‘You are probably right there,’ Lytten said.
‘The final proof was that man who showed up, and the attack on Volkov.’
‘I see you have been thinking hard. Are you planning to whisk me off somewhere?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then before we leave, Sam Wind, I would like a word in private, if you don’t mind. It won’t take long.’
Wind looked suspicious, then nodded.
‘I think the study still has some glass in the panes. If your friend would stay here...’
Lytten led Wind out of the doors and across the entrance hall. ‘Poor fellow. Half an hour of Gertie and he’ll be the one who goes over to Moscow.’
The room was dark, cold and dusty. It had been his great-uncle’s once, and Lytten thought he could just make out the last whiffs of the pipe tobacco the man had smoked, a peculiar concoction, cherry-flavoured Cavendish, that he had blended specially for him in a tobacconist’s on Holborn. Lytten stood by the fireplace — why he wasn’t certain, as it had not been lit for years. It was where his great-uncle had liked to denounce the iniquities of the unions, or the socialists, or the Germans, or anyone who had recently incurred his wrath.
‘Right then. Sit down and listen, if you will. It won’t take long, and then you can take such action as you please. You believe I have incriminated myself. You decide to take Volkov away, so I immediately summon aid from the Soviet embassy, which organises a rapid assassination attempt. Or maybe it was Chang. Rather peculiar behaviour, don’t you think? I may be getting addled, but I am not so far gone that I could not have killed Volkov myself the moment I saw him in Paris.’
‘Volkov is in hospital with a bullet in him.’
‘So you tell me. How is the poor fellow?’
‘He will survive. He was damned lucky.’
‘Good, good.’ Lytten paused for a moment to reflect. ‘That makes it all much easier. Although it is going to be very difficult to explain to him.’
‘I’m sure he understands all too well.’
‘I’m sure he doesn’t. It’s not what he signed up for.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘His name is David Kupransky. A part-time lecturer in Russian literature. Always a bit short of cash since his wife left him. She had the money, you see. A great pity, but she found his extravagant White Russian ways a little too much after a while...’
‘Henry!’
‘Hmm? Oh. Yes. I offered him a little money to take part in some amateur theatricals. I wrote the note, sent it to myself via Portmore, and packed him off to Paris, just to see what would happen when he said he could identify a traitor in the service. He was very convincing, I must say, although he hammed it up rather. The point is, I would hardly go to such lengths to shoot a colleague. Common-room politics can get nasty on occasion, but rarely that bad.’
‘You can prove this?’
‘Of course I can. Very easily. Even if he dies, his wife will be able to identify him.’
‘So what about Volkov? The real one? Was there a real one?’
Lytten shrugged. ‘I knew someone of that name in Berlin, but I’ve not heard anything of him since. He might have been shot, for all I know.’
‘All of this was a trick? Why?’
‘To catch you. Portmore’s orders. Or rather, not to catch you.’
Sam Wind tried to take up a pose of knowing lack of concern, and Lytten leant against the mantelpiece and wished he had a pipe.
‘I have gone through everyone over the last two years, Sam. Portmore was convinced there was a traitor and told me to find him before he retired. I didn’t want to, but you know how persuasive he is. So I did as he asked, ticking you all off my list, one by one. Slogged through the papers, the old reports. I laid little traps to see who responded. Nothing. Two years of work, and nothing. Not even the suggestion of a bite.
‘So I was down to you. Everyone else could be cleared. You were the last. Poor old Portmore was getting very agitated by this stage, or as agitated as he ever gets, and I felt sure I was close to finding out. You were the only person I hadn’t checked on.
‘Then it occurred to me that I should be thorough. There was a huge gaping hole in my investigation; one other person I’d left out. So I decided to do both at the same time.’
‘Who was that?’
‘Portmore himself,’ Lytten said. ‘I could see a trial where some defence counsel tried to get you off by besmirching his reputation, making innuendos and asking why he hadn’t been subject to the same investigation as everyone else. So I gave some information about Volkov to you, some to Portmore.
‘I told him I was going to Paris, but I didn’t tell you, and I was followed. I told you, but not Portmore, when Volkov was coming to Oxford, and that man Chang showed up.
‘So it was even. Either of you could be the one. Except that Mr Chang, my watcher, was a nobody. He’s reappeared, by the way, and you can talk to him yourself. The point is, he is completely harmless and was only interested in that manuscript you just took off me. I came to fetch it as I felt somewhat guilty about him getting an arrow in his backside.’
‘A what?’
‘A long story. The point is that I didn’t have any proof one way or the other, so I had one last go. When you stuffed Volkov into a van and packed him off to a secure location, I rang Portmore to say where he was going and when he would arrive. Two hours later, he was shot. Couldn’t have been you. You were with me all the time, or with that young man from counter-intelligence next door. You didn’t make a phone call. You could not possibly have ordered the attack, and only one other person could have done it. As I say, it is going to be hard to apologise enough to Kupransky. Do you think you could get him a proper lectureship in London? Something with a nice pension?’
‘Henry, you are being—’
‘Portmore isn’t afraid of handing the Service over to a Russian spy when he retires, Sam. He is afraid of not handing it over to a Russian spy.’
Lytten now sat down next to Wind, rubbing his hands together to ward off the cold. ‘You are — must be — a front runner for Portmore’s job. He wanted you out of the way and discredited so his own candidate would succeed. He even told me he thought it necessary to bypass all the senior candidates. If I could somehow nail you that would have been good, but I’m sure his idea was that I should come up with nothing conclusive. He would then argue that a shadow hung over everyone, so you would all have to be passed over just in case. Gontal gave me the idea.’
‘Who?’
‘Doesn’t matter.’
‘Who is his candidate?’
‘I have no idea. We will just have to wait and see.’
‘You mean leave him in his post? That’s ridiculous.’
‘Think of the entirely false information you can funnel to the Russians. Think of the ways you now have of guarding the few people we have left. Think of the pleasure of waiting until his chosen successor is named, then grabbing both of them.’
‘Are you sure of this?’
‘I have tried not even to think about it too much. But yes. I am sure.’
Wind sat disconsolately on the settee, looking, for the first time in years, incapable of dealing with the situation.
‘I’m sorry, Sam. I have had longer to get used to the idea than you have. I revered Portmore as well. He was — and in his way he still is — courageous and loyal. He was magnificent during the war, but I am certain he is the spy we’ve all been hunting for so many years. If you set up a proper investigation I’m sure you will find enough to confirm it.’
‘It is a thin case.’
‘At the moment. It would not stand up in court, and if the Americans ever find out that every secret they shared was as good as posted direct to Moscow, we would never be able to hold our heads up in public again.’