"All he told me was that he was working for the Sovbloc desk at Six, and they were looking for a deserter, but he didn'teven have Blagg's name. He knew who I was, and that's about all. He wasn't likely to run Sherlock Holmes out of business. "
"No…" She sat silent for a while, making a decision. "As I say, this is supposed to be Top Secret, but you'd better know if you're to be any help. You'd know anyway, if you'd got what they think you've got, whatever that is. Have you ever heard of Gustav Eismark?"
"New man in the East German Secretariat. Supposed to be a moderate, but has a lot of support from the not-very-political new managers and so on." Maximhad read that issue of The Economist.
"Correct." Agnes began to explain what little she had gleaned from the meeting. Maxim listened carefully, but with his eyes on the game. Untypically for his age, Chris preferred to play most of his shots to the off rather than drag everything round to leg. But the opposing school couldn't adjust to his rarity and left plenty of useful gaps in the offside field. So he made 32, including two perfect drives that stayed on the ground all the way to the boundary rope. Then, overconfident, he tried a late cut: there was a click, a squeal of joy, and first slip was doing a war-dance. Chris trailed back, dragging his bat in disgust, but loudly clapped by his team and the little group of parents around the scorer's shack in the corner of the field. In a prep school match, a score of 32 rates with a Test century.
When he had smiled uneasily through the congratulations, and taken off his pads, Chris came down to them. He looked at Agnes with cautious curiosity, and Maxim introduced them. "Miss Algar works for the Home Office and liaises with Number 10."
Chris shook her hand. He had the natural compactness of a good ball player and a Celtic paleness of skin and darkness of hair, with big golden-brown eyes that saw everything as wildly funny or desperately serious. His mother must have been a smasher, Agnes thought; he doesn't get those looks from our Harry. She glanced covertly at Maxim, who was watching Chris with his usual quiet self-protective smile.
She said: "A very good innings. "
Chris shook his head. "I should never have got out like that. "
"You know what they say in Yorkshire," Maxim offered. "Never make a late cut until September and then only on alternate Tuesdays."
"You've said that before, Daddy."
"I'll say it every time I see you contributing to the Slips' Benevolent Fund. "
Chris looked back at Agnes. "Are you talking work?"
"Just a spot," Maxim said quickly. "We'll come over for tea." In front of the hut, several mothers were setting a trestle table with crockery and unwrapping polite little sandwiches.
Who said we'll go for tea? Agnes thought, briefly annoyed. Chris smiled at her and walked away.
When he was out of earshot, Maxim asked: "Did Six actually admit they were involved in that shooting in Germany?"
"Yes, but only on the grounds that it wasn't their fault. Even that surprised me until I found out afterwards that George had known about it all along; I suppose they didn't want to risk him bringing it up first. And of course the woman wasn't really one of theirs, just some distant freelance, and the back-up with her was some nutty amateur they'd had to use at the last moment-"
"D'you mean Blagg? Did he get mentioned?"
"Not by name, rank or number; I got him out of George afterwards, as well. They said he'd lost his head and started shooting -"
"Blagg? They're claiming he started it?"
"Oh yes. George said you'd got a different version."
"Damned right I have. I've read the German accounts of it all, too. Blagg isn't the type to go off at half cock -"
Agnes held up a placatory hand. "I know, he's SAStrained. But don't waste it on me in any case: I wouldn't believe Six even if they told me they were lying. So then Sir Bruce got hopping mad because nobody would tell him who they were talking about, and asked why they were so certain you were involved, and Six – it was that luminous dong Guy Husband and some new pin-up boy who runs the East German section -said they had their reasons and George could explain more.
George justsat there looking like a State Secret. And Sladen didn't know what was going on, either, but I don't think he wanted to; he was just scared that somebody would start throwing coffee cups and he'd get the blame. The FO chap knew all about it, of course, and any time things looked like coming off the boil he dived in and assured us this could be the biggest coup since the Zimmerman telegram. Oh, it was the merriest morning I've spent in a cow's age, and all the work of little you." She beamed happily at Maxim.
A batsman in the distant adult match clouted a ball that sailed right into the middle of the school pitch. There was a flurry of yelps and scurryings but nobody managed to field it and it rolled almost up to Maxim's feet. He collected and threw it back to the pursuing fielder with an easy gesture – then suddenly clutched at his left side. For a moment Agnes thought he must have pulled a muscle, then giggled as she, and she alone, realised he had come close to spilling his holstered pistol.
He sat down again. "So what in the end got decided?"
"Oh, nothing gotdecided, we just provisionally concurred with each other. Except Sir Bruce agreed Six could search your flat-"
Maxim sat up straight. "Did he buggery!"
"They'd have done it anyway. This way, he could send an officer along from the SIB to make sure they didn't nick your spoons. And George had to agree to go through your files at Number 10."
Maxim wondered why he wasn't more shocked at the instinctive distrust implied by that decision, and sighed as he realised it was because he'd been nearly six months in the atmosphere of Whitehall. "Does George – or Sir Bruce -want me back in London now?"
"At the moment, I think it would suit Georgejust fine if you caught a slow boat to Yokohama. He told Husband he'd have to consult with the rest of the Private Office and maybe even the PM before he could agree to them interrogating you; he may actually be doing that, for all I know, though I think it's more likely he's been waiting for his temper to cool before he briefs you. He's had a rough week.
"Well, what's happened to Blagg, then?"
"They lost him, in Rotherhithe, the day they picked up you."
"Theylost him?"
"They blame you for that, too. They'd already split their team to cover both the gym and some other place, and then split it again to follow you, so Blagg only got the leftovers, spotted them, and took to the hills. "
Maxim chewed that over. "They said all that at the meeting?
"All that except his name and the fact that he was a deserter. I suppose they were scared of what Sir Bruce might say. Whatdoes the Army do about deserters these days?"
"Gets very uptight and doesn't want to talk about them. We're an all-volunteer force now so you shouldn't have any reason to run away. Mostly it's woman trouble, though there's a few went to Sweden rather than Northern Ireland. Poor bastards." Perhaps they had adjusted to the sanitised neutralism of a Stockholm commune, but it seemed an odd life for men who had chosen to become soldiers.
The cricket stopped. The boys headed for the tea-table, not quite hurrying, with the two umpires strolling behind and a frigid few paces apart. Each a master from one of the schools, they had obviously totally disagreed on some decision.
"Good for Blagg," Maxim added thoughtfully. "Giving them the slip."
"He also did it without use of grievous bodily harm. "
"I meant in spotting them at all.1 hadn't thought he'd be all that bright at the bogeyman stuff."
"I don't suppose the team was exactly a thousand-candle-power. You spotted them as well." Agnes clearly wasn't going to take Maxim any more seriously as a spotter of fan clubs than she took Six as an organiser of them.
"So the position is, " Maxim summed up, "that they assume the dead man, Hochhauser, had some document or other, they assume Blagg picked it up, and now they're assuming he gave it to me."