The Long Room (22 page)

Charlotte nudged him awake and leaned over to push an earpiece off. The V-neck of her jumper showed the line between her breasts; she smelled of smoke and roses. ‘I’m going to make more coffee – Damian’s was filthy. Do you want a cup? Will you be okay on your own for a few minutes? I need to use the loo.’

In the flat above the man had finished his cleaning. He had also switched the radio off. It was very quiet. Charlotte came back with coffee, a packet of Rich Tea biscuits and an ashtray. ‘Look what I found,’ she said. Stephen ate two of the biscuits, letting the dry crumbs soften to fill and coat his mouth; Charlotte searched in her handbag for cigarettes and lit one. They sat side-by-side, attending to the absence of sound, cut off from the sounds outside and the sounds they themselves were making by their headphones.

Boredom is the condition of the listener. They might have to stay like this for hours, Stephen thought. Charlotte was apparently rapt. He was drowsing off again when Charlotte dug her elbow in him. He heard the sound of a doorbell and reflexively stood up to look out of the window and down at the
street below. Charlotte pulled him back. The man upstairs must have pressed a button to open the main door; there was half a minute’s pause before the front door of the flat was opened. This visitor, whoever it was, had come straight past the door of Number 3 on the way up, a thought that thrilled but also brought with it a sense of danger. Stephen had been told nothing at all. Who were these people and what might they be doing? Were they gunmen or bombers?

The exchange that took place between the two men upstairs was brief.

‘You are to come with me,’ the first man said. ‘The boys are waiting for you.’

‘I have things to do; I’m not planning on stirring out tonight.’

‘Yeah you are. The boys are wanting a couple of answers. Better they don’t ask you the questions here. They would like to see you now.’

‘Ah look, I’m grand here on my own. I haven’t been too well. Tell the boys I’ll meet them tomorrow.’

‘Come on, Danno. Don’t make it any harder on yourself.’

There was a scuffling, thudding sound and one of the men cried out. The sound of a body hitting something hard and solid – a tall cupboard or a wall? – and stifled distress. Charlotte picked up the two-way radio. ‘Keep listening,’ she mouthed at Stephen. He could not hear what she was saying but he saw how competent she was, and calm. He heard the door of the upstairs flat slam shut. Then silence followed.

Charlotte removed her headphones and gestured for Stephen to do the same. ‘They’ve gone,’ she said.

‘I don’t understand. What happened?’

‘Not good news, I’d say, for Danno.’

‘Who did you talk to on that radio?’

‘The operative on duty.’

‘What did he say?

‘He said, “Fuck.” Then he said, “That’s not what we expected.” Then he thanked me.’

‘What
did
happen, though?’

‘Well, it was pretty obvious, wasn’t it? Danno’s in big trouble; the boys probably think that he’s a nark.’

‘You mean an informer?’

Charlotte reached over to the suitcase with the wires and flicked one of the switches on and off. ‘Just checking,’ she said. ‘Sometimes the microphones work two ways; we could be being recorded too. But we’re not.’

‘You seem to know a lot about this stuff.’

‘Yes, well, before I was a listener, I worked in Tech.’

‘Did you? I never knew.’

‘You never asked.’

‘So, what do you mean, a nark?’

‘Steve, you went to Oxford; you’re supposed to have a brain. And you’ve been through training. You know how the world works. All these groups are riddled with narks – all busily telling on each other, all in a great muddle, like a mass of tangled knots. Danno might have been working for us. But then he got caught. Or at least suspected. As I say, his career prospects are not good.’

‘But the operative will have called the police, surely; they will intervene.’

‘Maybe. If Department Four can safely cover its back. But if another informer is involved or … Oh come on, you know the score. Poor Danno.’

‘What do we do now?’

‘We wait here until someone arrives to stand us down. Would you like a cigarette for once?’

‘No thanks.’

‘Did you never smoke?’

‘I’m considering taking up a pipe.’

‘My dad smokes one,’ said Charlotte.

While they waited they kept their headphones on in case anyone should come back to the upstairs flat but no one did, and they had nothing to do until eventually a message came by radio that they should leave the flat and make their way back to the place where they had been dropped off.

They switched off lights, checked the curtains and locked the door behind them. ‘Put your arm around me,’ Charlotte said. Linked like that they walked back up Arcadia Avenue and the hill. Ahead of them they could see the small white van but just before they reached it Charlotte stopped. Turning her face to Stephen’s she kissed him on the lips, a hard, full kiss. ‘Just in case,’ she whispered. But in the van on the way back she said nothing.

