watching the opera from the same box?'
'I'll have to, won't I?'
'You will.' Then Hyde shrugged. 'I don't have any choice, anyway. Argument's just a lot of finessing crap. I don't have anywhere to go. The body in the alley decided that for me.' He held out his hand. 'OK, Massinger — light the blue touch-paper and stand well clear.'
'You understand, Professor? I'm sure Pete Shelley warned you of the dangers of pentathol interrogation — opening and closing doors?' Massinger nodded. Cass's face was a mere white blank in the darkness of the car. Hyde had left them once more to patrol the street, adrenalin-alert, senses and intelligence heightened to the point where Massinger sensed excitement, even pleasure in him. 'Good. You have to be this man Pavel Koslov and you mustn't step out of character, not for a moment. At least, it would be wise not to.'
Cass was about Shelley's age, an old school friend of the head of East Europe Desk, clever, fluent in at least five languages, apparently, a good field agent, and totally lacking the other's ambitions. Madrid Station was simply another enjoyable and easy posting on a covert tour of the world. Shelley's assessment of and liking for Cass were both deserved.
'Do you think it'll work?'
'It might — I say only might. I won't be there to increase the dose, or direct you. Shelley made it clear that I should scarper as soon as I've filled his veins.'
'Yes, you must get away at once.'
'All right. First of all, I'll knock him out with sodium pentathol. Twenty minutes later, I'll inject enough benzedrine to bring him round again. Then he's all yours. I'll stay long enough to check the first couple of questions, to make sure he doesn't need any more benzedrine. He'll be somewhere between waking and sleeping, then. Almost comatose, but bright-eyed and bushy-tailed at the same time. OK?'
'Yes.'
'Good. This is a form of narcotherapy. There are other and better drugs that could be used with a greater chance of success, but they're harder to handle. I couldn't leave you to do the whole thing by yourselves.'
'I see.'
'Now — lull him at first by talking slowly, sleepily if you like — the old-fashioned hypnotist's voice. Mm?' Massinger nodded. 'Then come across as strongly as you can in the guise of Koslov. Create an atmosphere for him, a conversation. Now, if he begins to doze off, don't slap his face or shake him about. You might start waking him up properly. I'll leave you a syringe. Ten milligrams of benzedrine if he falls asleep. OK?'
'How long do I have with him?'
'Perhaps an hour, even an hour and a half. But if at any time ten milligrams doesn't bring him back to you, leave it. Unless you don't mind what happens to him.'
'I don't want him — harmed,' Massinger replied.
'OK, that's that, then. All we have to do now is wait.'
Cass settled back in the seat, arms folded across his chest. He seemed sublimely unconcerned. Massinger scanned the street for Hyde and eventually saw him drifting back towards the car from the direction of the Michaelerplatz and the massive facade of the Hofburg Palace. The girl's apartment was on the second floor of an elegant nineteenth-century house, the ground floor of which was a jeweller's shop.
Hyde thrust his head inside the Mercedes, and announced: 'Not a bloody sausage, Massinger. The street's clean for three blocks, and the square's strictly kosher. OK? Can I get warm now?'
'Thank you, Hyde.'
Hyde got into the car, looked at Cass's dozing form, then settled down in the driving seat. He had brought the smell of cold into the car, together with the scent of excitement. Massinger was aware of his own adrenalin, sluggish at first like melting ice, now prickling and prodding him into alertness. He was aware of how little he had considered Margaret in the past hours, and was abashed and grateful. He and Hyde did have something in common — the drug of the secret life. Temporarily, at least, his wife had receded in his heart and mind. Now he did want this, he did want to know.
'What time do you have?' he asked Hyde.
Hyde slanted his watch to catch the light of a street-lamp.
'A couple of minutes to nine. If, as you tell me, this bloke's as regular as a sergeant-major's bowels, he'll be here in a mo.'
'Quite.' Massinger's smile, hidden by the darkness, was eager and almost childish. 'Cass?' he whispered. Cass sat upright.
'Here's a black Mercedes — no official plates,' Hyde reported. 'Probably his own car.'
The car passed them and pulled in at a vacant parking meter on the opposite side of the Herrengasse. It was less than twenty yards from the front of the jeweller's shop and the discreet, narrow door between its window and the next shop, where jackets and skirts, cardigans and trousers lay like the victims of a skirmish, softly-lit from the ceiling. All three men leaned forward in their seats.
A short, plump man got out of the car. He was alone, and little more than a dark overcoat and trilby hat. He locked the car and, as he passed the boutique, they saw his face for a moment. Massinger sighed.
'That's him,' Hyde said unnecessarily.
'We'll give him ten or fifteen minutes. He mostly stays until after midnight. Her only client on Thursday evenings. Drinks first, I guess,' Massinger almost drawled.
'Open a couple of tinnies, eh?' Hyde murmured. 'Gives him wind while he's performing, I'll bet.'
'Hyde—?'
'I know. Is your joking really necessary? No, it isn't. But I haven't had many laughs lately.'
The Vienna Rezident of the KGB rang the bell and the door opened a moment later. They had seen him bend forward to speak into a grille set to one side of the door.
'Damn,' Massinger muttered as the door closed behind the Russian.
'Don't worry. Speak Russian,' Hyde instructed. 'He'll let us in if he thinks it's official. Sound annoyed at being dragged out on a night like this. It'll work wonders.'
'No, I think German. The police,' Massinger replied. He looked at his watch. 'Ten minutes, then we'll go in while he's still drinking his second glass of champagne.' His voice was light, filled with an unaccustomed excitement.
'You're the boss,' Hyde said. 'You're the boss.'
'Anything in today's airport snaps?'
'Couple of girls with big tits — LOT hostesses.'
'All right — bring them over. I'd better look them over before I initial the docket.'
'There. Couple of wasted rolls. Oh, those two in that shot. RGB back from London leave. See the M & S bags full of goodies. Should guarantee them a good time in Moscow when they next go home.'
'We know those two. Log them back in.'
'Wilkes?'
'Yes?'
'Why are we after Hyde — I mean, really after him?'
'You don't believe he's been turned?'
'I've worked with Hyde before. He's a barmy Australian, I grant you, but he'd never take orders from some KGB control. Too bloody-minded for that.'
'Look, you weren't there the other night. He didn't hesitate to kill that poor sod Philips.'
'I know that—'
'There you are then. Would he do that if he wasn't working for the other side?'
'I suppose not.'
'He's been on the run ever since they took in that old bugger Aubrey. He's Aubrey's man, all right.'
'I have my doubts about Aubrey, too.'
'For Christ's sake, Beach! London arrested Aubrey, the DG himself. They wouldn't dare if they didn't have a good case. Now, be a good lad and pour some coffee while I glance at these snaps.'
'OK, Wilkes.'
