‘Naturally.’
Melanie was displeased with me, and her innate bitchiness, usually well hidden beneath the surface appearance of bright-eyed stupidity, was beginning to show through. Had I not intervened then, she would soon have been talking nonsense of a less acceptable kind.
‘You mustn’t take Melanie too seriously,’ I said. ‘She has a weakness for ornate overstatement. I am always warning her against it, aren’t I, my dear?’
Her instant over-anxious nod aroused Krom’s paternal instincts. ‘Are you always warning her, too,’ he demanded, ‘that, as your secretary, she must expect to be used as a scapegoat?’
‘No, Professor, I am not. No such warning would be necessary. As an acknowledged expert in the organization of undercover work, Melanie Wicky-Frey knows a great deal more about the selection and management of scapegoats than I do.’
Henson started to say something, but I shut her up by raising my voice as I went on: ‘For your further information, she chose this place herself, composed all the cover stories we are using, and advised me on general security matters at all planning stages. What she is complaining of now is that I am not treating her as if she were infallible. I don’t blame her. As you people should know very well, experts always tend to award themselves immunity from criticism.’
Krom looked expectantly at Melanie, ready to welcome and swallow whole any denials of my dastardly charges she cared to make. When all he drew from her was an empty stare, he sighed and returned heavily to me.
‘So, when you introduced her as your secretary, that was a lie.’
‘Don’t be absurd, Professor. Why should I need a secretary here? I was surprised that you didn’t ask. The idea’s so obviously preposterous. Actually, Melanie is a wholly special kind of PR expert.’
‘A wholly special kind of liar, you must mean. It’s hard to believe, though, that there could be anyone more special in that field than yourself.’
Yves cleared his throat. ‘Patron, I thought that these people were going to take a walk. If they are not, I suggest that you and Melanie talk in the dining-room. You won’t be overheard there.’
He meant that the dining-room wasn’t bugged. ‘Good idea,’ I said and stood up, motioning as I did so to Melanie.
‘Ah, no!’ Krom was levering himself out of his chair. ‘I refuse to be dismissed in this way.’
‘No one’s dismissing you,’ I said; ‘but it’s clearly impossible to talk seriously here.’
When I started to move, he stood in front of me. As I made to go round him, he grabbed me by the arm.
Connell was on his feet instantly, bleating, ‘No, no!’ as if I had been about to hit the old fool.
I said to Melanie: ‘Go ahead. I’ll see you in the dining-room.’ Then, I looked at the hand on my arm as I had looked at it the night before when it had been on Melanie. Like other compulsive arm-grabbers, Krom seemed not quite to realize that his habit could be objectionable. When I had to jerk my arm free, he looked cross, as if I had interrupted a chain of thought, and then wagged a reproving finger.
‘Your statement,’ he repeated, ‘was a lie, and, as you now admit, a pointless one. You have admitted that, yes? Very well. We don’t yet know what kind of man you are, but the evidence so far suggests that, although you may not be a criminal psychopath in any of the generally accepted senses of the word, you possess many of the characteristics often attributed to the so-called moral defective. Still, for the present we shall have to be content with an ad hoc classification, such as — oh, what shall we say? Variegated delinquent, perhaps?’ His eyes sought the witnesses’ approval. ‘There is, in any case, one thing of which we can now be certain. Our delinquent is an inveterate as well as a resourceful liar.’
I was weary enough to lose patience with him.
‘Where,’ I asked, ‘did you get this extraordinary idea that you have a prescriptive right to be told nothing but the truth? Does it come up through the seat of your academic chair? Or is there some tatty sociological saint who once taught that all who have to submit to your questioning are, by divine decree, automatically on oath? Of course, that must be it. And what happens when the poor souls perjure themselves? Obviously, burning at the stake would be too mild a punishment. Instead, we are slowly and brutally classified! Right, Professor?’
Connell chuckled, but Krom only nodded encouragingly.
‘Slowly and brutally? Yes, I expect you’re right, Mr Firman. And so?’
‘And so, the only time you’ll hear a truth from me is when it happens to suit me better than a lie or when none of the available lies is good enough to stand inspection. Truth games are dangerous, even for children. All I’m playing for is safety; safety for myself and my partners in what you choose to call crime.’
Krom beamed. ‘This candour is most refreshing.’ He switched the beam to Connell and Henson. ‘Clearly, this tantrum of Firman’s is a direct response to my diagnostic stimulations. We are making progress. If, as he says, defects in his cover arrangements have come to light, now might be the moment for us to probe his defences in depth.’
Although the witnesses could scarcely have failed to notice that Krom, with his third-person plurals, had suddenly conferred colleague-collaborator status on them, neither gave any sign of having done so. Knowing Krom as they did, they probably recognized that, from him, such courtesies could only be slips of the tongue.
‘I agree,’ said Connell; ‘it’s time we had a look at some of the nuts and bolts of this set-up. If he expects to persuade us that he’s basically incompetent, he’s going to have to produce something more convincing than a hunk of charred plywood.’
‘Bearing in mind,’ said Henson, ‘that, according to Mr Firman, Wicky-Frey is the nuts-and-bolts expert, I would feel that we should concentrate first on her.’ She flashed her appealing smile at Yves. ‘Now, what do you think, Mr Boularis?’
She had succeeded with him before; but that had been half an hour ago and he had learned a lot since. He glanced at her casually and then returned to watching the small birds that were hopping about beneath the chairs and feeding on the crumbs from breakfast.
After a moment he said: ‘I now think, Madame, that you are all full of piss and wind.’
In the silence that followed this further diagnostic stimulation, I left to join Melanie in the dining-room.
I found her sitting wreathed in tobacco smoke, at the head of the long table.
She rarely smoked except after dinner. The ashtray in front of her and the lighted cigarette in her hand were announcements of her need for relief from the intolerable pain of my displeasure. They also warned me that if I were not instantly apologetic and extremely kind to her, she might be driven to commit ritual suicide by inhaling.
As I had nothing to apologize for, and no intention of being kinder than I felt just then, I made no move to sit down. I have always found it easier to keep my temper and to remain civil when standing.
Besides, my assumption was that, having had ample time in which to review the entire cover operation step by step, Melanie now knew where the leak had occurred, how it had occurred, and who might have had the impertinence to exploit it. Once I knew those things, I expected to be able, having shrugged away surprise and exasperation, to start figuring out ways of capitalizing on my misfortunes. Krom’s description of some of my tactical thinking as ‘octopus ink’ had not been all that fanciful; and yes, even in the dining-room on the morning of that second day, I was still thinking in terms of using the jokers outside the gates to neutralize the jokers within.
Call it the last minute of innocence.
‘Well?’ I asked.
Melanie stubbed out her cigarette. ‘I’ve drawn a blank, Paul. No, let me finish. I’ve been over it all as thoroughly as I know how, and several times, even while that horrible little lesbian was pretending to be nice to me. I’ve nothing to tell you that you don’t already know. Nobody was told except you. Nobody! And only the two communications codes were issued.’