‘I don’t believe your father would like that very much.’
‘I don’t see why not. If he married again it wouldn’t be any different. She’d really be his mistress, wouldn’t she? He wanted to stay with Mother always. I know. He told me so. It was a real marriage. Even a good pagan can’t get round that.’
‘I thought the same about Peter. Milly, Milly, don’t let them make you hard.’
‘They?’
‘The nuns.’
‘Oh. They don’t talk to me that way. Not that way at all.’
There was always, of course, the possibility of a knife. But for a knife you had to be closer to Carter than he could ever hope to get.
Milly said, ‘Do you love my father?’
He thought: One day I can come back and settle these questions. But now there are more important problems; I have to discover how to kill a man. Surely they produced handbooks to tell you that? There must be treatises on unarmed combat. He looked at his hands, but he didn’t trust them.
Beatrice said, ‘Why do you ask that?’
‘A way you looked at him.’
‘When?’
‘When he came back from that lunch. Perhaps you were just pleased because he’d made a speech?’
‘Yes.’
‘It wouldn’t do,’ Milly said. ‘I mean, you loving him.’
Wormold said to himself, At least if I could kill him, I would kill for a clean reason. I would kill to show that you can’t kill without being killed in your turn. I wouldn’t kill for my country. I wouldn’t kill for capitalism or Communism or social democracy or the welfare state – whose welfare? I would kill Carter because he killed Hasselbacher. A family-feud had been a better reason for murder than patriotism or the preference for one economic system over another. If I love or if I hate, let me love or hate as an individual. I will not be 59200/5 in anyone’s global war.
‘If I loved him, why shouldn’t I?’
‘He’s married.’
‘Milly, dear Milly. Beware of formulas. If there’s a God, he’s not a God of formulas.’
‘Do you love him?’
‘I never said so.’
A gun is the only way; where can I get a gun?
Somebody came through the door; he didn’t even look up. Rudy’s tubes gave a high shriek in the next room. Milly’s voice said, ‘We didn’t hear you come in.’
He said, ‘I want you to do something for me, Milly.’
‘Were you listening?’
He heard Beatrice say, ‘What’s wrong? What’s happened?’
‘There’s been an accident, a kind of accident.’
‘Who?’
‘Dr Hasselbacher.’
‘Serious?’
‘Yes.’
‘You are breaking the news, aren’t you?’ Milly said.
‘Yes.’
‘Poor Dr Hasselbacher.’
‘Yes.’
‘I’ll get the chaplain to say a Mass for every year we knew him.’ There hadn’t, he realized, been any need to break a death gently, so far as Milly was concerned. All deaths to her were happy deaths. Vengeance was unnecessary when you believed in a heaven. But he had no such belief. Mercy and forgiveness were scarcely virtues in a Christian; they came too easily.
He said, ‘Captain Segura was here. He wants you to marry him.’
‘That old man. I’ll never ride in his car again.’
‘I’d like you to once more, tomorrow. Tell him I want to see him.’
‘Why?’
‘A game of draughts. At ten o’clock. You and Beatrice must be out of the way.’
‘Will he pester me?’
‘No. Just tell him to come and talk to me. Tell him to bring his list. He’ll understand.’
‘And afterwards?’
‘We are going home. To England.’
When he was alone with Beatrice, he said, ‘That’s that. The end of the office.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Perhaps we’ll go down gloriously with one good report – the list of secret agents operating here.’
‘Including us?’
‘Oh no. We’ve never operated.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘I’ve got no agents, Beatrice. Not one. Hasselbacher was killed for no reason. There are no constructions in the Oriente mountains.’
It was typical of her that she showed no incredulity. This was a piece of information like any other information to be filed for reference. Any assessment of its value would be made, he thought, by the head-office.
He said, ‘Of course it’s your duty to report this immediately to London, but I’d be grateful if you’d wait till after tomorrow. We may be able to add something genuine then.’
‘If you are alive, you mean.’
‘Of course I’ll be alive.’
‘You are planning something.’