The driver dropped them off in the garage of the Institute. Stephen had been waiting for Charlotte to suggest a drink or something to eat when they got back but she did not and nor did she say anything when they entered the lift. She pressed the button for the ground floor and when the lift stopped, she smiled goodbye and said she would see Stephen tomorrow.

He went on up to the third floor. He could still feel Charlotte’s mouth on his, unfamiliar and unnerving; he rubbed a finger on his lower lip. The long room was dark and empty, everyone’s belongings locked away. Along the corridor there
would be listeners from Group II working through the night but their door was closed. Stephen sat down heavily at his desk. What should he do now? A profound weariness washed over him; he hardly had the strength to move; if only he could lay his head down on the cool surface of his desk and rest here for a while. But soon a guard would come prowling through the room: safer not to be found here with no reason. His sense of being a prisoner grew. The lines of light that edged in through the slatted blinds were like the bars of a sealed cage. He was very thirsty. Eventually he hauled himself up and unlocked his cupboard. It smelled of cheese. And there was something else that was not quite right: his in-tray had been moved. He was almost sure he had left it in its usual place; he always kept his cupboard tidy. But now it was shelved to the right of his card indices, not to the left. Well, he must have had an aberration when he put his things away in a hurry this afternoon. He closed the door again and double-checked the lock.

He knew he should go home now and find himself some food. But the pockets of his coat were filled with stones; there were shackles on his feet. Come on, he said to himself, aloud. Come on. A drink would help. He could look in at the Fox and Grapes, just for the one; the fire would be burning. If Alberic were there by any chance, they could have a drink together, or somebody else might feel like striking up a conversation. He wouldn’t mind some company right now; his head was full of death and the night was altogether far too quiet.

‘Sign here, please,’ the guard at the entrance said as Stephen left. ‘Do you have any idea how late it is?’

Ana was in the long room lamenting to Louise on Thursday morning. ‘I’m in no mood for a party. It was a debacle. Martin is beside himself. After all the work we did, to think that the bombing could have been pre-empted …’

‘I know, I know,’ Louise said soothingly. ‘It’s very sad. But worse things happen on a big ship. Sometimes that’s how it goes. It’s not your fault, Ana, nor Martin’s.’

‘Nevertheless, there will be an investigation.’

‘Pretty grim, huh?’ Damian said, collecting Stephen’s coffee mug and eavesdropping on Ana. ‘So, what did you do last night when it was over?’

‘Nothing. I was bushed. Are we actually going to have the party?’

‘Yes, it’s now or never. Louise says it would be a crying shame to waste the food. Don’t forget to tell your strategists and operatives, if you want them to be here.’

Stephen let that go. He had no intention of inviting Rollo Buckingham or anyone else to the listeners’ party or of being there himself for any longer than he absolutely must. He’d leave as soon as everybody was too drunk to notice. Meanwhile there were yesterday’s tapes to get through.

He checked on
VULCAN
first. An almost blank tape; again unanswered calls.
GOODFELLOW
, on the other hand, had been unseasonably busy setting up a solidarity front with the striking
miners and trying to get it funded by the Soviet Embassy. To transcribe his several telephone conversations took up a satisfactory amount of time.

Stephen was minded to ignore the two envelopes that held the
PHOENIX
tapes. It seemed ridiculous to write a report on
PHOENIX
’s Tuesday evening when he and Rollo already knew that
PHOENIX
had been at the Fox and Grapes. Could he not tell Rollo there was nothing to report? NTR – so easily said and done. But on second thoughts he realised that would be far too risky. He had to make quite sure that his reports and whatever Rollo knew from his own observation tallied absolutely. Above all, he must not betray by the smallest slip or indiscretion that he knew who
PHOENIX
was; it was vital to maintain the pretence of ignorance. If Rollo were to find out that he had been conducting his own private investigation, Stephen would be in real trouble. He was on the thinnest skim of ice and he had known it from the moment he set eyes on
PHOENIX
. The worm of anxiety that had hatched last Saturday morning was growing fast and chewing on his innards. Safer then to listen to the tapes.

Stephen did not listen to Jamie’s side of this call, knowing that he’d hear them both on the unlabelled tape. In any case,
it was interrupted by the changeover just after midnight. He had predicted that there would be nothing on the new tape – Wednesday 00.00–12.00 – except the subject’s departure for work at around his usual time. But in fact at 08.47 the subject received a telephone call.

These calls were a major inconvenience. Enmeshed now in another narrative, the last thing Stephen wanted was to take outside evidence into account. But he had to admit that both calls were potentially significant. The first, when he listened to it in full, was evidently to a close friend or a relative: the conversation was long and the tone was intimate although Stephen thought he could detect a note of strain. By his voice the other speaker was an older man. The second call was from a woman, identifying herself by name as Allegra, ringing from upstairs.

