Tremor of Intent (29 page)

‘You respect me no longer?' said Hillier. ‘Now that I'm going to give you something for nothing? Now that I'm going to give you
everything
for nothing?'

‘My trade is a crude one. I'm used to buying and selling only. I doubt if anybody's ever genuinely given me something for nothing. Presents, bribes – those are different. There's a tag, isn't there, about
dona ferentes
? You say you have things to give me. What do you want in return?'

‘Release,' said Hillier. ‘I've a burden to jettison. A general confession that justifies my staying alive. Do you understand me?'

Theodorescu shone both eyes full on him. ‘I think I do. You're turning me into a priest. I'm honoured, I suppose. And now I have to take the burden over. I see. I see. I see why you wanted no mechanical recorders. Well, go slowly – that's all I ask.'

‘A confession,' said Hillier. ‘But also a gift horse. I'll take my own time.'

‘Begin, then.
Bless me
,
father
,
for I have sinned
–' Hillier did not answer his smile; Theodorescu ceased smiling.

‘That's not for you. But this is, these are.' And he started. ‘The identity of Avenel is H. Glendinning of Seyton House, Strand-on-the-Green, London. Abu Ibn Sina, known to the Baghdad police, runs the radio station known as Radio Avicenna. The three international saboteurs who call themselves the Adullamites are Horsman, Lowe, and Grosvenor; you will know the names, I think.'

‘Indeed. Hypocrites.' He took another gill of whisky. ‘Pray continue.'

‘Operation Aegir is to be mounted near Gellivare six months from now. H. J. Prince, at Charlinch near Bridgwater, Somerset, England, is in charge of a training school for subversion called Agapemone. A pocket television transmitter called, for some reason,
Nur-al-Nihar, is in process of development at a station near El Maghra, southwest of Alexandria. Twin missiles named Aholah and Aholibah are near completion on the Jordan border, east of Beersheba. The assassin of Sergei Timofeyevich Aksakov is in retirement at Fribourg; he goes under the name of Chichikov – a pretty touch. T. B. Aldrich, an importer, runs our station at Christinestad; he is in radio contact with GRT, as it's called, which is in the Valdai Hills, south of Staraya Russa. The scheme known as Almagest is already being mounted at Kinloch on Rhum Island. Escape route Gotha starts three miles north-west of Cöpenick. Barlow, Trumbull, Humphreys and Hopkins, a so-called pop-group named the Anarchists, have plans of the San Antonio installations in a villa outside Hartford.'

‘Are you sure of that?'

‘One can never be totally sure. They may have other things too. That's why there's been no pounce as yet.'

‘I doubt if I shall remember more than a fraction of all this. You're a hard man, Mr Hillier.'

‘C. Babbage is in charge of the Cambridge team which is developing the Zenith PRT calculator. A very corruptible man. John Balfour of Burley leads the Cameronian sect with its headquarters in Groningen – mad but potentially dangerous. The Nero Caesar cryptogram has been broken by Richard Swete in Tarante. The sea-trials of the Bergomask have been indefinitely postponed. Watch very carefully the activities of the Bismarck Group in Friedrichsruh. The Black Book of the Admiralty has disappeared: don't try and sell that to the press. Rolf Boldrewood is forging roubles in Bolt Court off Fleet Street, London. The air-exercise known as Britomart will be photographing the base at Varazdin. An atomiser-gun provisionally named Cacodemon is being tested at Gonville Hall. The French nuclear scheme is phased according to the revolutionary months. Completion stage is designated Fructidor. At present the Thermidorian tumbrils are coming – that was the message received.'

‘Good God.' Theodorescu had finished three-quarters of the whisky.

‘Watch Portugal. Leodogrance has, we gather, seen plans of an ICBM called Lusus. But Leodogrance was raving from the cellars at Santarem. Watch Spain. There are rumours of what is known as a Pan-Iberian doctrine being drafted underground at Leganes. There are some very strange installations at Badajoz, Brozas, and in camps in Southern Pontevedra.'

‘That I knew.'

‘That you knew. But you didn't know that Colvin was in Leningrad as a fur-buyer. Nor that a certain Edmund Curll is fabricating indecent photographs to compromise Kosygin. His shop is on Canonbury Avenue, London, N1. Our agents in Yugoslavia are at Prijepolje, Mitrovica, Krusevac, Novi Sad, Osijek, Ivanic and Mostar. They all give English lessons. The password till September 1 is
Zoonomia
.'

‘Please spell that.'