‘Segura has the list of agents.’
‘That’s not what you are planning. But if you are dead,’ she said with what sounded like anger, ‘de mortuis I suppose.’
‘If something did happen to me I wouldn’t want you to learn for the first time from these bogus files what a fraud I’d been.’
‘But Raul … there must have been a Raul.’
‘Poor man. He must have wondered what was happening to him. Taking a joy-ride in his usual way. Perhaps he was drunk in his usual way too. I hope so.’
‘But he existed.’
‘One has to get a name from somewhere. I must have picked his up without remembering it.’
‘Those diagrams?’
‘I drew them myself from the Atomic Pile Cleaner. The joke’s over now. Would you like to write out a confession for me to sign? I’m glad they didn’t do anything serious to Teresa.’
She began to laugh. She put her head in her hands and laughed. She said, ‘Oh, how I love you.’
‘It must seem pretty silly to you.’
‘London seems pretty silly. And Henry Hawthorne. Do you think I would ever have left Peter if once – just once – he’d made a fool of UNESCO? But UNESCO was sacred. Cultural conferences were sacred. He never laughed. … Lend me your handkerchief.’
‘You’re crying.’
‘I’m laughing. Those drawings …’
‘One was a nozzle-spray and another was a double-action coupling. I never thought they would pass the experts.’
‘They weren’t seen by experts. You forget – this is a Secret Service. We have to protect our sources. We can’t allow documents like that to reach anyone who really knows. Darling …’
‘You said darling.’
‘It’s a way of speaking. Do you remember the Tropicana and that man singing? I didn’t know you were my boss and I was your secretary, you were just a nice man with a lovely daughter and I knew you wanted to do something crazy with a champagne bottle and I was so deadly bored with sense …’
‘But I’m not the crazy type.’
‘ “They say the earth is round –
My madness offends.” ’
‘I wouldn’t be a seller of vacuum cleaners if I were the crazy type.’
‘ “I say that night is day
And I’ve no axe to grind.’ ”
‘Haven’t you any more loyalty than I have?’
‘You are loyal.’
‘Who to?’
‘To Milly. I don’t care a damn about men who are loyal to the people who pay them, to organizations. … I don’t think even my country means all that much. There are many countries in our blood, aren’t there, but only one person. Would the world be in the mess it is if we were loyal to love and not to countries?’
He said, ‘I suppose they could take away my passport.’
‘Let them try.’
‘All the same,’ he said, ‘it’s the end of a job for both of us.’
CHAPTER 5
1
‘COME IN, CAPTAIN Segura.’
Captain Segura gleamed. His leather gleamed, his buttons gleamed, and there was
fresh pomade upon his hair. He was like a well-cared-for weapon. He said, ‘I was so pleased when Milly brought the message.’
‘We have a lot to talk over. Shall we have a game first? Tonight I am going to beat you.’
‘I doubt it, Mr Wormold. I do not yet have to show you filial respect.’
Wormold unfolded the draughts board. Then he arranged on the board twenty-four miniature bottles of whisky: twelve Bourbon confronted twelve Scotch.
‘What is this, Mr Wormold?’
‘An idea of Dr Hasselbacher’s. I thought we might have one game to his memory. When you take a piece you drink it.’
‘A shrewd idea, Mr Wormold. As I am the better player I drink more.’
‘And then I catch up with you – in the drinks also.’
‘I think I would prefer to play with ordinary pieces.’
‘Are you afraid of being beaten, Segura? Perhaps you have a weak head.’
‘My head is as strong as another man’s, but sometimes with drink I lose my temper. I do not wish to lose my temper with my future father.’
‘Milly won’t marry you, Segura.’
‘That is what we have to discuss.’
‘You play with the Bourbon. Bourbon is stronger than Scotch. I shall be handicapped.’
‘That is is not necessary. I will play with the Scotch.’
Segura turned the board and sat down.
‘Why not take off your belt, Segura? You’ll be more comfortable.’
