The Bear's Tears

'I take it he is already in hospital?' Aubrey asked with calculated innocence.

Babbington hesitated, and Aubrey knew that the crucial moment had arrived. Babbington would never return him to England. Babbington must know about Zimmermann, must know how close suspicion was to him—! Aubrey understood his hesitation, the vague shadow of a desire to solve the problem without further violence. Perhaps he, too, had been shocked by the bruised, broken face and the gunshot wound?

'He will be,' Babbington replied eventually, and by his tone Aubrey knew that Babbington had relinquished any hope of their ignorance; of their survival. His glance apologised for his decision. Then he added, sighing: 'There really isn't anything to say, is there?'

'Perhaps not—'

'In the car — Wilkes heard, you see…' Babbington explained heavily, guiltily.

Aubrey turned and switched off the bedside lamp, whose light was more sickly than ever. With his face averted, he murmured: 'I understand.'

'You couldn't have hoped—' Babbington began in a tone of protest.

'No,' Aubrey snapped, turning to face him. 'What will you do about Zimmermann? No doubt you realise how much he knows?'

Babbington bared his teeth, but could not summon the confident smile he desired. 'Yes,' he said in an ugly voice.

Aubrey held up one hand, fingers spread. He counted off the names he recited. 'Shelley, Hyde, Zimmermann — what has begun can't be stopped, Andrew. You must see that…' Aubrey's voice tailed off. Babbington was shaking his head in disagreement, and his smile had become more confident.

'Your own fate will settle matters nicely, Kenneth,' he announced. There was still something of bluff, of self-deceit in the voice, but it was evident that Babbington's confidence was growing. Soon, he would command the conversation.

'My fate?' Aubrey enquired.

'Your fate. And that of the American, naturally.'

'Naturally.' Aubrey's face twisted at the mockery in Babbington's voice. He snapped: 'I cannot — simply cannot comprehend your treachery!'

Babbington blushed. His lips tautened, as if his face had been struck. His eyes were chilly. 'Don't be so ridiculously naive, Kenneth.'

'Naive?'

'Patriotism — with your experience of the world? With your knowledge of the skeletons in the closets? Patriotism?' There was a stinging contempt in the tone. Babbington had mastered his voice now. 'You're as naive as that American in the next room, Kenneth. I thought we could safely have left the flag and the anthem to our colonial cousins — this late in the day. I'm surprised at you.'

'I'm a little surprised at myself.' Aubrey was slowly shaking his head. His lips were formed in a smile.

'Which is why I could never have released you, or allowed you to go free,' Babbington announced. 'You are even more dangerous than I thought.'

'Why, Andrew?' Aubrey asked immediately, unbalancing Babbington, whose cheeks flushed. He smoothed them with his hands, removing evidence.

'Why?'

'Why treachery? You have — everything. You gained the high ground by your own abilities. What can you possibly have gained from them?'

'Unlike yourself, the secret life has never been all in all to me.' Babbington smiled, catlike.

'I repeat — what on earth did they have to offer you?' He paused, and continued with biting irony: 'For someone with your advantages — your background, education, influential relatives, intellectual promise? What was it? A taste for the same kind of danger that makes a figure prominent in public life — who simply happens to prefer men to women — take to haunting public lavatories?' He smiled. 'Is that it? The danger in the deceit — the risk of the policeman's footsteps and voice outside a grimy, odorous cubicle in a public urinal?'

Babbington's cheeks reddened. Then he waved the insults aside. 'Perhaps,' he admitted. 'More to do, I think, with the public lavatory to which you offer up your naive patriotism.' His face darkened, and he leaned forward. 'This country, Kenneth. This country since the war. Look for the answer there — in the piddling little American aircraft carrier we have become over the years. The whining, useless voice wailing in the corridors of the UN!' Babbington's rage was sudden, surprising, and genuine. Aubrey was shocked by it. Shocked, too, by the contempt at the core of the man; the lonely peak his ego had climbed. Babbington's clenched fist banged his thigh. 'You remain loyal to it? To our masters? How can you? How can you?'

'As you said — naivety.'

'It was not sufficient for me — I couldn't be naive.'

'No. You never could. And what did they offer?'

'Eminence. No, not your sort of secret eminence, unregarded even by yourself—' He broke off. 'You never really sought the Director-Generalship after Cunningham, did you?' Aubrey shook his head in agreement. 'Eminence,' Babbington repeated. 'Eminence with the most powerful secret organisation in the world. Do you understand?'

'I think so. A monkey requiring a larger audience for its tricks.'

'You foolish old man,' Babbington hissed.

'What can you do to me? More than you intend?'

Babbington shook his head. 'No — not more than I intend already.' He smiled. 'You don't display much curiosity in that direction, Kenneth?'

'Should I?'

'I think perhaps you should.'

'My appearance in Moscow would clear the field for you. I also think the idea would have a certain — appeal for you? As for poor Massinger, I presume quick disposal will suffice for him.' Aubrey was studying his hands as they lay inertly in his lap. He would not give Babbington the satisfaction of looking into his face and showing him his fears.

'You have no country now, Kenneth,' Babbington announced. 'No country whatsoever. Not much to show for forty years of loyal service.'

Aubrey's head snapped up. His pale eyes were hard. 'I have the small satisfaction of knowing that for forty years I have occupied the time and space that might otherwise have been filled by someone like you,' he delivered in a waspish, superior tone. He was satisfied with the flinch of reaction in Babbington's eyes.

'It is now occupied by me,' Babbington replied after a moment. 'And consequently your forty years has been an entire waste of your life. Your whole life has been meaningless.' He stood up.

Aubrey said, 'Why now?'

'What?'

'Teardrop. Why now, at this precise moment?'

'The time seemed right. The scenario was available. Once you took the bait from Kapustin, the whole thing gained an inertia of its own. It rolled downhill like a great smooth stone. You were so greedy for Kapustin's defection, Kenneth!'

'I know it.'

Babbington crossed the room. 'I'll leave you for the moment—' he began.

Aubrey interrupted him. 'When, Andrew — when did they get hold of you? Tell me that.'

Babbington paused for a moment, then shrugged. 'Very well. After Suez. I'd begun in security by then. Yes — Suez seemed to clinch matters for me. That — farce!'

'I see.'

'I could see nothing ahead — humiliation…decline, bankruptcy in the world's court… and we have it.'

'Thus go all Fascists,' Aubrey murmured with withering contempt, 'down the aisle of that broad church, worshipping order. Was that it, Andrew? Order. The attractions of nothing more than efficiency? '

'You do not even begin to understand,' Babbington replied, shrugging.

'Much like Castleford, then — you admired brute force. He chose Hungary rather than Suez.'

'Perhaps.' It was evident Babbington disliked any comparison with another. 'Mm, Castleford…' he murmured.