The Bear's Tears

Immediately, she left the room, closing the doors to the dining-room behind her with a firm, quiet finality. Massinger's eyes immediately transferred their gaze to the portrait of Castleford. It watched him with what he could only consider malevolence, accusation. Castleford's eyes were her eyes. They had always had the same eyes; now, they possessed the same stare. He rubbed his forehead and groaned aloud.

Finished—

* * *

The British Airways Trident dropped towards the snowbound landscape amid which the south-eastern suburbs of Vienna straggled out towards the pattern of Schwechat airport's runways. The scene was uniformly grey and white to Massinger's red-rimmed, prickling eyes. Bodily, he was little more than a lump that had sleeplessly occupied a hotel bed near Heathrow and then a taxi and then a departure lounge and then an aircraft seat next to a window; a lump that had previously performed, like an automaton, the tasks of packing, gathering passport, credit cards, wallet, Hyde's papers, ordering a taxi, avoiding all sense of Margaret in other rooms in the flat, avoiding him.

His mind was numbed. Not free, or released, merely numbed. He could no longer think of her or about her. He had lost her. That realisation was like a wall in his mind, preventing other images and thoughts.

The wheels bumped, and snow-covered concrete and grass rushed past the window; a moonscape produced by snowploughs. Then the aircraft was taxiing, turning right then left, back towards the strangely provincial, miniature airport buildings. Schwechat was like any airfield in eastern Europe; a bare, flat child's model of a grown-up's real airport. He and Margaret had flown into Schwechat often, visiting concerts, operas, galleries in Vienna…

The thought drifted away, as if he had no powers of retention left. The landing music switched off and the hostess wished him a pleasant stay. People began to gather baggage hurriedly, tumbling it out of the overhead lockers as if prompted by an escape timetable limited to split-seconds. He followed them slowly across the pooled, windy tarmac into the terminal building.

Passport control, luggage, customs; a largely empty hall, echoing, modern, aseptic. He tried to anticipate the events to come, the evening and night ahead, but all he gained was a sense of foreboding and weakness, and he surrendered the idea. He had begun, he knew, to lose interest, not to care. Teardrop, Hyde, Aubrey the old man, the KGB, all became figments of a melodramatic dream, as they had been for Margaret. There was only one thing he now cared about, one fragment of the truth upon which he must lay hold; had Aubrey betrayed Robert Castleford, had him killed in Berlin almost forty years ago?

That could animate him; that question obsessed him. That he would pursue, whatever else…

The doors slid back and he walked into the freezing air outside the arrivals hall. Immediately, a grey Mercedes displaying a taxi sign pulled out from a parking space and, jumping the queue of vehicles drawn up, halted directly in front of him. He was startled into clutching his suitcase more tightly.

'Massinger,' Hyde said. It was a recognition, not a question. 'All right. I'm Hyde. Note the accent?' Hyde smiled grimly at Massinger's relief.

'How did you—?'

'Money. What else? Just borrowed it. Get in.' He pushed open the rear door and Massinger climbed in, sliding his suitcase in front of him. The moment he shut the door, Hyde pulled the Mercedes away, down the ramp towards the main road. 'I thought a taxi might come in useful — oh, better be kosher and put the clock on.' He turned his head to glance at the American. 'You strong on tipping, Massinger?'

'What? Oh—'

'What's the matter?' Hyde asked urgently.

'Everything,' Massinger began, then noticing Hyde's alarm, he added, 'And nothing. No need to worry. I wasn't spotted and followed.'

'I know that. I've been here two hours waiting. No face I know, not even one I suspect I ought to know, has shown up.' Hyde grinned suddenly, showing his profile once more. 'You're not doing too bad for an old man.'

'And you — how are you doing?'

'Ahead. Just. It's only real professionals we have to worry about. Brought my papers?'

'Yes.'

On the wide empty road raised above flat white fields, they passed a grey, lumped-together factory complex. A red and white chimney belched dark smoke.

'Good. Well, what's the plan?' Hyde was clearly enjoying a human contact he did not have to fear or suspect. He was almost blithe.

'We — we're going to kidnap the KGB Rezident in Vienna. A simple job—'

'You what?'

Massinger was offhand, almost satiric, because he did not care. He was unable to concern himself closely with the matter. It was no more than a preliminary task to be executed before he could return to London to discover the truth concerning Aubrey and Castleford; he might even confront Aubrey, after he had dug around, yes he might…

Hyde was stunned by his apparent nonchalance. 'Did I hear you correctly, Massinger? Did you say kidnap the Rezident? Hands up everybody in the Soviet Embassy, all right, come with us, sunshine? You're talking through your backside!'

'There's no other way. The Rezident must know — I am certain he does know what's going on here. He knows about Teardrop, and what's behind it.'

'Of course he bloody does! So what?'

'I know where he will be tonight, and I know he will be alone.'

'Without a screen.' Massinger was amused, in a detached manner, at the signals of competence and superiority he was hoisting. 'Shall I go on?'

'Oh, please do,' Hyde replied with thickly spread sarcasm.

'Very well.'

Small, peeled-paint houses and farms, a flour mill, then newer bungalows, pebble-dashed or faced with grey concrete. Pink or light green, many of them. Then the city began rising to two and three storeys and closing in around the car. The river was dark and sluggish to their left. The wheels of the Mercedes clunked over tramlines. Dingy shops bearing weather-beaten nameboards and advertisements, new cars, tall new buildings. Then the heavy, monumental buildings lining the Ring.

They were in the Johannesgasse and close to the Inter-Continental before Massinger had completed his narrative.

'Well?' he asked finally as Hyde passed the hotel and slid into a parking space fifty yards beyond it. The Australian switched off the car engine and turned, leaning his arm on the back of the bench seat. His eyes studied Massinger over the sleeve of his stained overcoat.

Speaking almost into his sleeve, he said: 'So there's me, you and Shelley. That's the entire army, is it?'

'Yes.' He felt dry-throated from talking without pause or interruption; weary from lack of conviction in what he was doing.

'And you couldn't give a bugger. What about Shelley?'

'What do you mean?'

'Your scheme is harebrained, but it doesn't seem to frighten you. You don't care enough. I can't see us getting away with it unless you wake up.'

'I see.' Massinger wanted to explain, but then said bluntly: 'Unless you help — unless we get to the bottom of this — you're living on borrowed time.'

'Sure — and interest rates are going up and up. I know. But — you watching my back? I don't think so, mate. Thanks all the same.'

'You know Aubrey is supposed to have betrayed my wife's father to the NKVD in 1946. She believes it, anyway. Does that answer your question? I may not seem to care — but if I want my own answers, my own peace, then this has to be the first step. Now — do we go or not?'

Hyde studied Massinger's drawn and tired face for a long time, then he said: 'This bloke Cass — he's laid on, is he?'

Massinger nodded. 'He arrives this afternoon. He knows where to contact me.'

'Do you know enough to play the Rezident's pal — just through having a couple of drinks with him and