Cause for Alarm (22 page)

His voice was vibrant with insincerity. The air of manly protest was vitiated somewhat by the wafts of Chypre liberated from his person by the emphatic movements of his arms. He seemed to be expecting me to make some comment, but I waited in grim silence.

“Mr. Marlow,” he continued heavily, “I have been instructed by my principals in Belgrade to make certain proposals to you. Needless to say, I disagree entirely with the spirit of them. But you will realise that I have to obey orders. The proposals concern the arrangement whereby you are employed as an agent of the Yugo-Slav Government.”

I jumped. The phrase was a new one. “Employed as an agent of the Yugo-Slav Government.” Substitute “German” for “Yugo-Slav” and you had the situation in a nutshell. I didn’t like the sound of it a bit. And from his silence, I gathered that he was allowing the phrase to sink in.

“I suppose,” I said coldly, “that you wish me to agree to accepting a revision of the terms of our arrangement on the basis of the figure originally mentioned.” I shrugged. “Well, if you wish to go back on the bargain, there is, I suppose, nothing I can do about it. But I must say that I cannot see how you can expect me under the circumstances to feel this mutual confidence on which you place so much emphasis. That, General, is all I have to say. If you wish me to do so, I will return three thousand lire out of the five thousand you gave me. Or I can regard it as payment in advance.”

I was feeling relieved, but I was also feeling slightly disappointed. Zaleshoff had obviously placed far too much faith in his own deductions. The fact that Vagas had adopted one set of tactics as far as Ferning had been concerned was no guarantee that he would adopt the same tactics with me. Perhaps, I flattered myself, he had judged me to be a little too strong-minded. Well, in any case, the sooner this interview was over and I could get to bed, the better. But I was to receive an unpleasant shock.

The General coughed. “I am afraid, Mr. Marlow,” he said gently, “that the situation is not quite as simple as that. Inflexible they may be, but I can assure you that my principals are not in the habit of going back on a bargain, a financial arrangement, even though they cannot altogether agree to the terms of it. No, their proposals are of a different nature.”

“I don’t see …”

“One moment, Mr. Marlow!” The same peremptory, military quality that I had remarked before had crept into his voice again. “As a salaried agent of my Government, you are naturally bound, as I am, to take and obey instructions. The proposal is that, as you are receiving a salary in excess of that specified for the work you are doing, you should regularise the position by carrying out certain additional duties.”

“That was not part of the bargain,” I snapped.

“A bargain is a bargain, Mr. Marlow, only as long as it is useful to both parties to it.”

This was German
Real Politik
with a vengeance.

“What do you mean by additional duties?” I demanded.

“Your business,” he said coldly, “takes you into a number of important Italian heavy engineering works. You are required to incorporate in your future reports not only details of Spartacus activities but also details of the activities of the factories you visit. It will not be difficult. You have probably a retentive memory and you are a trained engineer.
We wish to know principally what is being made and its destination. Any other particulars that your intelligence tells you are relevant will also be welcomed. Information you can pick up in conversation with works managers and technicians will be particularly valuable. You should have no difficulty in fulfilling our requirements. That is all.”

For a moment I said nothing. I felt that I had nothing to say. I stared ahead. Two cars roared down the
autostrada
towards and past us. The sound of their engines died away. I wondered if their occupants had noticed us. But what was there to notice about two men sitting smoking in a car drawn up by the side of the road? Nothing. I felt that there ought to be something, some external evidence of the fantastic nature of what was being said within. When at last I spoke it was to utter one of the feeblest remarks of which I have ever been guilty.

“But that,” I said, “would make me a spy.”

His reply was delivered in tones of infinite contempt.

“My dear Mr. Marlow,” he said deliberately, “you already
are
a spy.” He paused. Then: “I shall expect your first report within the next two weeks.”

He made as if to get out of the car. Suddenly, I came to my senses. My anger was very nearly genuine.

“Are you mad, General?”

With his hand on the door latch, he looked round. “I would remind you that you are addressing a superior, Mr. Marlow!”