‘I didn’t wake you, did I? I thought I might just catch you before you left for work. It was a really good evening, wasn’t it? That band is amazing. God, though this morning I don’t half need the Alka-Seltzer! So anyway, we were wondering if you might be at a loose end again tomorrow, seeing as you will still be on your own?’

Greenwood made polite but noncommittal noises that did not stop Allegra ploughing on. ‘We’re going to have supper at the Bistro Vino in South Kensington and we’d adore it if you joined us.’ He declined at first, saying he had a meeting after work tomorrow and an early start on Friday but she was persistent and cajoling and Greenwood in the end gave in.

Stephen considered the possible implications. The first call was unusual. In normal circumstances he would have asked a linguist to translate the words he did not understand but the
classification and the delicacy of this investigation meant that without authorisation he could not pass the tape to Ana or to Tomás, who together dealt with Spanish. But even if he could, he’d rather not commission an independent record of the call. Perhaps he should simply keep it to himself until after Christmas. Yes, that would probably be best.

The second call was mystifying too. Stephen recognised the name Allegra: Helen had telephoned her last week and asked about going to a party; later she had spoken of her in connection with a man named Marlow. Marlowe? He hadn’t given Allegra any thought but, as Helen had implied that she lived upstairs, she must be a neighbour. So why, if she was in regular contact with Helen and Jamie, had Allegra been so insistent on seeing Jamie again tonight? Could it be that she wanted to see him on his own, apart from Helen?

Any minute now he would receive a summons from Rollo. Or Rollo would come striding into the room without forewarning. What was Stephen going to tell him? He had to work this out. He also had to find a way of returning to the system the broken cassette tape and the other two that he had borrowed. In outline he had a plan for this. With so many things on his mind, it was not until later that he thought about the seal on the second of the
PHOENIX
envelopes. It must have been intact when he took the envelope from his in-tray or he would have noticed, but there something about it that was vaguely troubling him.

From the end of the room Louise called out: ‘Hey, team! Could I have your attention? Do, please, gather round. As we’re going to have the party in here, could we get everything cleared away by five? Now, Muriel would like to brief us on what’s
going to happen over Christmas.’

Muriel, standing on a chair, announced that there would be no late delivery this afternoon. Telephone intercept would continue automatically, with the product available after the twenty-eighth. Coverage would also be maintained on all Bravo targets, unless otherwise instructed by an analyst or strategist. Tapes would be registered on Tuesday. There were no Alpha operations scheduled. If anyone knew of an investigation that might call for extra cover between now and then, would they please tell her at once.

‘Super,’ said Louise. ‘It sounds like we are all going to get the holiday we need, a decent break. And you all deserve it! Well done, everybody, for a great year’s work! You’re real stars! However, to be on the safe side, I’d better have your contact numbers over the next few days. Here’s the list, please fill in yours and pass it on. Anyone who needs a lunchbreak, do take one but, wherever you’re going, or if you have a meeting, please be back by three. We’re going to do our pressies then, to get into the party spirit. Don’t eat too much lunch; I might have a little something to go with the lovely parcels! After that I’d be glad of volunteers to get the room ready and set out the food.’

At this rate, Stephen thought, there might just be a chance of evading Rollo. It was nearly one o’clock. Except he didn’t know what Rollo had arranged about recordings. Were eaves-dropping devices easy to switch off? Or would they continue to hear nothing in an empty building, unregistered and unrecorded?

Just then the red light on his telephone flashed. It was Rhona Gray, the strategist whose cases included
VULCAN
and Solly’s Communists. ‘Might I pop down?’ she asked.

‘I was just on my way out.’

‘It won’t take long.’

Rhona was likeable and efficient; on an ordinary day, Stephen would have been quite pleased to see her. Now all he could think of was escaping from the room. The longer he was there, the more likely he’d be caught before he had had time to get his stories straight. He watched her impatiently as she stopped to greet Louise and then to talk to Solly. When at last she got to Stephen, she said: ‘Thanks for the invite to your party!’

‘Um, I don’t …’

‘It’s all right, Solly already asked me – I’ll be there! But I didn’t come to chat about the party. I came to tell you that
VULCAN
is dead.’

‘What?’

‘Strathclyde told me just now. He’s been dead some time, apparently. A milkman called a neighbour and the neighbour called the police. Did you not know that anything was amiss?’

‘I knew he was not well. He had an appointment with the doctor.’

‘But he didn’t ring anyone else?’

‘There were a few unanswered calls.’

‘I’ll get the numbers traced. Look, I don’t want to make a big thing of it, but I would have liked to know about the unanswered calls.’

