Spy Story

case and produced a large envelope from which he took a photo. He passed it to me.

'Seen him before?'

I took the picture. It was a small print, rephotographed from another print, judging by the fuzzy quality and the reflection. I'd seen it before, all right, but I wasn't going to say so.

'No.'

'Would you be surprised if I told you that he was Rear-Admiral Remoziva?'

'No.'

'You know what I'm getting at?'

'Not a clue.'

'Remoziva is Chief of Staff, Northern Fleet'

'A real, live Red Admiral.'

'A real, live Red Admiral,' said Ferdy.

He looked at me, trying to see what reaction his information had produced. 'Murmansk,' he added finally.

'Yes, I know where the Russians keep the Northern Fleet, Ferdy.'

'One of the best submarine men they have. Rear-Admiral Remoziva is the favourite for the First: Deputy's department next year. Did you know that?'

I walked across to where he was standing. He was pretending to look out of the window to where MacGregor's dog was sniffing along some invisible track that circled the coal store. The window had frosted, making the dog no more than a fluffy growl. Ferdy breathed upon the glass and cleared a small circle, through which he peered. Over the sea the sky looked like a bundle of tarry rope but there were strands of red and gold plaited into it. Tomorrow would be a fine day.

'Did you know it?' Ferdy asked again.

I put my hand on his shoulder. 'No, Ferdy,' I said, and I pulled him round to face me, then grabbed his coat collar in my hand and twisted it so that the cloth tightened against his throat. He was a bigger man than me. Or so he'd always seemed. 'I didn't know that, Ferdy,' I told him very quietly. 'But,' and I shook him gently, 'if I find that you…'

'What?'

'Are anything to do with it.'

'To do with what?' His voice was high, but who knows whether it was indignation, fear, or just bewilderment.

'What?' he said again. 'What? What? What?' He was shouting by this time. Shouting so loud that I only just heard the door slam as MacGregor came back into the house.

'No matter.' I pushed Ferdy angrily, and stepped back from him as MacGregor came into the room. Ferdy straightened his tie and coat.

'Did you want something?' said MacGregor.

'Ferdy was wondering if we could get some tea,' I said.

MacGregor looked from one to the other of us. 'You can,' he said. 'I'll brew it when the kettle boils. It's on the fire.'

Still he watched us both. And we watched each other, and in Ferdy's eyes I saw resentment and fear. 'Another trip so soon,' said Ferdy. 'We deserved a longer break.'

'You're right,' I said. MacGregor turned and went back to the power-saw.

'So why does Schlegel want to come?'

'He wants to find out how the subs work. It's a new kind of department for him.'

'Huh!' said Ferdy. 'He doesn't give a damn about subs. He's from the C.I.A.'

'How do you know?'

'Leave me alone,' he said.

'Sent to harass you, you mean?'

'You're a hard bastard, Pat.' He straightened his tie. 'You know that, don't you? You're a hard bastard.'

'But not hard enough,' I said.

'And I'll tell you something else, Patrick. This business with this Russian — this is Schlegel's pet project. I keep my ears open and I can tell you, it's Schlegel's pet project.' He smiled, anxious to be friends again — a schoolgirl quarrel, soon mended, soon forgotten.

MacGregor called from the bar. 'Car coming.'

We both turned to the window. Already it was getting dark, although the clock said it was not much past four in the afternoon.

'Schlegel,' said Ferdy.

'In a space ship?' The bright yellow, futuristic car made me smile. What a character.

'It's his new sports car — you buy the kit and assemble it. You save a lot of tax.'

'There had to be a reason,' I said. Schlegel brought it into the park, and rewed-up before switching off, in the way that racing motorists are reputed to do. The silence lasted only a few minutes. Even before Schlegel had the car door open, I heard MacGrcgor's power-saw stammer and then roar into action. Nothing dared not work, once Schlegel had arrived.

* * *

'Oh boy,' said Schlegel. 'When I choose, I choose a lulu.'

'What?'

'Spare me the static'

'What are you talking about?'

'Why didn't you lay it on me, about working for the goddamn Brits?'

I said nothing.

Schlegel sighed. 'I was bound to find out. You made me look like a creep, do you know that, Pat?'

'I'm sorry.'

'Sure. You're sorry. You don't get the flak. You spent years working for the goddamn intelligence service, and you let me put a screening request to them just like you are a two-bit clerk, and now you say you're sorry.'

'You didn't tell me you were screening me.'

'Don't get smart: with me, Patrick.'

I raised the flat of my hand and lowered my eyes. I owed him an apology and there was no doubt about it. They'd make his face burn red for a couple of months, if I knew anything about those megalomaniacs at Joint Service Records. 'I'm sorry,' I said. 'What do you want me to do: commit hari-kiri with a blunt screwdriver?'

'I might,' said Schlegel, and he was still very mad.

Ferdy came outside then, so I knew the Colonel would drop it. He did, too, but clearly it would be a little time before he came around to being our happy laughing leader again.

'Both the bags?' said Ferdy.

'Jesus, don't fuss round me,' said Schlegel, and Ferdy flinched like a whipped dog and gave me a look to tell me that it was no more and no less than he'd expected.

'Let's go. Let's go,' said Schlegel. He picked up his baggage, including equipment for both golf and tennis, and strode into the bar parlour.

'And what will it be, Colonel, sir?' said MacGregor.

Schlegel looked him up and down. 'Are you going to be another of these smart-arse Brits?' said Schlegel. 'Because I don't need it, pal. I don't need it.'

'I want to give you a drink, man,' said MacGregor.

'Can you fix a Martini, American style?' asked Schlegel.

'I can,' said MacGregor.

But Schlegel wasn't going to let him get away as easily as that. I'm talking about a stem g lass from the ice- box, really cold Beefeater and no more than seven per cent dry vermouth.'

'I can,' said MacGregor. He turned away to start fixing it.

'And I mean cold,' said Schlegel.

'You can sit in the freezer and drink it, if you want to,' said MacGregor.

'Listen,' said Schlegel. 'Make it a double Scotch will you. Less chance you'll screw up on that one.'