tone. ‘There is no guarantee. There’s only my judgement.’
‘There’s that,’ the admiral said pacifically. It was the nearest he could ever bring himself to an apology. ‘Very well.’ He paused and to recover his position said: ‘They are not, I trust, knocking and entering by the front door?’
‘Barker and Masters are bringing them. By the rear tunnel.’
As if on cue, Barker and Masters appeared in the doorway, then stepped aside to let Wrinfield and Bruno in. The admiral and Dr Harper, Fawcett knew, were watching their faces as intently as he was. Understandably, neither Wrinfield nor Bruno was watching them: when you find a murdered man lying at your feet your ocular attention does not tend to stray. Predictably, Bruno’s reactions were minimal, the narrowing of the eyes, the tightening of the mouth could have been as much imagined as real, but Wrinfield’s reactions were all that anyone could have wished for: the colour drained from his face, leaving it a dirty grey, he put out a trembling hand against the lintel to steady himself and for a moment he looked as if he might even sway and fall.
Three minutes later, three minutes during which Fawcett had told him what little he knew, a seated Wrinfield, brandy glass in hand, was still shaking. Bruno had declined the offer of a restorative. The admiral had taken the floor.
He said to Wrinfield: ‘Do you have any enemies in the circus?’
‘Enemies? In the circus?’ Wrinfield was clearly taken aback. ‘Good God, no. I know it must sound corny to you but we really are one big happy family.’
‘Any enemies anywhere?’
‘Every successful man has. Of a kind, that is. Well, there’s rivalry, competition, envy. But enemies?’ He looked almost fearfully at Pilgrim and shuddered. ‘But not in this way.’ He was silent for a moment, then looked at the admiral with an expression that approximated pretty closely to resentment and when he spoke again the tremor had gone from his voice. ‘And why do you ask me these questions? They didn’t kill me. They killed Mr Pilgrim.’
‘There’s a connection. Fawcett?’
‘There’s a connection. I may speak freely, sir?’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Well, there are telephone boxes and sacrificial assistant editors – ’
‘Don’t be a fool. I’ve already apologized for that.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Fawcett briefly searched his memory and found no apology there. It seemed pointless to mention this. ‘As you say, sir, there’s a connection. There’s also been a leak and it can only have come from within our own organization. As I said, sir, and as I have explained to these gentlemen, it’s clear that Pilgrim was killed by someone well known to him. There can’t have been any specific leak – only you, Pilgrim, Dr Harper and myself really knew what the intentions were. But any of up to a dozen people or more – researchers, telephone operators, drivers – within the organization knew that we had been in regular touch with Mr Wrinfield. It would be unusual, if not unique, to find any intelligence or counter-intelligence agency in the world whose ranks have not been infiltrated by an enemy agent, one who eventually becomes so securely entrenched as to become above suspicion. It would be naïve of us to assume that we are the sole exception.
‘It was hardly top secret that Mr Wrinfield had been in the formative stages of planning a European tour – a primarily eastern European tour – and it would have been comparatively simple to discover that Crau was on the list of towns to be visited. As far as the gentlemen in Crau are concerned – more precisely, the gentlemen responsible for the research taking place in Crau – coincidence could be coincidence but the obvious tie-up with the CIA would be that little bit too much.’
‘So why kill Pilgrim? As a warning?’
‘In a way, sir, yes.’
‘Would you care to be more specific, Mr Fawcett?’
‘Yes, sir. No question but that it was a warning. But to make Pilgrim’s death both understandable and justifiable from their point of view – for we have to remember that though we are dealing with unreasonable men we are also dealing with reasoning men – it had to be something more than just a warning. His murder was also an amalgam of invitation and provocation. It is a warning they wished to be ignored. If they believe Mr Wrinfield’s forthcoming tour is sponsored by us, and if, in spite of Pilgrim’s death – which they won’t for a moment doubt that we’ll be convinced has been engineered by them – we still go ahead and proceed with the tour, then we must have extraordinarily pressing needs to make it. Conclusive proof they would expect to find in Crau.
‘And then we would be discredited internationally. Imagine, if you can, the sensational impact of the news of the internment of an entire circus. Imagine the tremendously powerful bargaining weapon it would give the East in any future negotiations. We’d become an international laughing stock, all credibility throughout the world gone, an object of ridicule in both East and West. The Gary Powers U-plane episode would be a bagatelle compared to this.’
‘Indeed. Tell me, what’s your opinion of locating this cuckoo in the CIA nest?’
‘As of this moment?’
‘Zero.’
‘Dr Harper?’
‘I agree totally. No chance. It would mean putting a watcher on every one of your several hundred employees in this building, sir.’
‘And who’s going to watch the watchers? Is that what you mean?’
‘With respect, sir, you know very well what I mean.’
‘Alas.’ The admiral reached into an inside pocket, brought out two cards, handed one to Wrinfield, the other to Bruno. ‘If you need me, call that number and ask for Charles. Any guesses you may have as to my identity – and you must be almost as stupid as we are if you haven’t made some – you will please keep to yourselves.’ He sighed. ‘Alas again, I fear, Fawcett, that your reading of the matter is entirely correct. There is no alternative explanation, not, at least, a remotely viable one. Nevertheless, getting our hands on this document overrides all other considerations. We may have to think up some other means.’
Fawcett said: ‘There are no other means.’
Harper said: ‘There are no other means.’
The admiral nodded. ‘There are no other means. It’s Bruno or nothing.’
Fawcett shook his head. ‘It’s Bruno and the circus or nothing.’
‘Looks like.’ The admiral gazed consideringly at Wrinfield. ‘Tell me, do you fancy the idea of being expendable?’
Wrinfield drained his glass. His hand was steady again and he was back on balance. ‘Frankly, I don’t.’
‘Not even being interned?’
‘No.’
‘I see your point. It could be a bad business. Am I to take it from that that you have changed your mind?’
‘I don’t know, I just don’t know.’ Wrinfield shifted his gaze, at once both thoughtful and troubled. ‘Bruno?’
‘I’ll