‘But what could you have done?’

‘I could have got the fuzz to check on him, via another party. They have loads of informers there.’

‘I’m sorry. Poor
VULCAN
. I’ll miss him, he was sort of like a friend.’ I loved that man, he wanted to say but couldn’t.

‘Yes, well, they’re all growing old, that lot. But his end was rather sad. Anyway, could you do me a last write-up after Christmas? Then we’ll formally close the case and that’ll be the end of that.’

‘Am I interrupting?’

Stephen, his thoughts full of
VULCAN
’s last imagined moments and the possible consequences of Rhona tracing the unanswered calls, had not noticed Rollo until he was looming above his desk. ‘Not at all,’ Rhona said. ‘I was just leaving, thanks.’

Rollo said: ‘I’ve come to see if you’d like a pint?’

‘What?’

‘Have you had lunch?’

‘Not yet. I’m running short of time. I have a lot to do this afternoon.’

‘I won’t keep you long. I thought it would be nicer to have a drink together than going to the Cube. Let’s go up to the bar, come on.’

I’d rather the guillotine, thought Stephen, allowing himself perforce to be led by Rollo who, disdaining the lift, took the stairs two at a time. Trailing behind him, Stephen could not but notice the unscuffed leather of his perfect shoes.

The bar was heaving. This was the only place where members of the Institute could loosen their guard a little, and learn each other’s names. Those who did not drink or who disliked that hot dark room must stay in the tight circles of their sections, knowing no one but their immediate colleagues. Today, with the staff in an end-of-term mood, the bar was especially popular. On any normal day it was fine to get a little drunk; today you could get plastered.

‘What will you have?’

Stephen tasted the inside of his mouth. His tongue felt as if it had been harshly sanded before being coated with a sour, thick paste. He wanted sweetness on it – syrup, honey – not the prickling yeast of beer, but now was not the time to depart from the persona he had invented. No one – and Rollo least of all – must be allowed to see the vulnerable flesh beneath the shell.

‘I’ll have a pint of Courage, please.’

‘Why don’t you wedge yourself into that corner by the window? No point both of us fighting through the mob.’

For the second time that week, Stephen watched Rollo’s gilded head rising above a field of duller ones – the greys, the hues of mouse, the pinkish scalps – and the crush seeming to part before him, yielding the way. He was a sun king, beautiful, and sheer hatred coursed through Stephen.

Rollo came back with the beer and a glass of orange juice. ‘Cheers,’ he said. He drank his juice in two gulps, put the glass down on the window sill and lit a cigarette. ‘Often the best way of having a confidential chat is to do it in a crowd. So, you going anywhere for Christmas?’

‘Oxfordshire. And you?’

‘Snap, as a matter of fact. Parents, not far from Chipping Norton.’

‘That’s nice.’

‘Yes, it is actually. Taking the whole time off? No more overtime or extra duty?’

‘Not unless I’m asked to do some. Which reminds me: what arrangements have you made for …?’

Rollo stopped him before he could say the word. ‘That’s what
I want to talk about. I’m pulling the plug on it today. We’ve got as far as we’re going to get and that is far enough. There’s just one more thing to look at and so we’re going in tonight.’

‘In where?’

‘Into the flat, of course.’

‘But he’s not going to Orford till tomorrow.’

‘That’s right. But he won’t be at home tonight.’

‘How do you know?’

‘I just do. And so do you, I think. You must have heard the call.’

‘I don’t know what you’re saying. I’m not up to date. I was just getting to yesterday’s tapes when you came in; I’ve been away on operational duty.’

‘I heard. Louise said, when I asked where you were yesterday. But anyway. If you could wrap up whatever’s left, in the interests of tidiness, I’d appreciate it. We’ll take the stuff away when we go in tonight.’

‘And that’s it? Just like that? You’re not going to tell me what it was all about and who Jamie was spying for?’

‘Ssh. No names! Please keep your voice down, Stephen. And no, I can’t tell you any more than you already know. I said in the beginning that I couldn’t give you any information about this investigation. But there is one thing I want to ask. You didn’t report it, but did you ever hear the subject mention an unexpected gift of money or money coming from an unusual source?’

Claudio has given me
…
A late wedding present is what he said
. No, it’s true he had not reported that but why should he do so now? Why should he tell Rollo anything when Rollo had lost all interest in the case?

‘No, I don’t remember any unusual references to money.’

‘Okay, fine, that’s what I thought. Well, thanks very much for all you’ve done. My Director said to pass on his thanks too. And, of course, I do not need to say that this investigation stays top secret even when it’s closed. Do you want another one of those?’