The Bear's Tears

'He let something slip — drunk, of course. He knew exactly what was going on. That it was a frame. He even knew what had happened in Vienna. It amused him. His opposite number there had told him the whole story of Aubrey's arrest.'

'What can we do about it?' The question surprised Shelley himself.

Massinger halted, and the two men faced one another. Shelley knew he was being weighed and was affronted and sick with uncertainty. Why had he said that? Why hadn't he been able to walk away? He had to get the file back, that was what really mattered.

'Do you mean that?' Massinger asked finally. A turbaned Sikh brushed lightly and apologetically against them. A shopping trolley dragged behind a large woman banged painfully against Shelley's ankle. Behind Massinger, a car showroom burst from the ground floor of a once-elegant house like a mutant, leaving the upper storeys stranded in the past. A Labour Party poster glared from one window, as if to proclaim the entirety of change throughout the house.

'Yes,' Shelley replied reluctantly, unable to prevent the answer he gave, shrinking from it even as he did so.

'Good man.'

'But what can we do—?' Shelley protested as they walked on.

Massinger slipped on a patch of ice and Shelley steadied him. Foreboding overwhelmed him.

'Do you realise we have no time left?' Massinger asked. 'Already, we're both under surveillance — if it is MI5, then we have no time at all, and if it's Pavel who's set the dogs on us, then we may have even less time. Pavel wouldn't hesitate…'

'I know!' Shelley snapped. 'There is no need to scrawl the message on the wall. So? What hope is there?'

They had reached the entrance to the tube station. Massinger paused, facing Westminster Bridge Road. On the other side of the thoroughfare, whitewashed racist slogans had been daubed on a wall beside the poster of a cowboy smoking his favourite brand of cigarette, a packet of which obscured the grandeur of Monument Valley. Massinger received a fleeting image of John Wayne lying prostrate on the roof of a racing stage-coach, of a crowded, child-noisy movie theatre. His youth.

'I realise Pavel's too well protected — and on guard,' he murmured. Shelley had to bend his head to hear distinctly. 'There'd be a God-awful stink if anything happened to him. But we have no time! . There are the three of us, and one of us is trapped in Vienna with no hope of getting out. The agent — our field agent — cannot come to us. I have to go to him.'

'What then?'

'Someone may be planning to stop us because of what we've already done. If we can do something quickly, something decisive — then maybe we can win. Slowly means we lose — altogether.'

'I realise that. But what—?'

'Bear with me, Peter. We need Hyde, and that means going to him. Which means Vienna. I want everything Registry has on the KGB Rezident in Vienna — the Rezident and his senior staffers.'

'Why?'

'Will you get it for me?' Massinger's eyes gleamed with daring rather than reason.

'Why?' Shelley repeated.

'If we could make him talk — if we had proof!'

'The — Rezident, in Vienna… madness.' Shelley's anger was fuelled by fear. 'It's absolutely insane!'

'It's quick. Speed is our only hope.'

'That's not hope, it's lunacy.'

'And the entirely unexpected. Get me everything on the current Rezident. There must be something, some time when he's virtually alone, unattended, off his guard… a moment in which we can — talk to him?' Massinger's smile matched his eyes. Shelley quailed. It was the most desperate, monstrous lunacy, a four-in-the-morning solution to the problem. It should have dispersed in the light of day.

'You can't!' he felt obliged to say.

'At least we can try, man!'

'And this KGB senior staffer — he'll just answer your questions politely?'

'No. Which is why we will need pentathol and a man with a needle.'

'What—?'

'You control East Europe Desk, Peter. You must have someone, somewhere in Europe, someone you can still trust, who can inject the necessary drugs? There must be someone…?'

Shelley felt himself mocked. More, he felt himself endangered. Too close to the bone, to vital organs. Massinger was in the process of flinging him over a precipice.

'I — can't do what you ask,' he murmured. 'It's too risky, leaks like a sieve…'

'My God, man — don't you realise that your precious job may not exist if this goes on much longer!' Massinger stormed through clenched teeth. It was a superior, cold anger. 'There is collusion between elements in your service and the KGB. Everything we know and everything that has happened to Hyde tells us that much. You must want to know who, and why — you have to try and stop it. We must establish the truth, Peter. We must discover what this awful co-operation means, how far it extends — what and who is behind it. It's your job, for God's sake!'

Shelley half turned away, his hands flapping feebly at his sides. 'I don't want to realise that,' he muttered.

'But it's necessary — crucial. It's the reality of this business.'

'I know. It's standing beside you like a bloody shadow. Duty. God, Queen and Country. I know I have to. I know it.' Shelley's lips twisted in a sneer.

Massinger looked at his watch. 'You'd better get that file back, Peter,' he instructed gently. 'And the other material — can you get it for me today?'

'Today?'

'Hyde is in constant danger. Your people in Vienna Station threw him to the wolves. He's running and he's afraid. He may have even less time available than we do.'

Shelley nodded in accompaniment to Massinger's grave words. Then he looked up from the pavement and his shuffling feet, and said: 'I'll try. I'll try, and call you tonight?' He left the statement as a question and studied Massinger's face. The American glanced at the buff envelope under Shelley's arm, then nodded.

'Yes. Do that. I — we have to go on with it — whatever.'

'Yes. Now, I have to go.'

Shelley turned away abruptly, and entered the tube station, leaving Massinger staring at the cigarette hoarding across the street.

* * *

'You're certain it was massinger?'

'No, sir — not certain.'

'But Shelley — yes?'

'Yes, sir.'

'And you lost them?'

'They shook us off, sir. Didn't use the car.'

'Where are they now?'

'Massinger's at home. Shelley's at Century House. He's been there since a little after one.'

'Why did they meet? I don't see the significance of the War Museum.'

'Sorry, sir — can't tell you.'

'Why did they meet?'

'Sorry, sir — didn't quite catch—'

'It doesn't matter. It can't add up to anything much. Old loyalties having a day trip, chickens scratching around in the dust. Mm. Shelley will have to be watched more closely. I'm certain Massinger doesn't have the stomach for this — he'll run out of steam fairly soon.'

'I see, sir.'