Segura laid his belt and holster on the ground beside him. ‘I will fight you unarmed,’ he said jovially.
‘Do you keep your gun loaded?’
‘Of course. The kind of enemies I possess do not give me a chance to load.’
‘Have you found the murderer of Hasselbacher?’
‘No. He does not belong to the criminal class.’
‘Carter?’
‘After what you said, naturally I checked. He was with Dr Braun at the time. And we cannot doubt the word of the President of the European Traders’ Association, can we?’
‘So Dr Braun is on your list?’
‘Naturally. And now to play.’
There is an imaginary line in draughts, as every player knows, that crosses the board diagonally from corner to corner. It is the line of defence. Whoever gains control of that line takes the initiative; when the line is crossed the attack has begun. With an insolent ease Segura established himself with a Defiance opening, then moved a bottle across through the centre of the board. He didn’t hesitate between moves; he hardly looked at the board. It was Wormold who paused and thought.
‘Where is Milly?’ Segura asked.
‘Out.’
‘And your charming secretary?’
‘With Milly.’
‘You are already in difficulties,’ Captain Segura said. He struck at the base of Wormold’s defence and captured a bottle of Old Taylor. ‘The first drink,’ he said and drained it. Wormold recklessly began a pincer-movement in reply and almost at once lost a bottle – of Old Forester this time. A few beads of sweat came out on Segura’s forehead and he cleared his throat after drinking. He said, ‘You play recklessly, Mr Wormold.’ He indicated the board. ‘You should have taken that piece.’
‘You can huff me,’ Wormold said.
For the first time Segura hesitated. He said, ‘No. I prefer you to take my piece.’ It was an unfamiliar whisky called Cairngorm and it found a raw spot on Wormold’s tongue.
They played for a while with exaggerated care, neither taking a piece.
‘Is Carter still at the Seville-Biltmore?’ Wormold asked.
‘Yes.’
‘Do you keep him under observation?’
‘No. What is the use?’
Wormold was clinging to the edge of the board with what was left of his foiled pincer-movement, but he had lost his base. He made a false move which enabled Segura to thrust a protected piece into square 22 and there was no way left of saving his piece on 25 and preventing Segura from reaching the back row and gaining a king.
‘Careless,’ Segura said.
‘I can make it an exchange.’
‘But I have the king.’
Segura drank a Four Roses and Wormold at the other end of the board took a dimpled Haig. Segura said, ‘It is a hot evening.’ He crowned his king with a scrap of paper. Wormold said, ‘If I capture him I have to drink two bottles. I have spares in the cupboard.’
‘You have thought everything out,’ Segura said. Was it with sourness?
He played now with great caution. It became difficult to tempt him to a capture and Wormold began to realize the fundamental weakness of his plan, that it is possible for a good player to defeat an opponent without capturing his pieces. He took one more of Segura’s and was trapped. He was left without a move.
Segura wiped the sweat from his forehead. ‘You see,’ he said, ‘you cannot win.’
‘You must give me my revenge.’
‘This Bourbon is strong. 85 proof.’
‘We will switch the whiskies.’
This time Wormold was black, with the Scotch. He had replaced the three Scotch he had drunk and the three Bourbon. He started with the Old Fourteenth opening, which is apt to lead to a long-drawn-out game, for he knew now that his only hope was to make Segura lose his caution and play for pieces. Again he tried to be huffed, but Segura would not accept the move. It was as though Segura had recognized that his real opponent was not Wormold but his own head. He even threw away a piece with no tactical advantage and forced Wormold to take it – a Hiram Walker. Wormold realized that his own head was in danger; the mixture of Scotch and Bourbon was a deadly one. He said, ‘Give me a cigarette.’ Segura leant forward to light it and Wormold was aware of the effort he had to make to keep the lighter steady. It wouldn’t snap and he cursed with unnecessary violence. Two more drinks and I have him, Wormold thought.
But it was as difficult to lose a piece to an unwilling antagonist as to capture one. Against his own will the battle was swaying to his side. He drank one Harper’s and made a king. He said with false joviality, ‘The game’s mine, Segura. Do you want to pack up?’
