Red Anger (25 page)

‘When you passed on this information to the KGB, what was their reaction?’

‘They showed none. Then they gave me this job of paying Petrescu.’

‘Why you?’

‘Probably because I could recognise him?’

‘So could several of their operators. Why you?’

‘For God’s sake, sir! I don’t know.’

In spite of Alwyn’s rigid expression I knew him well enough by now to detect that there was something in the last two answers which had opened a new train of thought. He appeared to accept
Marghiloman’s statement as the end of interrogation and looked straight at me with a plausible air of consulting my opinion. But in fact his eyes did not meet mine at all; he was looking past
me in the direction of the Grey Wethers. I would have turned round if I had not been frozen into immobility by the two strained faces and the silence.

‘Marghiloman, you have betrayed to the KGB the fact that both the CIA and ourselves know the number of their Swiss bank account. Why did you not report to your chief when the KGB first
approached you?’

‘I didn’t dare.’

‘Did you or did you not do so?’

‘Not at first. I was too frightened.’

‘So when?’

‘When I was first asked to pay Petrescu.’

‘I see. So all you had to confess was that you were meeting him and nothing else. And they answered that if you caught Petrescu for them, they’d fly you to the United States next day
in a blaze of glory.’

‘Very discreetly. Very discreetly, I promise you,’ he replied, taking Alwyn literally.

‘What was the plan?’

‘I was to take him down to Avebury for a drink and point him out.’

‘And what were they going to do with him?’

‘Drive him back to London.’

‘Suppose he yelled?’

‘He would be asleep on the journey.’

‘What are you going to tell them now?’

‘May I tell them the truth? That Petrescu is working for you?’

‘And what will you tell the KGB?’

‘Nothing.’

‘You said you did not know why they chose you to pay Petrescu. I suggest they wanted to see if you would double-cross them.’

‘But that would mean we are being watched!’

‘And that they know that you or Petrescu brought a third man to the meeting. If I were you, I should get straight on that plane without talking to anyone. Now get out!’

In the clean silence of the downs after he had gone I exploded my fury at the story we had heard and my delight that he had a chance of clearing his name if ever it could be proved. He cut me
short.

‘Later. This is not over.’

When a fold of the ground had hidden Marghiloman we moved off the skyline and into the shallow cradle of a terrace to watch what he did. Below us was the village of Avebury, trees, grey manor
and grey church all within the circle of the tall, shapeless stones stationed on their rampart as sentries for ever over the first temple of England. I remember thinking that the priests of that
ancient society must even then have fulminated against human treachery, the sin which above all others made their newly settled life uneasy, and have preached that between Earth and the Gods there
was another great naked stone, and its name was Honour.

We saw Marghiloman almost running down to the point where the green road of the Herepath became a metalled track. When he got there he hesitated, buzzing around like a bee on a window pane,
looking at the ground, looking back at the bare hillside, trotting off towards Avebury, pulling himself together and walking back.

‘That’s where he left his car, by God!’ Alwyn exclaimed.

‘The CIA has taken it?’

‘No, the KGB. They know as much about double agents as anyone else.’

But Marghiloman was not such a townsman as I had thought. Perhaps his youth in Romania counted and he remembered he had feet. He did not go into Avebury to look for his car. He strode casually
south for the Marlborough road, quickening his pace whenever he was in dead ground. That was the last we ever saw of him. In spite of the trouble he had caused me and his infamous private
amusements, I hope he reached home before anyone was at his front door to receive him and to prevent him picking up his ticket and catching the first plane out.

At the time, however, I was more worried about my own future.

‘If the KGB get him he’ll tell them Petrescu is MI5.’

‘They won’t believe him for a moment.’

‘But my unknown companion!’

‘They have had a long look at him.’

‘How do you know?’

‘I told Marghiloman how I knew. I think their operator is in among the Grey Wethers.’

I protested that at quarter of a mile a watcher couldn’t possibly recognise him even through glasses.

‘I am sure that KGB 13 would. That’s the training.’

