Powers scratched on his heart, he'd survived. He'd weathered the cyclone… But, God, he'd suffered in the process of the sweeping up of the pieces.
With disaster closing around him the Prime Minister reverted to his most basic talent. He was a good fighter, they said in the party, and not too clean at close quarters. He would kick and hack and scratch, and he reckoned that as his sole possibility of defence.
The Prime Minister poured coffee, added cream and milk, and beamed pleasantly at the cold, hostile face of the Trade Minister.
' I hope we can get whatever it is you wanted to say out of the way quickly. I've about 15 minutes… you'd like some coffee… I have to go to church… what can I do for you?'
' I have been instructed by my First Secretary to deliver a Note of protest… a Note of the most serious protest…'
The Prime Minister passed the cup of full coffee. 'They take it rather badly when I'm not at Morning Service, I read the second Lesson.'
'… on a matter that gravely affects the relations between our two countries…'
'You take sugar… do go on, I'm listening.'
' I have been instructed to protest most vigorously at the criminal intrusion into the sovereign territory of the DDR by British espionage agents.'
The Prime Minister waited sentence by sentence for the interpreter.
' I have been working particularly hard for the improvement of relations between our two peoples, not their deterioration.'
'We regard it as an insult that at this moment when I am here on a mission of friendship that British saboteurs should be at work inside our frontiers.'
' I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about. The fact that you are my guest here, at Chequers, should be an indication of the importance that we attach to your visit to our country. This nonsense about saboteurs… come to the point, please.'
In front of the Trade Minister the coffee cup remained untouched. One of the old iron men, this one. The advocate of the erection of the Wall dividing Berlin. The opponent of the amnesty for political prisoners at the 30th anniversary of the State. The Prime Minister found himself fascinated by the peculiarity of the East German's hair, a pale powder grey and extraordinary how it stood upright with the firmness of a garden brush.
'We have thorough proof provided by a boy named Willi Guttmann, who from his love of the socialist principle came across the Inner German Border last night, of British machinations against our people.
Evidence of a criminal plot to kidnap this boy's father from our territory.'
'Preposterous, Trade Minister… I've seen the name of that boy somewhere, I think I can recall that name,' the Prime Minister said easily. 'He defected to us in Geneva… A silly young chap, infatuated with an English secretary and wanted to build a love nest for her. Then she found she wasn't pregnant after all and threw him over. I hope that before you start bandying around these allegations you've better evidence than that.'
'Within the next two days the television service of the DDR will broadcast these allegations. Willi Guttmann will be produced to tell his story so that the peoples of freedom loving nations may appreciate the criminal behaviour of your agents.'
' I've seldom heard such rubbish. What was he going to do with this scientist, sling him on his shoulder and jump that fence of yours? I find it most distressing that your government should stoop to such smears and untruths…' The Prime Minister turned to the interpreter. 'The strongest words you've got, Rodgers, I don't want any prissiness.'
'Last night…' the Trade Minister snapped his reply to the interpreter.
'Last night a spy who came to the city of Magdeburg under the name of John Dawson intended to kidnap Doctor Otto Guttmann, a most eminent scientist, and to smuggle him illegally beyond our borders.'
'You should pass to the First Secretary my advice that he should be most careful of the weight he attaches to the gossip of this Guttmann boy
…'
'We have incontrovertible evidence.'
'When you are my guest, Trade Minister, do me the goodness of hearing me out. It would be most unfortunate if the ramblings of a jilted youth were permitted to sour British and East German co-operation. I would not welcome anything that jeopardised the good relations between our countries, certainly not a concocted story like this. Where is this British agent, this saboteur?'
' In a few hours he will have been arrested.'
'So the evidence is quite unsubstantiated?'
'To us the evidence is satisfactory.'
'To me it sounds ridiculous. I would like you to stress to the First Secretary my total commitment to the bettering of understanding between your country and ours. From the hospitality shown to you here you will have seen for yourself the value we have put on your visit. Are you forgetting that because of a youth's hysteria, I hardly think so…
You haven't touched your coffee…'
'Thank you… I must return to London.'
'You're due in the Midlands tomorrow, the Lucas and British Leyland factories.'
' If I have not been recalled to Berlin.'
'That would be a very great disappointment to the people who have tried to make you feel most welcome here.'
' I must consult with the First Secretary.'
'My advice is that he should not be precipitate in his actions. Assure him, please, that should he provide concrete evidence of the presence of a British agent in the German Democratic Republic, evidence incontrovertibly proved by his arrest, then a most far reaching enquiry will be instituted into the behaviour of our Services. The First Secretary has my word that I know nothing of this matter.'
' I have no doubts that such evidence will be produced.'
'My warmest regards to the First Secretary.'
'Thank you.'
After the withdrawal of the Trade Minister and the interpreter, the Prime Minister reached for the coffee.
He pondered to himself. He had come to the cul-de-sac after all and he was linked with the Service. All that he had feared and sought to avoid had happened, and he was hamstrung in the web that the Service wove.
The same web that had caught Anthony Eden on the affair of Commander Crabbe. The same web that had dictated the bland denials from Harold Macmillan that Harold Adrian Russell Philby was a lifelong traitor. The head of government could not dissociate himself from his Intelligence establishment. He had bought himself a little time, and had not yet counted the cost of the purchase. The Trade Minister's scarcely civil departure had indicated that the message would be relayed to the First Secretary, it was possible the advice might be accepted.
Now he must await a miracle. The freelancer that he had been told of, a man called Johnny Donoghue, must bring an elderly scientist and his daughter through this impenetrable border. A border that was sealed tight, the Deputy-Under- Secretary had told him, a border that was festooned with automatic guns and minefields. That alone could save him from the humiliation of involvement in the DIPPER failure.
He drank his coffee. All a question of faith, he supposed. And in the matter of political miracles he regarded himself as an agnostic. Beyond possibility to believe the freelancer would offer salvation.
His wife came into the room, two Prayer Books and a Bible in her hand.
'We really must hurry, darling.'
' I suppose so,' said the Prime Minister. 'I'm not feeling terribly like church.'
Carter came out of the communications wing at the Roadhaus. All despondency and gloom in London, all waiting for the Berlin team to come trooping back for the inquest of the afternoon. He was told that the name of John Dawson had been heard on the Magdeburg police radio.
He'd be sitting on his hands and hoping that the dust would have settled before he, too, received his travel orders.
He walked across the car park to the NAAFI bar. Yes, he was on duty.
