The Unlikely Spy

"Peter, you're not obliged to give me an explanation."

 

"I know, but I want to. I have to leave London very early tomorrow morning, and I have a lot of work to do before then."

 

"I'm not going to pretend I'm not disappointed. I was looking forward to being with you tonight. I haven't seen you for two days."

 

"It seems like a month. I wanted to see you too."

 

"Is it completely out of the question?"

 

"I'm not going to be home until at least eleven o'clock."

 

"That's fine."

 

"And I have a car picking me up at my house at five in the morning."

 

"That's fine too."

 

"But, Catherine--"

 

"Here's my suggestion. I'll meet you in front of your house at eleven. I'll make us something to eat. You can relax and get ready for your trip."

 

"I need to get some sleep."

 

"I'll let you sleep, I promise."

 

"We haven't been sleeping much lately."

 

"I'll do my best to restrain myself."

 

"I'll see you at eleven."

 

"Wonderful."

 

The red light shone over Boothby's double door for a very long time. Vicary reached out to press the buzzer a second time--a flagrant violation of one of Boothby's edicts--but stopped himself. From the other side of the heavy doors he heard two voices elevated in argument, one distinctly female, the other Boothby's. You can't do this to me! It was the woman's voice, suddenly loud and slightly hysterical. Boothby's voice grew calmer in response, a parent quietly lecturing an errant child. Vicary, feeling like an idiot, leaned his ear against the seam in the doors. Bastard! Bloody bastard! It was the woman again. Then the sound of a door slamming. The light suddenly shone green. Vicary ignored it. Sir Basil's office had a private entrance, used only by the lord and master himself and by the director-general. It was not all that private; if Vicary waited long enough, the woman would turn the corner and he could get a look at her. He heard the sound of her high-heeled shoes, smacking angrily against the corridor floor. She turned the corner. It was Grace Clarendon. She stopped walking and narrowed her vivid green eyes at Vicary in disgust. A tear tumbled down her cheek. She punched it away, then disappeared down the hallway.

 

 

 

 

 

The office was dark except for the single lamp burning on Boothby's desk. The room reeked of the cigarette smoldering untouched at Boothby's elbow. Boothby was working through a file in his braces and his shirtsleeves. Without looking up, he commanded Vicary to sit by jabbing his gold pen at one of the chairs in front of the desk. "I'm listening," he said.

 

Vicary brought him quickly up-to-date. He told Boothby about the results of the daylong investigation into the murder of Rose Morely. He told him about the possible link between the German agent and the murder of Vernon Pope. He explained that finding Robert Pope and questioning him was imperative. He requested every available man to assist in the search for Pope. Boothby maintained a stoic silence throughout Vicary's briefing. His habitual fidgeting and pacing had been suspended, and he seemed to be listening more intently than usual.

 

"Well," Boothby said. "This is the first piece of good news we've had when it comes to this case. I do hope for your sake that you're right about the connection between these killings."

 

He began making noises about the importance of patience and legwork. Vicary was thinking of Grace Clarendon. He was tempted to ask Boothby why she had just been in his office but couldn't bear the thought of another lecture about need to know. Vicary felt terrible about it. He had miscalculated. He had put Grace's head on the block for the sake of scoring a useless point in a lost argument, and Boothby had chopped it off. He wondered if she had been sacked or had escaped with only a stern warning. She was a valuable member of the staff, intelligent and dedicated. He hoped Boothby had spared her.

 

Boothby said, "I'll telephone the head of the watchers straightaway, order him to give you as many men as he can possibly spare."

 

"Thank you, Sir Basil," Vicary said, standing up to leave.

 

"I know we've had our differences over this case, Alfred, and I do hope you're right about all this." Boothby hesitated. "I spoke with the director-general a few minutes ago."

 

"Oh?" Vicary said.

 

"He's given you the proverbial twenty-four hours. If all this doesn't produce a break I'm afraid you're going to be removed from the case."

 

 

 

 

 

When Vicary was gone, Boothby reached across his desk and picked up the receiver of his secure telephone. He dialed the number and waited for the answer.

 

As usual the man at the other end of the line did not identify himself, just said, "Yes?"

 

Boothby did not identify himself either. "It seems our friend is closing in on his prey," Boothby said. "The second act is about to begin."

 

The man at the other end of the line murmured a few words, then broke the connection.

 

 

 

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