told himself. It is almost over.

They seemed to be taking their time on the plane. One would think they could handle these arrangements with a good deal more precision. He was growing impatient. Perhaps the ground staff were all Spaniards, taken to moving slowly and without- It then occurred to him that the mechanics whose vague shapes he had been able to discern scurrying over the vaster shape of the grotesque airplane had vanished. It was strangely silent. Then he heard the arrival of a car, some far-off mutter, and with that, Pavel Romanov dipped behind him, pivoted him, and began to push him across the b.u.mpy tarmac. He could smell petrol and oil as they moved through the hangar, but in time they arrived in a kind of smaller room off the larger one. Pavel opened the door, dropped back, and pushed him through. It was a small place, tight as a coffin, and pitch dark. Levitsky could sense the close press of the tin walls. Pavel did not turn on the light.

"You have fifteen minutes," Pavel said. "And then we leave."

Levitsky listened to his jaunty footsteps snapping away; the door closed, somehow damping down the air. Levitsky waited and after a bit made out the sound of breathing.

"Old man." The whisper reached him from across the room and across the years. "G.o.d, what have they done to you? They've treated you so terribly."

Levitsky could say nothing.

"I had to come. I had had to see you. Once more ... before-" to see you. Once more ... before-"

He let it lapse into silence, and just stared in wonder at the old man.

"You appear disappointed in me, old man. You sense my doubt." He stared intently at the old mute. "I know what you're thinking. I must remember I'm working for the future. I've been blessed enough, with that chance. It's enough to live for. And to die for. One should not look twice at an offer of enrollment in an elite force. One should not hesitate."

Levitsky could feel the young man's gaze and adoration upon him: his ardor and his willingness to learn. He remembered him at Cambridge: young, bright, callow, but incredibly eager.

He felt the young man rise and come over in the darkness. He felt the warmth of his body, his closeness. The young man bent and touched his hand. "The sacrifices you made. For me."

He swallowed.

"When they were so close ... I knew you'd save me. You foresaw that one day they'd be close. You knew that rumors, suggestions, hints, leaks, always get out, even from Moscow, and there would come a time when even the British would begin to see through their illusions and begin to suspect an agent in their midst.

"And so you recruited two two agents. Deep and shallow. Or no. No, I see it now." He spoke more quickly, with the excitement of a mathematician suddenly understanding more subtlety of calculus that had been beyond him for years. "Julian was not your agent. He was your lover but never your agent. As I am your agent but never your lover. Because you knew that anyone who investigated Cambridge in the year 1931 would uncover you. And so you would have to lead them to Julian and not me." agents. Deep and shallow. Or no. No, I see it now." He spoke more quickly, with the excitement of a mathematician suddenly understanding more subtlety of calculus that had been beyond him for years. "Julian was not your agent. He was your lover but never your agent. As I am your agent but never your lover. Because you knew that anyone who investigated Cambridge in the year 1931 would uncover you. And so you would have to lead them to Julian and not me."

Levitsky stared pa.s.sionately at the boy with his good eye.

The boy did not seem to be able to stop talking because he would never talk of it again: it was the pleasure of explaining that he had denied himself and would go on denying himself for years.

"And when you learned that Lemontov had gone and the British and the Americans knew, it was essential that you confirm for them their suspicion that Julian was the man you had recruited."

"And they sent poor Florry. And you crossed h.e.l.l to reach Julian in Florry's presence. And Florry informed them of his guilt. Florry validated their own illusions for them. And then you made certain that Julian would die, forever sealed off from their interrogations, forever beyond their reach. The case is closed. Forever. The British have their spy and I have my future."

The young man paused, as if to breathe.

"They are pleased now," he said. "I'm due back in London shortly. I'm going into their service full time. It's good, I think, to enter before the war with Hitler. The service will swell, and the ones on the inside will rise."

The door opened.

"Almost time," called Pavel Romanov.

The young man came closer and spoke in a whisper.

"I've been reporting to them from Spain. Through a special GRU link via Amsterdam. For the Suppression, the Arrests. It was my my information that enabled them to-" But he halted, as if coming at last to the thing that troubled him most. information that enabled them to-" But he halted, as if coming at last to the thing that troubled him most.

"It's not only that. Do you know what else they've had me do? Do you know why I'm here in Spain? For gold, Ivanch. For simple gold."

Levitsky stared at him.

"They had me rent a villa and one night a truck came by with a hundred crates. And then another one and another one. I've been the richest man in the world. Romanov said they were afraid to move it by sea with the submarines and afraid to guard it because the Spaniards might change their mind and want it back. So they hid it. In my villa. All these months, my real job has been to babysit gold, until an airplane could be modified. Now they can fly it out, nonstop, over a few nights."

Levitsky said nothing.

"It's just like the West, Ivanch. It's for treasure, for loot. There's no difference. I hate hate it." it."

"Shhh!" Levitsky hissed, grabbing his hand tightly.

"I hate hate it," the boy said. And then David Harold Allen Sampson began to weep. it," the boy said. And then David Harold Allen Sampson began to weep.

"You must control yourself," said Levitsky hoa.r.s.ely. "You must pay the price. You must sacrifice. It is not enough to be willing to die for your beliefs. That's a fool's sacrifice. You must be willing to kill for them, too. To free the world of its Cossacks, you must be willing to spill blood now, do you understand? I sacrificed my brother. I sacrificed my lover. I sacrificed the man who saved my life. I sacrificed myself. It's the process of history, comrade."

