Hale opened his mouth to say something, but was stopped by a knock on the office door; and even with his aching, swollen eye, he managed to give Hartsik a ferocious scowl as the man got up from the desk again.
It was Farid, this time carefully carrying a steaming cup. “Now they have thrown coffee onto the fellow’s shirt,” Farid explained.
Hale thought of his hours-long confession last night to Mammalian. For your penance, he told himself bleakly, take two blows to the face and a cup of coffee down your shirt. And I’ll be lucky if that’s the extent of it, here or on Ararat.
“Tell them I said to take it easy, for God’s sake,” said Hartsik shrilly. “Mr. Hale, I feel terrible about this-”
Hale just hiked his chair around to face Farid. “Get it right,” he said through clenched teeth.
The Arab bent over and carefully splashed gouts of the hot coffee onto several areas of Hale’s white shirt. Hale breathed deeply through flared nostrils and made no sound as the hot coffee scalded his stomach. At last Farid stood up, frowning and swirling the coffee that was left in the cup. Hale restrained himself from stretching out his leg and kicking the cup up into the man’s face.
“An artist should know when to walk away,” said Hartsik tightly. “Go.”
After Farid had bobbed back out into the hall and pulled the door closed, Hartsik did not sit down again. “I’ll tell you the rest briefly, before those sûreté decide to break that poor man’s legs. If your threat to Philby is effective, and he agrees to continue with the Rabkrin operation to Ararat, you will keep your wristwatch set to the correct local time; if Philby refuses, or if three days go by without a clear decision from him, you will set your watch six hours off-and then Kim Philby will find that his next glass of gin has been flavored with a poison that will get past any magical protections, birthday or no birthday. Holy water and-well, you’re Catholic, aren’t you?-you don’t want to know. At any rate, the old Rabkrin recognition phrase is: ‘O Fish, are you constant to the old covenant?’” and the answer is-”
“‘Return, and we return,’” said Hale. “‘Keep faith, and so will we.’” He stared bleakly up at Hartsik. “Philby must have known that since he was a child-because I have.”
Hale was hurriedly shown photographs of the room in which his double was being interrogated, and then photographs of the officers who were asking the questions-a cup had been drawn in over the hand of the one who had thrown coffee on the prisoner. After that Hale was given a scrawled transcript of the questioning session and was made to read it several times. He had to admire the way “Andrew Hale” had stuck to his cover story-and the script was good, with the sûreté gradually becoming convinced that this really was just some British journalist named Charles Garner. To judge from the transcript, the sûreté officers had even been gruffly apologetic at the end.
At last Farid led into Hartsik’s office the man who had pretended to be Hale. Hale stood up, wondering who this unlucky Declare operative was. Looking at the man’s face was like looking into the forty-five-degree intersection of a pair of mirrors-Hale winced to see a duplicate of the jagged cut in his own left cheek, and the extent of the silvery bruise under his eye. He was even disoriented for a moment when he licked his lips and the other face didn’t do it too.
“I owe you a drink, when all this is over,” Hale said to the man.
“Not arak,” said his double.
“Right.” Hale was aware of being drunk, though the hour could not yet be noon, and he bit his tongue against the urge to ask the man if he had heard from Elena.
“This mistreated gentleman,” said Hartsik, waving at Hale’s double, “will stay here in my office until nightfall, and then leave in Arab dress, with his face concealed. In the meantime, one of the Rabkrin team has come to the station here to take you back to your hotel.” He stared at Hale. “It’s the one called Kim Philby.”
Hale nodded. “I know what to say to him.”
Hartsik unlocked the door and swung it open. “We won’t speak again,” he said quietly as Hale stepped out into the hall; “if you get into unmapped territory, improvise.”
Hale nodded, as much to the two sûreté officers who stood in the hall as in acknowledgment of Hartsik’s remark; and then he was escorted back down the hall to the yellow-painted waiting room. The police did not hold his arms now-Charles Garner had officially proven to be a harmless drunk.
Kim Philby was leaning against the wall by the alley door. He was wearing a sport coat and a tie, but his pouchy face was spotted and pale, and he was frowning.
My half-brother, thought Hale as he walked away from the police, toward the door.
“I was t-told it was you,” Philby said. He peered at Hale’s face. “They d-did m-mess you up, rather, didn’t they? There’s no bail to be p-paid-apparently they feel that your mistreatment here has been pa-pa-payment enough. I’d have said you rated another biff or two, but the sûreté and I d-don’t always see eye to eye.” He waved toward the wire-mesh glass door. “We’ll walk. I was also t-told you’re likely to be d-drunk. You can walk, can’t you?”
“I can walk.”
When they had stepped down to the alley pavement and crossed to the far sidewalk, Philby began talking in a low voice that barely reached Hale’s ringing ears. “Your indulgence of t-temper and intemperance th-this morning may have caused this operation to be can-can-canceled,” he said, and Hale thought there was a note of suppressed satisfaction in his voice. “You had better h-hope otherwise, because I don’t m-mind telling you that Mammalian will simply vv-verify you if he does abort it, casually as swatting a fly. You were always a blundering f-f-fool, Hale, but this-”
Hale was suddenly very tired, and the prospect of walking a mile or so with Philby in this hectoring mode was beyond bearing. Brace him now, Hale thought, if only to change his tone.
“O Fish,” Hale interrupted, “are you constant to the old covenant?”
Philby stopped walking, and Hale had to halt and turn around to face him. “I want to buy a couple of guns,” Hale added. “Where’s the nearest shop for guns?”
“Return, and we return,” said Philby hollowly, staring at Hale in evident puzzlement. “Keep faith, and so will we. What do you m-mean?” he added in a cautious tone.
“It’s the Rabkrin exchange, Kim. You answered it correctly. We proceed.”
Philby stirred and began walking again. “B-But that’s-that’s old. How l-l-long have you been-? You? And it’s very high; not many p-people know that challenge. I don’t think Mammalian knows the exchange.” Hoarsely he said, “Who-are you?”
“It’s higher than you suppose, Kim. I’m not Rabkrin. Have you forgotten the bargain you made with Theodora in ’52, at the Turkish-Soviet border? I’ve been sent to remind you of it. An SIS representative will shortly be contacting you here, offering you immunity in exchange for your total memoirs. You will pretend to cooperate, but you will not tell him anything about Rabkrin or the Ararat operation, and you will not return to England.”
Philby had stopped again. “You can get g-guns at one of the import shops on Allenby,” he said absently. “Jimmie’s anachronistic SOE…that was t-t-ten years ago. And now you-has there truly b-been a British secret s-service that I was not aware of, all along? Was L-Lawrence one of you? How far in-” Philby’s pale face had lost all expression, but Hale could recognize baffled rage. “Are you with the fabled D-D-Declare? You?” He held out his hands and slowly closed them into fists. “Cassagnac’s murder!-your old ccrimes-your flight from England last week-this has all been c-cover?”