“Superior be damned!” I snarled. “As you were good enough to remind me just now, signor Vagas, a bargain is a bargain only as long as it is useful to both parties to it. Excellent! What I am going to do, signor Vagas, is to go straight back to my hotel now, put your five thousand lire in an envelope and post it back to you to-night. As for your precious report, you can ask Mussolini for it. You’re just as likely to get it from him as you are from me. And you can
tell your principals that they have my permission to take running jumps at themselves.”

“I’m afraid you’re being a little foolish, Mr. Marlow.” His voice was as dangerous a sound as I have heard. It very nearly reduced me to silence, but not quite.

“Foolish?” I repeated ironically. “Listen to me. If you’re not out of this car in thirty seconds, you’ll go out on your neck.”

He adjusted his monocle carefully. “I think I ought to tell you, Mr. Marlow, that I have a revolver in my pocket which I shall not hesitate to use if necessary.” I did my best to look slightly cowed. It was not difficult. When he went on his tone was conciliatory. “Now listen to me for a moment, Mr. Marlow. I can, to a certain extent, appreciate your annoyance, but I can assure you that I am only carrying out my instructions.”

I contrived to let this fiction appear to mollify me somewhat.

“That may be. I cannot believe that you would for one moment imagine that I might agree to this—this preposterous suggestion.”

“It is not a suggestion,” he returned quietly; “it is an order.” And then, as I opened my mouth to speak: “Please listen to me before you say any more. You seem to think that the maintenance of friendly relations between us is no longer of personal interest to you. Allow me to correct that impression.”

“If you think that a few dirty lire …”

He held up his hand. “Please! What I was about to say had nothing to do with your salary. But it
is
of interest to you to preserve this association. For one very good reason. My principals in Belgrade have intimated that they
might
see fit, should you prove obstinate in this matter, to send a letter to Mr. Pelcher in England with photostat copies of your enclosures to me of three weeks ago. I cannot help thinking
that that would prove a little embarrassing for you.”

I drew a deep breath. “So that’s it! Blackmail, eh!”

“Not at all,” he returned easily, “merely a reminder of the mutual confidence that must exist between business associates. There is no question of our asking anything more from you than you are able to give us without trouble or risk to yourself. In return, we keep our part of the bargain by paying you three thousand lire a month. It is all quite simple and reasonable.”

I was silent for a moment. When at last I spoke it was with the obvious intention of salving what was left of my dignity.

“Very well,” I said, “I see that I have no choice but to agree. But let me tell you this, General. If I did not believe that you were acting on instructions you had no part in, not even a revolver would prevent me expressing myself very forcibly.”

He smiled; not, I thought, without a hint of triumph.

“My dear fellow, we are all of us at the mercy of blockheads. We can only accept the inevitable with the best possible grace. There are no bad feelings between us, I hope.”

“Oh no. No bad feelings.”

“Then let us shake hands on it.”

We shook hands. He opened the door and got out.

“My wife asked me to give you her kind regards, Mr. Marlow.”

“Please thank her.”

“By all means. I shall look forward to your report within the next fifteen days. You understand, I think, what is required.”

“Yes, I understand.”

“Then,
a rivederci
.”

“Good night.”

He went, leaving a faint odour of Chypre behind him. I watched him turn his car round and drive off in the direction of Milan. After a while, I followed him slowly. I ought, I
know, to be feeling pleased with myself. But I was not: for, such are the frailties of human logic, I felt that, had my report to Vagas been genuine and had I had no ulterior motives whatever, my behaviour that evening would have been precisely the same.

Some ten minutes later I pulled up outside the
caffè
at which I had left Zaleshoff and Tamara.

The table before which they were sitting was littered with empty coffee cups. He watched me steadily as I walked towards them and sat down in the vacant chair. Then:

“O.K.?”

“O.K.,” I said, “but I think I’d like a brandy with my coffee. It’s been a tiring day.”

The two plain-clothes men, looking tired and very cold, were sitting in the
caffè
opposite the Parigi when at last I got back. They had the self-contained air of men who have been quarrelling.

A fortnight later “N. Marinetti” posted his second report to “J. L. Venezetti.”