Segura scowled at the board. It was obvious that he was torn in two, between the desire to win and the desire to keep his head, but his head was clouded by anger as well as whisky. He said, ‘This is a pig’s way of playing checkers.’ Now that his opponent had a king, he could no longer play for a bloodless victory, for the king had freedom of movement. This time when he sacrificed a Kentucky Tavern it was a genuine sacrifice and he swore at the pieces. ‘The damned shapes,’ he said, ‘they are all different. Cut-glass, whoever heard of a checker-piece of cut-glass?’ Wormold felt his own brain fogged with the Bourbon, but the moment for victory – and defeat – had come.
Segura said, ‘You moved my piece.’
‘No, that’s Red Label. Mine.’
‘How in God’s name can I tell the difference between Scotch and Bourbon? They are all bottles, aren’t they?’
‘You are angry because you are losing.’
‘I never lose.’
Then Wormold made his careful slip and exposed his king. For a moment he thought that Segura had not noticed and then he thought that deliberately to avoid drinking Segura was going to let his chance go by. But the temptation to take the king was great and what lay beyond the move was a shattering victory. His own piece would be made a king and a massacre would follow. Yet he hesitated. The heat of the whisky and the close night melted his face like a wax doll’s; he had difficulty in focusing. He said, ‘Why did you do that?’
‘What?’
‘You lose your king an’ the game.’
‘Damn. I didn’t notice. I must be drunk.’
‘You drunk?’
‘A little.’
‘I’m drunk too. You know I’m drunk. You are trying to make me drunk. Why?’
‘Don’t be a fool, Segura. Why should I want to make you drunk? Let’s stop the game, call it a draw.’
‘God damn a draw. I know why you want to make me drunk. You want to show me that list – I mean you want me to show you.’
‘What list?’
‘I have you all in the net. Where is Milly?’
‘I told you, out.’
‘Tonight I go to the Chief of Police. We draw the net tight.’
‘With Carter in it?’
‘Who is Carter?’ He wagged his finger at Wormold. ‘You are in it – but I know you are no agent. You are a fraud.’
‘Why not sleep a bit, Segura? A drawn game.’
‘No drawn game. Look. I take your king.’ He opened the little bottle of Red Label and drank it down.
‘Two bottles for a king,’ Wormold said and handed him a Dunosdale Cream.
Segura sat heavily in his chair, his chin rocking. He said, ‘Admit you are beaten. I do not play for pieces.’
‘I admit nothing. I have the better head and look, I huff you. You could have gone on.’ A Canadian rye had got mixed with the Bourbons, a Lord Calvert, and Wormold drank it down. He thought, it must be the last. If he doesn’t pass out now, I’m finished. I won’t be sober enough to pull a trigger. Did he say it was loaded?
‘Matters nothing,’ Segura said in a whisper. ‘You are finished anyway.’ He moved his hand slowly over the board as though he were carrying an egg in a spoon. ‘See?’ He captured one piece, two pieces, three …
‘Drink this, Segura.’ A George IV, a Queen Anne, the game was ending in a flourish of royalty, a Highland Queen.
‘You can go on, Segura. Or shall I huff you again? Drink it down.’ Vat 69. ‘Another. Drink it, Segura.’ Grant’s Standfast. Old Argyll. ‘Drink them, Segura. I surrender now.’ But it was Segura who had surrendered. Wormold undid the captain’s collar to give him air and eased his head on the back of the seat, but his own legs were uncertain as he walked towards the door. He had Segura’s gun in his pocket.
2
At the Seville-Biltmore he went to the house-phone and called up Carter. He had to admit that Carter’s nerves were steady – far steadier than his own. Carter’s mission in Cuba had not been properly fulfilled and yet he stayed on, as a marksman or perhaps as a decoy duck. Wormold said, ‘Good evening, Carter.’
‘Why, good evening, Wormold.’ The voice had just the right chill of injured pride.