There were two telephones on the desk: one an outside line, the other connected to the house’s own internal system. A typed list of extension numbers was pinned next to it. lobby. garage. housekeeper. switchboard. security. study. bedroom. Lom took a guess and chose the bedroom. It was almost midnight. He dialled the three-digit number.
And seven miles away in a windowless basement in the headquarters of the Parallel Sector a lamp on a switchboard console winks into life. The night duty operator stubs out her cigarette, puts on her headphones, flicks a switch and begins to type.
Kistler Residential–Internal
23.47 Transcription begins
Kistler: Yes?
Unknown caller: I wish to speak with Lukasz Kistler.
Kistler: This is Kistler. Who the fuck are you?
Caller: You don’t know me.
Kistler: Where are you calling from? How the hell did you get this number?
Caller: I have information for you and I am told you are someone who might make use of it. I am told you are a person of courage and independence. Was I told right?
Kistler: Who is this? What are you talking about? What kind of information?
Caller: Information of consequence. Documentary proofs.
Kistler: Proofs? Proofs of what?
Caller: Proofs that a certain person is not who he says. Proofs of conspiracy. Deception. Assassination. The seizure of power by a revolutionary terrorist operating under a false name with the collusion of certain very senior elements within the official security services.
Kistler: When would this happen?
Caller: It has happened. It has already happened. I am talking about the greatest power there is, and I am talking about incontrovertible documentary proofs.
Kistler: [Pause] Why are you telling me this?
Caller: I want to give these proofs to you. I want you to use them. I am told you are a person who could do this. You have strength of will. You have influence and you are independent of mind. You are also perhaps a decent man. I offer you these proofs, which in the right hands are dangerous–I would say deadly–to the utmost power.
Kistler: Who are you working for?
Caller: Nobody.
Kistler: This is a trap. A loyalty test. Or you are a crank. Either way, I cannot speak to you. Fuck off and leave me alone.
Call disconnected
23.50 Transcription begins
Kistler: Hello?
Unknown caller: I am not a liar. I am not a crank. This is not a trap.
Kistler: Then you are a most dangerous kind of man. You should not have this number.
Caller: I’m offering you a chance to act. To make a change. Perhaps to take power yourself if that’s what you want. The utmost power in the land is a deception. A plot. A man who is not what he seems. See my proofs, Kistler. Let me bring them to you. I will come to your house. See what I have, Kistler. Listen to me, then decide.
Kistler: [Pause] When?
Caller: Now. I am at your gate. All you need do is tell your door security to let me in. [Pause] I’m coming now, Kistler. Five minutes. Tell them to let me in.
Kistler: They will search you.
Caller: That is reasonable. I expected that. I am unarmed. I’m coming now.
Kistler: Wait. Who are you? What is your name?
Call disconnected
23:51–Transcription ends
The transcription operative pulls the sheet from the platen, slides it into an envelope, adds it to the pile in her tray and lights another cigarette. She gives no thought to what she has heard. No reaction at all. Nothing she ever hears leaves any trace: she listens and types and then she forgets. She is a component in a transmission mechanism only, an instrument with no more capacity for retention than the headphones and the typewriter she uses. That’s the safe way, the survivor’s way, and she has been in her job for many years. If she happens to see the consequences of her transcripts later in the rise and fall of magnates and the newspaper reports of arrests and trials, she takes no notice and never says anything. Even to herself she makes no remark.
It’s for others to read the transcripts in the morning and make of them what they will.
3
Lom walked the length of Kistler’s gravel drive in darkness, waiting for the sudden flood of light, the harsh call of a challenge, a bullet in the back. But there was nothing, only the restless animal calls from Kistler’s menagerie in the summer night: the grunting of monkeys, the growl of a big cat. The air was heavy with the scent of orchids and roses. A peacock, startled, disgruntled, stalked away across the starlit lawn.
What am I doing here? Blundering on. Butting my head in the dark against trees to see what fruit falls, and every moment could be my last.
Kistler received him in his study, a dressing gown over his pyjamas. He sat on the couch, chain-smoking, and listened in silence as Lom outlined the facts against Rizhin. Told him the story of the rise of Josef Kantor, the list of his terrorist acts, Lavrentina Chazia’s connection with him, their involvement in the assassination of the Novozhd by Lakoba Petrov. Lom made no mention of the living angel in the forest, Maroussia or the Pollandore.
‘But you haven’t brought me these papers from Chazia’s archive?’ said Kistler when Lom had finished. ‘They’re not with you now?’
‘No.’
‘Then you misled me.’
‘I have them,’ said Lom. ‘They’re nearby but safe, where you will not find them. If I don’t emerge from here in another hour, they will be destroyed.’
‘Perhaps that would be for the best.’
‘They are as I have said.’
‘But who are you? You ask me to take your word on trust, yet I don’t even have a name. You attack my guard and force yourself into my house, and tell me this wild story, which if it’s true—’
‘It is true,’ said Lom. ‘I told you: I have authentic documentary proofs.’
‘If it’s true, for me to even hear it is lethal. Even if it’s not true, look at the position you put me in by coming here. How am I to react? I should make a report immediately, but if I do that Rizhin will feed me to Hunder Rond anyway. You tell me others have died to keep this rumour silent, and I don’t doubt that, even if all the rest of this is horse shit. The only thing I can safely do is have you shot myself, here and now. Get rid of your carcass quietly and forget you ever came. There are a half a dozen VKBD men in the house. It would be straightforward enough to arrange.’
‘You’d have done it long before now, if you were going to,’ said Lom. ‘You wouldn’t have let me reach the door. Though I’m not so easily killed.’
‘Maybe I was curious,’ said Kistler. ‘Maybe I’m not afraid of a little risk. You’re an impressive fellow. You intrigue me. But I need to know who I’m dealing with.’
‘My name is Lom. I used to be a senior investigator in the Political Police. Six years ago I was commissioned by Under-Secretary Krogh to pursue the terrorist Josef Kantor. This is what I have found out.’
‘Used to be?’ said Kistler. ‘And what are you now?’
‘My official career came to an end. I’m freelance now.’
‘You work for no one? Really?’