The Bear's Tears

'OK, sir.'

Their footsteps crunched on the gravel of the path as they moved down the slope towards the high hedges that bordered the more formal and enclosed part of the gardens. The huge ornamental pool in front of the Upper Belvedere was a sheet of glassy ice. A sliver of moon had appeared above the horizon, and the first stars were like gleams of frost. Hyde realised that Aubrey was still wired for sound. He could hear his breathing and his heartbeat faintly in his earpiece. He took the plug from his ear and thrust it and its cord into his pocket. Kapustin, usually so wary of recordings of his conversations with Aubrey, had seemed indifferent on this occasion. Doubtless, out of a sense of fair play, Aubrey would order him to wipe this tape. Kapustin was dead to Aubrey, the matter closed as finally as a mortuary drawer.

They reached a shorter flight of steps, then the tall hedges and trimmed firs and statuary of the lower gardens. Hyde touched Aubrey's elbow, offering him his support on the slippery steps. Aubrey did not refuse the assistance. The weight of his arm was birdlike, fragile. Wilkes was twenty yards away, on another gravel path, and his three men were farther off, forming a screen. Aubrey's breathing was almost like a crackle of static close to him…

The recorder clinked on the gravel as Hyde dropped it.

Crackle of static?

'Sorry, sir — dropped the bloody tape,' Hyde said in an unnecessarily loud voice. Aubrey clicked his tongue in disapproval. Shut up, Hyde thought. Quiet…

Wilkes's shoes on gravel. Hyde scrabbled one hand over the path as if searching for the recorder which he had already retrieved from near his left knee. The gravel was sharp and cold through his corduroy trousers. His woolen scarf felt damp against his mouth as he held his breath.

'Come along, Patrick…' Aubrey sighed impatiently.

Shut up—

Crackle of static, and nearer than their own men…

Radio — two-way?

Aubrey took a step towards him — footsteps as Wilkes drew nearer. Other footsteps, a small party of men. Wilkes hurried close to Aubrey.

What—?

Where the hell had Kapustin gone? Hyde hadn't even watched him leave the gardens of the Belvedere. Damn—

Hyde's hand reached into his coat.

'Sir Kenneth? It's Andrew Babbington—' one of the approaching knot of men — four, no, five of them — called out.

'Babbington?' Aubrey replied confusedly, moving towards the group. 'Babbington — Andrew, what are you doing here?'

Hyde remained on one knee, his hand gripping the butt of the Heckler & Koch the embassy had issued him that afternoon. Its shaped plastic was warm from his body. He could not ignore the crackle of static.

Then Aubrey said: 'It is you — what is it?'

Crackle — legs, there, beneath the trees. He saw them through a diseased, thinned part of the hedge. Wilkes and the others had closed up now, forming a group of men in dark overcoats and light trench coats, surrounding Aubrey. Must be an emergency—? The legs he could see through the hedge rose to a dark, bulky coat. He could not see the man's face. Aubrey had been joined by the Director-General of MI5 and the Vienna Head of Station. It had to be an emergency — highest priority.

The legs remained still. Did the body have a familiar shape—?

Another pair of legs arrived silently. Two watchers. Hyde got to his feet and moved slowly and quietly off the gravel path. His hand held the recorder and its lead and the earpiece. He thrust the recorder into his pocket and the plug back into his ear.

'… it's extremely embarrassing, Sir Kenneth,' someone was murmuring deferentially. Parrish, Head of Station in Vienna.

'I simply do not understand why you are here, Andrew,' Aubrey snapped as Hyde again bent low by the hedge. The two watchers had not moved. Their stance betrayed their interest in the group on the path. They were unaware of him.

'Mr Babbington — I'm sorry, Sir Andrew has given me very precise instructions, Sir Kenneth. I'm very sorry…' Why wasn't Babbington speaking for himself? Why the hell was Babbington in Vienna anyway? MI5 was internal security, not intelligence. He was on Aubrey's patch. 'I must ask you to accompany us, Sir Kenneth.'

'Why, may I ask?' Aubrey asked waspishly. 'And why won't you speak for yourself, Andrew? What is it? What is the matter?'

Hyde slipped along the grass verge, his back brushing the tall hedge. A statue loomed, and the hedge opened in decay behind it. He slipped through into the deeper darkness beneath the trees.

'… this is very awkward for me, Sir Kenneth,' Parrish was protesting. 'Very awkward for all of us…'

'Where is your man Hyde?' Babbington suddenly asked. Hyde was chilled by the tone of command, the sense of urgency. It was a palpable threat. He knew it as such and was unnerved by disbelief. Ahead of him, he could see the two watchers beneath the trees. They were perhaps thirty yards from the group on the path. Who were they—?

'I — have no idea where Hyde is,' Aubrey said cunningly. 'He was here a moment ago… What do you want of me, Andrew?'

'You'll return to London in our company, Kenneth — and there you will remain incommunicado at your flat until such time…'

'What?'

Hyde was rigid with shock, almost unaware of the watchers even though they were now moving in his general direction.

'Kenneth—' Babbington warned.

'What is it, man? What in the devil's name are you talking about?' Aubrey stormed.

'Treason, Sir Kenneth,' Babbington replied coldly. Hyde gasped with incredulity. Aubrey—?

'What did you say?'

'Sir Kenneth, I must warn you that there are grounds for the strongest suspicion — there are matters which must be investigated…'

Footsteps to Hyde's left, coming through the trees. Noises on gravel, farther off.

Kapustin… Kapustin…

He recognised the man. He had been the first watcher he had spotted beneath the trees. He hadn't left the gardens — he had known…

Known it would happen.

Hyde's breath escaped in a cloud. Kapustin saw him then. Almost immediately, he bent his head to one side and whispered furiously into a small transceiver. Kapustin had known it would happen, that Aubrey would be…

Arrested.

Running footsteps, and the noises of Aubrey's group moving off, as if abandoning him.

'This is blatantly ridiculous,' Aubrey was saying, his voice seeming to grow fainter. 'You know why I'm here, what this is about.'

Hyde was alone. Running footsteps on gravel, closing in. Kapustin watched him, expectant and confident. A body brushed through low fir branches, a slithering sound. Kapustin's transceiver suddenly crackled with voices. In his ear, Aubrey continued to protest, his voice and circumstances now irrelevant. Kapustin was about to speak. Hyde felt his legs become heavy. The adrenalin coursed in his veins, but he seemed powerless to employ it.

A body blundered against him, slipping on a patch of ice in a hollow in the leaf-mould and hard earth. The collision freed him. He tugged the pistol from his overcoat and struck out, catching the man across the temple. The KGB man staggered back, clutching at the sudden rush of blood. It seeped between his fingers, ran into his eyes. Hyde heaved him out of his path and ran.

He burst from beneath the trees, skidded on the frosty, sparkling gravel then recovered his balance and fled towards the Upper Belvedere, aware that he was moving away from Aubrey and the men who had arrested him.