He grabbed the boy and pulled his head close and kissed him on the lips.

"Time," called Pavel Romanov.

"You must reach the back rank," said Levitsky, "and give the innocent dead their due."

The door opened and he could hear Pavel approach.

The boy whispered a last statement.

"I no longer believe in it, Emmanuel Ivanovich Levitsky, in any of it, revolutions, politics, history. It's all just murder and theft. But I have found a new faith to sustain me over the years. I believe in you you. I love you."

The boy slipped away into the darkness.

Pavel rolled the wheelchair across the hangar toward the aircraft, chatting idiotically.

"I hope that wasn't too hard on you, old man. He quite insisted. What a hero that one is. You recruited well, old fox. You recruited quality. GRU understands, even if Koba and NKVD do not," said Pavel. "We will sacrifice anything to save him, even you, old hero. For that young man is the future."

And I am the past, thought the Devil Himself, as they pa.s.sed under the shadow of the great wing.

44.

A WALK IN THE PARK.

IN THE END, THE GENDARMERIE CARED LESS FOR THE BODY than the pistol. Florry explained-endlessly-that it had been his a.s.sailant's, that he had never seen it before he was set upon and it was just the sheerest luck that he'd managed to get hold of it in the scuffle. He was detained three nights in Limoges, the next city along the line after the incident, while they tried to figure out what to do with him and while Sylvia recovered in hospital. He was ultimately levied a stiff fine by a skeptical prefecture and admonished to leave the province swiftly, which he proposed to do as soon as Sylvia could travel. than the pistol. Florry explained-endlessly-that it had been his a.s.sailant's, that he had never seen it before he was set upon and it was just the sheerest luck that he'd managed to get hold of it in the scuffle. He was detained three nights in Limoges, the next city along the line after the incident, while they tried to figure out what to do with him and while Sylvia recovered in hospital. He was ultimately levied a stiff fine by a skeptical prefecture and admonished to leave the province swiftly, which he proposed to do as soon as Sylvia could travel.

As for the body of the mysterious a.s.sailant, its papers proved false and n.o.body would claim it and n.o.body could explain it. Florry offered no precise opinions as to who this person had been: a crazed thief, perhaps, clearly someone with dreadful mental difficulties. The body was disposed of in a pauper's field without ceremony by an undertaker and his teenage a.s.sistant. Its effects-including the grip, which, unknown to them all, contained a good deal of money as well as further false papers-simply disappeared in the uncaring clumsiness of the French rail system.

Sylvia kept telling Florry to go on and that she would catch up to him in Paris, but he insisted on staying. When her swelling had finally gone down, and she was released from the hospital, he suggested they go for a walk in the park. He had a question, he said, and he had to ask it, he had to know the answer.

It was by this time July, a gloriously beautiful day, not as hot as the French Julys can be but sunny and bold. No country seems more alive in the sunlight than France, and they spent that afternoon walking around in a beautiful park until at last they came to a bench hard by a pond in a glade of poplars. The air was full of dust and light and the birds were singing.

"G.o.d, it's lovely here," said Sylvia.

"Sylvia, there's something I have to ask you."

Sylvia sighed.

"I must say, I knew this was coming. I'm afraid I know what you're going to say, Robert. That you love me. That you want to marry me. That-"

She turned to him. "Robert," she said, "you're an awfully fine fellow. You saved my life. Twice, in fact. But-"

"Actually, Sylvia," he said, "the question I had was something else: how long have you been working for Major Holly-Browning?"

She missed a beat, then smiled.

"Robert, I'm afraid I haven't-"

He interrupted her. "You really are a little s.l.u.t, aren't you, darling? The major's wh.o.r.e, sent to make sure poor Florry does his dirty deed. You never cared for me, except as a tool, as someone to be used. Give the old b.a.s.t.a.r.d credit, he saw my weaknesses. He knew how vulnerable I'd be to a sweet-faced tart who kept telling me what an impressive chap I was, who'd give me a b.l.o.o.d.y toss between the sheets. It was quite a performance, darling, especially the way you suddenly veered toward Julian and made me crazy with jealousy and made the job everybody so wanted done seem feasible. G.o.d, you deserve some kind of award."

"Robert, I-"

"You must have thought it quite comical when I confessed I was a 'British agent.' You must have felt the contempt a professional feels for a f.e.c.kless, hapless amateur with delusions of grandeur. But it finally penetrated, Sylvia. Do you know where you went wrong, old girl? The b.l.o.o.d.y apartment. Sampson had a villa, for some d.a.m.ned reason. I recall him telling me. That wasn't his his place we went to, it was yours. The major had it set up to get you out, not me. That's how they had your picture for the pa.s.sport. Yes, you were the major's little secret weapon, eh?" place we went to, it was yours. The major had it set up to get you out, not me. That's how they had your picture for the pa.s.sport. Yes, you were the major's little secret weapon, eh?"

"Robert, stop. You're all wrong, it's-"

"You pathetic little quim. It must have been hard, Sylvia, hanging around that dangerous city that week, waiting. But you weren't waiting for me, were you? You were waiting for word on Julian's death. You had to know. That was the last part of your job, to make certain the poor b.a.s.t.a.r.d was dead."

She stared stonily out across the pond. The terrible thing was that even now she looked beautiful to him. He wished he could hold her to him and make real his last illusion: that a better world could be theirs.

"Then you were too b.l.o.o.d.y good on the way out! You had it all figured. You'd gone over the route, you knew how to handle everything. You are something, Sylvia, I must say, you are a piece of work."