‘The UAR call their long-term anti-Israelite attrititive scheme by the Koranic name of Alexander the Great-Dhul'karnain. Hence arms-dumps are indicated by the sign of the two horns. Johann Döllinger has recently been expelled from the underground neo-Nazi
Welteroberungsbund
. He drinks all day in a rooming-house on Schaumkammstrasse, Munich. The Druidical movement in Anglesey is not to be laughed off: it is financed by Boltger and Kandier, late of Dresden. Laurence Eusden was seen with a Moorish boy in Tangier.'

‘I have photographs.' Having finished the whisky, Theodorescu started on the cognac.

‘Give me some of that,' said Hillier. His brain was becoming a jumble of names. He drank. He must push on. He said: ‘Miniature nuclear submarines called Fomors are to be launched secretly off Rossan Point, Donegal.
Gabriel Lajeunesse
is the code-name for the graminicidal experiments to be carried on south of Carson City,
Nevada. Joel Harris is the official executioner of J24, at present residing in Lübeck. Godolphin still seems to be at large: Hodgson reports having seen a man answering to his description in Zacatecas.'

‘Very small stuff.'

‘Perhaps. Remember that this is a team of gift horses.'

‘Jades. Nags. Rocinantes. But I see I'm presenting myself as ungrateful and discourteous. My apologies.' He looked at his watch, a flat gleaming Velichestvo. ‘Do continue. Or, if you can, conclude.'

‘Watch Plauen, watch Regensburg, watch Passau. America looks east with new-mark 405 installations. Ingelow has been sent to Plovdiv in time for the Dzerzhinski visit. There's an American military mission, disguised as travelling evangelists, visiting Kalatak and Shireza. The Kashmir business is being forced into blowing up again soon: those packing-cases in Srinagar contain flameguns.'

‘Yes yes yes. But you know what I really want.'

Hillier sighed. ‘What you really want. But you're not entitled to anything. You bloody pederastic neutral.'

Theodorescu laughed. ‘Would you address your priest so? I suppose you could. We shrink to our offices, or expand.'

‘Evil,' said Hillier between his teeth, ‘resides in the neutrals, in the uncovenanted powers. Here it all comes, then – what you really want.' Theodorescu leaned forward. ‘Number One Caribbean Territories is F. J. Layard,' said Hillier, all his instincts telling him to be sick, faint, gag. ‘Savanna la Mar, Jamaica. The office is at the rear of a bicycle-store called Leatherwood's. Layard goes under the name of Thomas North.'

‘Come nearer home.'

‘Number Two (Operations) is F. Norris, on six months' leave, living with his aunt at Number 23, Home Road, Southsea.'

‘Never mind about the Caribbean. It's London I want.'

Hillier retched, then swigged some cognac. ‘Headquarters in Pennant Street – Shenstone Buildings, tenth floor, Thaumast Enterprises Limited. The Chief –'

‘Yes yes?'

‘Sir Ralph Whewell. Albany and a house called Trimurti, Battle, Sussex.'

‘Old India man, eh? Good. Never mind about other names. Just give me the frequencies you work on.'

‘On the Murton scale, 33, 41, 45.'

‘Book codes?'

‘Very seldom.'

‘Thank you, my dear Hillier. You said I was evil a minute ago. I quite probably am. But I'm
honest
, you know. I couldn't stay in this business if I cheated. When I place that envelope on the table in Lausanne, when I say: “Gentlemen, this contains the name of the Chief of the BES” or “Here is the exact location of Intercep”, my potential bidders never doubt that I'm telling the truth. And they know I never sell the same information twice. I'm honest, and I'm fair. You insisted, out of your generous heart, on giving me all those titbits, dry and succulent alike, for nothing, so I would never insult you by offering a token gift in return. But I took something of yours – or rather Miss Devi did – and I insist on giving a fair price. Shall we say two thousand pounds?' From his inner pocket he extracted the blue-scrawled Roper manuscript and waved it. ‘She stole this, my dear Hillier, while you waited in her bed just now for the ecstasies some block of guilt prevented your consummating. You'll probably regard me as greedy and ungrateful, but I always take what I can when I can how I can.'

‘You knew I had it?'

‘Not at all. Routine rummaging, you know. I was rather pleased. I first heard of the libidinous Sir Arnold Cornpit-Ferrers from a young lady in Güstrow. She had some little secrets to sell and was put in touch with me – pathetic rags and tatters of information they were, picked up while she worked as a prostitute in London.'

‘Brigitte.' A letter to Roper. One of these days.

‘Was that her name? You're remarkable, Hillier. Is there anything
you don't know? Evidently you too have been interested in the Roper case. But why not? Our world is small. I always take a very special interest in defectors – they're endlessly corruptible. Well now, will you take a cheque on my Swiss bank?'

‘I'll be fair too,' said Hillier, drawing out his silent Aiken. ‘I may give without taking but – I can't say I'm sorry about what I'm going to do now. You're the enemy, Theodorescu; you straddle the Curtain jingling the joy-bells in your pocket. Unlike Midas, I didn't even blab to a hole in the ground. I blabbed to nothing.' And he fired.

