happen sooner or later I suppose,' I said. I got my pen out so that Dicky could sign while he talked about something else. Sometimes it was easier like that.
'You'd heard about it before?' said Dicky incredulously, suddenly realizing what I'd said.
'Oh, yes. A year or more ago but it had some other name then.'
'Ye gods, Bernard! I wish you'd told me.'
I put the papers on his desk and gave him the ballpoint pen and watched him sign his name. I hadn't heard of the vertical planning scheme before, of course, but guessed that the Deputy had simply invented something that would goad Dicky into more energetic action, and I thought it better not to let the old boy down. 'And these you should look at,' I said, indicating the most important ones.
'You'll have to go and see Frank,' he said as he signed the final one and plucked at the corners of the rest of the stuff to see if anything looked interesting enough to read.
'Okay,' I said. He looked up at me. He'd expected me to object to a trip to Berlin but he'd caught me at a good time. It was a month or more since I'd been to Berlin and there were reasons both official and social for a trip there. 'And what do I tell Frank?' I wanted to get it clear because we had this absurd system in which Dicky and Frank Harrington – the Berlin 'resident' and as old as Methuselah – had equal authority.
He looked up from the carpet and said, 'I don't want to rub Frank up the wrong way. It's not up to me to tell him how to run his Berlin Field Unit. Frank knows more about the operations side of his bailiwick than all the rest of us put together.' That was all true, of course, but it wasn't often the line Dicky took.
'We're talking about Bizet, I take it?'
'Right. Frank may want to put someone in. After all, Frankfurt an der Oder is only a stone's throw from where he is.'
'It's not the distance, Dicky. It's…'
He immediately held up his hand in defence. 'Sure. I know I know I know.'
'Are you hoping he'll have done something already?'
'I just want his advice,' said Dicky.
'Well, we both know what Frank's advice will be,' I said. 'Do nothing. Just the same advice that he gives us about everything.'
'Frank's been there a long time,' said Dicky, who had survived many a crisis and reshuffle on 'do nothing' policies.
I made sure Dicky had signed everything in the right place. Then I drank the coffee and left it at that for a bit. But this seemed a good opportunity to quiz him about the Prettyman business. 'Remember Prettyman?' I said as casually as I could manage.
'Should I?'
'Jim Prettyman: ended up in "black boxes". Left and went to America.'
'Codes and Ciphers, downstairs?' It was a not a region into which Dicky ever ventured.
'He was on the Special Operations committee with Bret. He was always trying to organize holidays where you could look at tombs and no one ever put their name down. Wonderful snooker player. Don't you remember how we went to Big Henty's one night and he made some fantastic break?'
'I've never been to Big Henty's in my life.'
'Of course you have, Dicky. Lots of times. Jim Prettyman. A young fellow who got that job in Washington.'
'Sometimes I think you must know everyone in this building,' said Dicky.
'I thought you knew him,' I said lamely,
'A word to the wise, Bernard.' Dicky was holding a finger aloft as if testing for the direction of the wind. 'If I was in this room talking to you about this Prettyman fellow you'd change the subject to talk about Frank Harrington and the Bizet business. No offence intended, old chum, but it's true. Think about it.'
'I'm sure you're right, Dicky.'
'You must try and concentrate upon the subject in hand. Have you ever done any yoga?' He pushed aside the papers that I'd suggested he should read.
'No, Dicky,' I said.
'I did a lot of yoga at one time.' He ran a finger across the papers as if reading the contents list. 'It trains the mind: helps the power of concentration.'
'I'll look into that,' I promised, taking from
'You'd heard about it before?' said Dicky incredulously, suddenly realizing what I'd said.
'Oh, yes. A year or more ago but it had some other name then.'
'Ye gods, Bernard! I wish you'd told me.'
I put the papers on his desk and gave him the ballpoint pen and watched him sign his name. I hadn't heard of the vertical planning scheme before, of course, but guessed that the Deputy had simply invented something that would goad Dicky into more energetic action, and I thought it better not to let the old boy down. 'And these you should look at,' I said, indicating the most important ones.
'You'll have to go and see Frank,' he said as he signed the final one and plucked at the corners of the rest of the stuff to see if anything looked interesting enough to read.
'Okay,' I said. He looked up at me. He'd expected me to object to a trip to Berlin but he'd caught me at a good time. It was a month or more since I'd been to Berlin and there were reasons both official and social for a trip there. 'And what do I tell Frank?' I wanted to get it clear because we had this absurd system in which Dicky and Frank Harrington – the Berlin 'resident' and as old as Methuselah – had equal authority.
He looked up from the carpet and said, 'I don't want to rub Frank up the wrong way. It's not up to me to tell him how to run his Berlin Field Unit. Frank knows more about the operations side of his bailiwick than all the rest of us put together.' That was all true, of course, but it wasn't often the line Dicky took.
'We're talking about Bizet, I take it?'
'Right. Frank may want to put someone in. After all, Frankfurt an der Oder is only a stone's throw from where he is.'
'It's not the distance, Dicky. It's…'
He immediately held up his hand in defence. 'Sure. I know I know I know.'
'Are you hoping he'll have done something already?'
'I just want his advice,' said Dicky.
'Well, we both know what Frank's advice will be,' I said. 'Do nothing. Just the same advice that he gives us about everything.'
'Frank's been there a long time,' said Dicky, who had survived many a crisis and reshuffle on 'do nothing' policies.
I made sure Dicky had signed everything in the right place. Then I drank the coffee and left it at that for a bit. But this seemed a good opportunity to quiz him about the Prettyman business. 'Remember Prettyman?' I said as casually as I could manage.
'Should I?'
'Jim Prettyman: ended up in "black boxes". Left and went to America.'
'Codes and Ciphers, downstairs?' It was a not a region into which Dicky ever ventured.
'He was on the Special Operations committee with Bret. He was always trying to organize holidays where you could look at tombs and no one ever put their name down. Wonderful snooker player. Don't you remember how we went to Big Henty's one night and he made some fantastic break?'
'I've never been to Big Henty's in my life.'
'Of course you have, Dicky. Lots of times. Jim Prettyman. A young fellow who got that job in Washington.'
'Sometimes I think you must know everyone in this building,' said Dicky.
'I thought you knew him,' I said lamely,
'A word to the wise, Bernard.' Dicky was holding a finger aloft as if testing for the direction of the wind. 'If I was in this room talking to you about this Prettyman fellow you'd change the subject to talk about Frank Harrington and the Bizet business. No offence intended, old chum, but it's true. Think about it.'
'I'm sure you're right, Dicky.'
'You must try and concentrate upon the subject in hand. Have you ever done any yoga?' He pushed aside the papers that I'd suggested he should read.
'No, Dicky,' I said.
'I did a lot of yoga at one time.' He ran a finger across the papers as if reading the contents list. 'It trains the mind: helps the power of concentration.'
'I'll look into that,' I promised, taking from
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