‘Call in Special Branch!’

‘What proof have I?’

‘You can make the CIA confess.’

‘Can I? I doubt it. And if I can, should I? What Eudora said is true. They have learned from the KGB that the end justifies any means. But they are our allies. Their country is our shield.
If this story ever comes out, Washington must be free to swear there is not a word of truth in it.’

It was not the first time that I had suspected Alwyn of an indefinable death wish, and I doubted if there were any Russians whatever around little Avebury. At the most there might be
sympathisers well paid to do the less dirty jobs: people like the unknown yachtsman ordered to lift Alwyn from the creek or—to take an example from the other side—like the CIA agent who
feared he would be trampled into the ground by bullocks: probably a half-witted fanatic whom Whatcombe Street would have called a fascist beast and not been far out.

I said it was unbelievable that they would call in their professional thugs just for me and Marghiloman.

‘Rory somewhere on the run and defenceless,’ he replied. ‘Tessa likely to know where he is. You possibly knowing anything she does. Attempts to check your
background—Paris, wasn’t it?—up against a blank wall. On top of all that, Rachel vanished. Almost anything might turn up, and if I were running the show I’d choose operators
who were well prepared for it.’

‘How could they get into England?’

He answered with a faint grin:

‘Perhaps off the trawlers, Willie. Off the trawlers!’

Still unwilling to believe, I wanted to ask: why here? But I could answer that myself. All my lies which I had thought so good suddenly seemed amateurish. I had said to my naval officer by the
Otter that Marghiloman had me followed here and therefore it would appear to him a natural choice. A weak story! How would a refugee know the locality so well? Advisable to reconnoitre the place
beforehand. They would then find it suspiciously lonely. So what’s Petrescu’s game? Perhaps he chose it in order to see all round him. He thinks he can, but he can’t, the poor,
unmilitary, little crook!

‘If you’re right about the Grey Wethers, why hasn’t he risked a shot?’ I asked.

‘Because the country is too open to get rid of the corpse. Now listen, Willie! Since they could tell when it was safe to remove Marghiloman’s car we know that their man up there has
a walkie-talkie to communicate with companions down in Avebury. So we’re in trouble. They’ll stick at nothing to find out what you are doing with Alwyn Rory and how long we have been
together.’

We were about to move off when a station wagon came whizzing out of Avebury along the Herepath and stopped where Marghiloman’s car had been. Three men got out, leaving the driver behind,
and strode up the hill evidently bound for the rendezvous with Petrescu.

‘The CIA has found his car, but no Marghiloman. Straight into action, American style. Always that, or an interminable conference,’ Alwyn said.

We were now in serious trouble. It was easy enough to lie still in the cover of tumulus or ditch; but to move was difficult, for there was no avoiding the long run of the bare grass or a
skyline. If we started to make our way below the escarpment towards the Marlborough road, more or less on Marghiloman’s route, we should be in full view of the driver left in the car; and if
we took to the top we exposed ourselves both to the three new arrivals and Alwyn’s KGB man in the Grey Wethers—unless he was now trying to bury himself in the tussocks camouflaged as a
chunk of sandstone.

All the same we had to risk it. The open downs which I thought so safe had not appreciated my trust, and I longed to get down into the valley of the Kennet and across the river into country
still bare and rolling, sprinkled with barrows and standing stones, but with patches of woodland where I knew every path.

We decided to go singly since the CIA party was on the look-out for two men and might not pay immediate attention to a solitary walker. Below us we could see the Stone Avenue running down from
Avebury to the water and the Sanctuary, part of the avenue still standing, part dotted with concrete markers where ages less interested in the past had broken up the stones for building. A group of
tourists was wandering down it from their motor coach parked at the top.

Alwyn went first, aiming to join the sight-seers and walk along with them. If all was then clear, he was to wait for me near the little bridge over the Kennet. Once there I guaranteed I could
get him away from anything but dogs or a cavalry patrol, neither of which were available to these very cautious operators.