Theodorescu laughed through the harmless smoke. Hillier fired again, and again. Nothing happened. He could almost hear the sudden bursting of sweat all over his body.

‘Blanks,' grinned Theodorescu. ‘We knew we'd see that delightful little Aiken again. Miss Devi effected the exchange in your brief interim of sad lecherous waiting. A very useful girl. And handsome. I wish sometimes I could be attracted to her sex. But we remain what greater powers make us. Ultimately we're impotent. Life is, I suppose, terrible.'

Hillier hurled himself but was hurled back by a single gesture of the arm. Theodorescu marched towards the door, laughing. Hillier clawed at him, but his nails turned to plastic. ‘If you're going to be a nuisance,' said Theodorescu, ‘I shall have to call on my friends down-town. I have some work to do in Istanbul and I don't like
little
people getting in the way. Be a good fellow and sit over a nice drink looking out at the Golden Horn. You've done your work. Rest, relax. Go and see Miss Devi again – her nature is forgiving. For my part, I'm going out to dinner.' And he went out laughing.

Hillier dashed to the dressing-table. His syringe and ampoules were still in their resting-place under handkerchiefs, apparently untouched. He cracked open two ampoules and filled the syringe; he had to be quick. When he got out on the corridor he found the lift already creaking ferrously down, a slow song of rust, and fancied
he heard Theodorescu laughing in it. Hillier tore down the stairs, all worn hazardous carpet, past huge Byzantine pots of dead plants, a stately Turkish couple coming up to their room, a tooth-sucking waiter in filthy white. He stumbled on one of the treads, cursing. He saw, down the lift-well, the cage approaching ground-level, its top laden with fruit-skins and cigarette-packets, even rare condoms. He would, he thought, just make it.

A man in a cloth cap, perhaps Theodorescu's driver, read with gloom a Turkish newspaper near the lift-gates. Hillier pushed him aside, saying ‘
Pardon
'. Theodorescu was opening the flimsy lattice-work of the cage, the only passenger. ‘Allow me,' said Hillier, taking hold of the knob of the outer gate. He pulled, allowing only a narrow chink between gate and slotted gatepost. Impatiently, Theodorescu tried to push, fine strong ringed white hand in the opening. Hillier pushed the other way with all his strength, jamming the hand so that its owner cursed. To have that hand at his mercy for just five seconds – The cloth-capped Turk was not happy; he was going to get away from here. The force which Theodorescu exerted was formidable; it was time for Hillier to swing round, change his hand-position, and pull. He did this athletically, finding a good foothold in the worn tiles of the floor; he gripped a wrought-iron rod of the outer gate and heaved. The hand itself seemed to curse, flashing all its rings like death-rays. Hillier took the syringe from his breast-pocket, uncapped the needle with his teeth, then jabbed hard into the veins of the thick wrist. Theodorescu yelled. Two old men coming down the stairs looked frightened and turned back. There were noises as of hotel staff clattering down coffee-cups off-stage, preparing to consider whether to see what was happening. ‘This won't hurt,' promised Hillier, and he pressed the plunger. The vein swelled as the viscous fluid went in, its overflow mingling with the needled gush of black blood. ‘That will do,' said Hillier. He left the syringe sticking in, like a lance in a white bull's Hank, then let go of the outer gate and fled.

He cowered in the shadows by the ill-lighted entrance of the hotel. Soon he heard singing. Theodorescu, whom nothing could make drunk, had been made drunk. The song sung was the anthem of a minor British public school: ‘Porson was founded in days of old, When learning was in flower, And mighty warriors strong and bold, Brought England peace and power.' The organ-tones of the voice had been somehow diluted to the reediness of a harmonica, though there was still much strength there. Theodorescu, trying to remember the second verse, then saying ‘Dash it', then merely humming, appeared at the hotel entrance, smirking sillily in the globe-light above against which moths beat, his left arm around a decay-mottled barley-sugar pillar, his right hand dripping blood. ‘A jolly nice night for a bit of fun,' he told the street. ‘Hey, you fellows there,' he called to a knot of Turks in old brown suits, ‘let's go and write dirty words on Form Five's blackboard.' He began to stagger off now to the right, towards the maze of dirty streets which at length led to uncaulked craft bobbing on the water, thieves, little food-stalls. He sang a maturer song of school, naughty: ‘We're good at games like rugger And snooker and lacrosse, And once aboard the lugger We are never at a loss. Look at the silly sod, pissed on half-a-pint of four-half.' He roared with boyish laughter, zigzagging on the greasy cobbles. Hillier followed well behind.