The part that referred to Spartacus, I had supplied. The rest was Zaleshoff’s. It had taken him some time to compose. Most of it consisted of nondescript facts about the work in progress in the factories of three big customers. According to Zaleshoff, who supplied them, these facts had been known to every intelligence department in Europe for the past three months. They would, he declared, supply a stodgy but confidence-promoting background to the really important items. Just how he had come into possession of them I did not trouble to inquire. To do so would, I knew, have been a waste of time.

The important items were singularly unimpressive. There were two of them. One referred in the vaguest terms to three special hydraulic aircraft lifts and to the fact that they had been designed at the request of a municipal authority in the
Trentino. The other was a bald statement to the effect that the same municipal authority had retained a well-known Italian civil engineer, named Bochini, as a consultant, and that this engineer was no longer working for the Italian Air Ministry. I had looked at the report a little despondently.

“It looks pretty feeble to me, Zaleshoff.”

He had chuckled. “Don’t you worry. It’s dynamite. You see what happens when he gets it. He’ll react all right.”

Vagas
did
react. Two days after I had despatched the report I collected his letter from the poste restante. In addition to the three thousand lire there was a letter:

Dear Sir
,

    
Your report received. I enclose 3,000 lire as arranged. There are two points mentioned in your report about which I should like further details
as soon as possible.
The points in question are those relating to the hydraulic lifts and to the retention of the engineer Bochini. The details I require are as follows:

1.
What arrangements have been made for paying for these lifts? Is it the Italian Government who is paying? What form of credit facilities have been extended by the manufacturers? You might approach the subject by saying that you have heard on good authority that the municipality in question is in financial difficulties
.

2.
Who designed the lifts? On what date are they being delivered?

3.
Has Bochini had anything to do with the order for the lifts?

I realise that to secure this information quickly you will have to re-visit Torino. Please do so as soon as you possibly can. I am prepared to pay a bonus of 5,000 lire over and above the present arrangement for this information
.

Yours faithfully
,      
J. L. Venezetti
.

Zaleshoff crowed when I showed it to him.

“What did I tell you?” he demanded triumphantly.

“I don’t understand it.”

“It’s perfectly simple. For purposes of secrecy the Italian Air Ministry have issued their orders for the equipment for these three aerodromes through this municipality. Officially, the municipality will take delivery. Actually it will be the Air Ministry. This guy Bochini is their head man on the subject of underground aerodrome construction. Vagas got the idea immediately. I knew he would. But it’s too important a thing for him to make mistakes about. He wants confirmation.”

“But how am I going to get this information?”

“You needn’t worry. I’ve got it already. We’ll wait a couple of weeks before we deliver, just to make it look all right. Then we’ll be sitting pretty.”

Four days previously my spirits had been raised considerably by the discovery that I was no longer under surveillance, that the plain-clothes men had been withdrawn. Now, Zaleshoff’s enthusiasm completed the cure. That night the three of us ate at a more expensive place than usual. I ordered a bottle of Asti Spumante. We drank to the confusion of Vagas, and Zaleshoff and I took it in turns to dance with Tamara. Looking back on that evening now, I can still recapture the feeling I had of sitting in the sun after a particularly unpleasant storm has passed. We were very gay. But now our gaiety seems more than a little pathetic. I have, these days, a mistrust of celebrations that amounts to a superstition. I can never quite forget the grim spectre of anti-climax that lurks in the ante-room.

The following day I replied to Vagas’ letter, assured him that I would do my best to obtain the information he wanted, and settled down to the work of the office.

Thanks chiefly to Umberto’s efforts, the work had begun to assume more reasonable proportions. Bellinetti, I was almost
relieved to find, was spending less and less time at his desk and more and more in the
caffè
. His manner towards me was jauntily cordial. I imagine that he thought that the new broom had worn down and that the dust was settling once again into the old corners. I did not bother to disillusion him. Things were going smoothly. Fitch, in one of his weekly memoranda, had made a jocular reference to the growing efficiency of the Milan office. I almost regretted my decision to resign at the end of the month—almost, but not quite.