He walked confidently straight down the hill as if he had just come over the top. The man in the station wagon must of course have spotted him but nothing could be done about it. Then he swung
south for the Stone Avenue which he reached in ten minutes. For most of the time he was in full view of anyone in Avebury, or at least of anyone standing on the high bank of the Circle. At that
distance I could not make out his figure with any certainty, but I did notice that when the motor coach came down and the tourists piled in one was walking away.

By this time the CIA men had returned, having drawn a blank. They all drove back into Avebury and were lost among the trees; so it was safe to crawl up my terrace to the top of the downs. Not a
soul was to be seen, but I had learned that one could not trust to eyes. However, if the KGB observer was still among the Grey Wethers he could not catch me without running. And that did not seem
to be at all the style of either of these bands of missionaries creeping like cockroaches in daytime about my country, always determined not to be conspicuous.

I walked fast and openly down the Ridge Way and crossed the Marlborough road after taking a good look round. No car was there to intercept me, innocently loitering along the edge of the modern
road; nor on the ancient one was anyone taking a fast and casual stroll over the short turf. But I could bet that my movements were being reported. I put an immediate end to observation by fording
the Kennet where I used to paddle as a small boy and by vanishing into fertility, hidden by the willows on the bank, the hedges bounding the water meadows and the canopy of foliage around the
church and in the manor gardens.

There was no Alwyn at the bridge. After I had remained there a few minutes to give him a chance to see me, I decided to reconnoitre the corner where the lane to the village left the main road.
Avoiding the lane itself, I went round by way of the Sanctuary, the small Circle close to the water which must have supplied those prehistoric settlers and their hanging fields. My father used to
say that the Sanctuary was dedicated to the God of the River and that the Stone Avenue was a triumphal way along which were dragged the cartloads of great pots up to the gardens and the terraces.
Mere imagination, I suppose, but one farmer is in tune with another.

The concrete plinths of the Sanctuary—I regret to say that the foundations of our house were some of the original stones—plus a few drifting foreign tourists covered my approach
until I could see the road junction. At the entrance to the lane a large car was parked, coloured a cheerful blue-and-yellow which was more vulgar than sinister. Three men and a woman were in it. I
recognised the woman. I had rowed her up to Eel Pie Island on a lovely morning. The reason for her presence was obvious. She was the only available KGB operator who knew me by sight—apart
from my naval friend who could not take part in so dubious an outing. They had brought her down, I take it, as a kindly thought for my welfare in case Marghiloman’s intentions were
ungentlemanly. Thoughts would not be so kindly now that they knew I had been in Alwyn’s company.

I did not like this continuous, close contact, though I was for the moment in a populated district and could hardly be kidnapped. Indeed I had only to sing out that I was Adrian Gurney and some
friend of the family would come running and swear that I hadn’t changed at all. Alwyn’s problem was more difficult. He must get clear away, but had to avoid being trapped in some
unobservable spot and finishing up—according to him—neatly jointed and polythene-packed.

It was easy enough to guess what had happened. Alwyn’s move had been spotted and the car driven down from Avebury—a mere three minutes’ run—to cut him off. There was no
reason why he should recognise it for what it was. The woman and the three men were talking gaily; a bottle and sandwiches were circulating. If he had not suspected the car, he was still waiting
for me nearby; if he had, he might have made for the downs which were just as bare and windswept on this side of the valley as the other and even more thickly inhabited by the dead. But I was
fairly sure he would not have broken away. He was by now thoroughly suspicious of this country so different from his Devon of small fields and lush growth and would hesitate to expose himself again
on the slopes. And, for another thing, he was quite unnecessarily loyal to me.

I went through the village once more, and he joined me on the main street coming quietly from the yews of the churchyard. He said he had been in the willows below the bridge and had seen me all
right but wanted to be sure I was not followed. Yes, he had noticed the car and avoided it, but the occupants had had plenty of time to watch his approach to the Marlborough road and could now have
no doubt at all that he was Alwyn Rory.