with your chin. Understand?'
Turner said nothing.
'You're not to disturb, annoy or offend. They're walking on a knife edge out there; anything could tilt the balance. Now, tomorrow, any time. There's even a danger that the Huns might think we were playing a double game with the Russians. If that idea got about it could balls everything up.'
'We seem to find it hard enough,' Turner said, borrowing from Lumley's vocabulary, 'playing a single game with the Huns.'
'The Embassy have got one idea in their heads, and it's not Harting and it's not Karfeld and least of all is it you. It's Brussels. So just remember that. You'd better, because if you don't you'll be out on your arse.'
'Why not send Shawn? He's tactful. Charm them all, he would.'
Lumley pushed a memorandum across the desk. It contained a list of Harting's personal particulars. 'Because you'll find him and Shawn won't. Not that I admire you for that. You'd pull down the whole forest, you would, to find an acorn. What drives you? What are you looking for? Some bloody absolute. If there's one thing I really hate it's a cynic in search of God. Maybe a bit of failure is what you need.'
'There's plenty of it about.'
'Heard from your wife?'
'No.'
'You could forgive her, you know. It's been done before.'
'Jesus, you take chances,' Turner breathed. 'What the hell do you know about my marriage?'
'Nothing. That's why I'm qualified to give advice. I just wish you'd stop punishing us all for not being perfect.'
'Anything else?'
Lumley examined him like an old magistrate who had not many cases left.
'Christ, you're quick to despise,' he said at last. 'You frighten me, I'll tell you that for nothing. You're going to have to start liking people soon, or it'll be too late. You'll need us, you know, before you die. Even if we are a second best.' He thrust a file into Turner's hand. 'Go on then. Find him. But don't think you're off the leash. I should take the midnight train if I were you. Get in at lunchtime.' His hooded yellow eyes flickered towards the sunlit park. 'Bonn's a foggy bloody place.'
'I'll fly if it's all the same.'
Lumley slowly shook his head.
'You can't wait, can you. You can't wait to get your hands on him. Pawing the bloody earth, aren't you? Christ, I wish I had your enthusiasm.'
'You had once.'
'And get yourself a suit or something. Try and look as though you belong.'
'I don't though, do I?'
'All right,' said Lumley, not caring any more. 'Wear the cloth cap. Christ,' he added, 'I'd have thought your class was suffering from too much recognition already.'
'There's something you haven't told me. Which do they want most: the man or the files?'
'Ask Bradfield,' Lumley replied, avoiding his eye.
Turner went to his room and dialled his wife's number. Her sister answered.
'She's out,' she said.
'You mean they're still in bed.'
'What do you want?'
'Tell her I'm leaving the country.'
As he rang off he was again distracted by the sound of the porter's wireless. He had turned it on full and tuned it to the European network. A well-bred lady was giving a summary of the news. The Movement's next rally would be held in Bonn, she said; on Friday, five days from today.
Turner grinned. It was a little like an invitation to tea. Picking up his bag, he set off for Fulham, an area well known for boarding houses and married men in exile from their wives.
CHAPTER FOUR
Decembers of Renewal
De Lisle picked him up from the airport. He had a sports car that was a little too young for him and it rattled wildly on the wet cobble of the villages. Though it was quite a new car, the paintwork was already dulled by the chestnut gum of Godesberg's wooded avenues. The time was nine in the morning but the street lights still burned. To either side, on flat fields, farm-houses and new building estates lay upon the strips of mist like hulks left over by the sea. Drops of rain prickled on the small windscreen.
'We've booked you in at the Adler; I suppose that's all
Turner said nothing.
'You're not to disturb, annoy or offend. They're walking on a knife edge out there; anything could tilt the balance. Now, tomorrow, any time. There's even a danger that the Huns might think we were playing a double game with the Russians. If that idea got about it could balls everything up.'
'We seem to find it hard enough,' Turner said, borrowing from Lumley's vocabulary, 'playing a single game with the Huns.'
'The Embassy have got one idea in their heads, and it's not Harting and it's not Karfeld and least of all is it you. It's Brussels. So just remember that. You'd better, because if you don't you'll be out on your arse.'
'Why not send Shawn? He's tactful. Charm them all, he would.'
Lumley pushed a memorandum across the desk. It contained a list of Harting's personal particulars. 'Because you'll find him and Shawn won't. Not that I admire you for that. You'd pull down the whole forest, you would, to find an acorn. What drives you? What are you looking for? Some bloody absolute. If there's one thing I really hate it's a cynic in search of God. Maybe a bit of failure is what you need.'
'There's plenty of it about.'
'Heard from your wife?'
'No.'
'You could forgive her, you know. It's been done before.'
'Jesus, you take chances,' Turner breathed. 'What the hell do you know about my marriage?'
'Nothing. That's why I'm qualified to give advice. I just wish you'd stop punishing us all for not being perfect.'
'Anything else?'
Lumley examined him like an old magistrate who had not many cases left.
'Christ, you're quick to despise,' he said at last. 'You frighten me, I'll tell you that for nothing. You're going to have to start liking people soon, or it'll be too late. You'll need us, you know, before you die. Even if we are a second best.' He thrust a file into Turner's hand. 'Go on then. Find him. But don't think you're off the leash. I should take the midnight train if I were you. Get in at lunchtime.' His hooded yellow eyes flickered towards the sunlit park. 'Bonn's a foggy bloody place.'
'I'll fly if it's all the same.'
Lumley slowly shook his head.
'You can't wait, can you. You can't wait to get your hands on him. Pawing the bloody earth, aren't you? Christ, I wish I had your enthusiasm.'
'You had once.'
'And get yourself a suit or something. Try and look as though you belong.'
'I don't though, do I?'
'All right,' said Lumley, not caring any more. 'Wear the cloth cap. Christ,' he added, 'I'd have thought your class was suffering from too much recognition already.'
'There's something you haven't told me. Which do they want most: the man or the files?'
'Ask Bradfield,' Lumley replied, avoiding his eye.
Turner went to his room and dialled his wife's number. Her sister answered.
'She's out,' she said.
'You mean they're still in bed.'
'What do you want?'
'Tell her I'm leaving the country.'
As he rang off he was again distracted by the sound of the porter's wireless. He had turned it on full and tuned it to the European network. A well-bred lady was giving a summary of the news. The Movement's next rally would be held in Bonn, she said; on Friday, five days from today.
Turner grinned. It was a little like an invitation to tea. Picking up his bag, he set off for Fulham, an area well known for boarding houses and married men in exile from their wives.
CHAPTER FOUR
Decembers of Renewal
De Lisle picked him up from the airport. He had a sports car that was a little too young for him and it rattled wildly on the wet cobble of the villages. Though it was quite a new car, the paintwork was already dulled by the chestnut gum of Godesberg's wooded avenues. The time was nine in the morning but the street lights still burned. To either side, on flat fields, farm-houses and new building estates lay upon the strips of mist like hulks left over by the sea. Drops of rain prickled on the small windscreen.
'We've booked you in at the Adler; I suppose that's all
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