Spy Hook

'Seriously, Bernard. What do you think was the plan? If Frank had been bowler-hatted and replaced by Bret, Bret could only have had that job until his retirement came up. And they could hardly have asked for a special dispensation to keep Bret there.'

'I suppose you are right,' I said. 'I never get to thinking about such long-term possibilities.'

'Then that's a pity,' said Silas, lowering his voice as if saying something confidential and important, a trick he'd developed from his briefing days. 'Perhaps if you gave your mind to such things you wouldn't be getting yourself into such deep water as you are now in.'

'Wouldn't I?'

'Could Dicky Cruyer hold down the Berlin job?' His voice was still soft.

'He wants it,' I said.

'Dicky has no German contacts does he? None that are worth a damn anyway. The Berlin job must have someone with flair, someone with a feeling for the streets, someone who can smell what's going on, quite apart from the departmental input.'

'Someone like Frank?'

'Frank, like your father, was a protege of mine. Yes. Frank has done well there. But age slows a man down. Berlin is a job for someone more resilient, someone much younger who gets out and about. Frank spends too much time at home playing his damned gramophone records.'

'Yes,' I said, and nodded seriously. Gramophone records? Silas knew about Frank's extra-marital amours as well as I did but he preferred to tell the story his way. He was always like that.

'I get the idea, Silas,' I said. The idea was that if I was a good little chap, and didn't keep spreading alarm and despondency with my extra-curricular questions, I might get Berlin. I didn't believe it.

'Do you? I'm so glad,' he said. I got to my feet. 'As a favour to me, Bernard, could you hold off for a couple of days or so…? On the Dodo fellow.'

'I was going over there tonight. He's always home on a Saturday evening,' I said. 'There's some programme he watches on TV.'

'Just until next week. A cooling off period, eh? Better for all concerned, dear boy.'

I looked up at Silas. He was giving me good advice but I was wound up tight and ready to confront the little swine. He stared at me, not giving an inch. 'If you insist,' I said reluctantly.

'You won't regret your decision,' said Silas. 'I'll talk to the old man about it. And about you.'

'Thanks for giving me your time, Silas.'

'Why don't you hang on for supper? We'll have a game of billiards.' He held his handkerchief in front of him as if transfixed. For one awful moment I thought he was having a heart attack or some other serious affliction, but then his nose twitched and he sneezed.

'You should be in bed, Silas,' I said. 'You've got flu.'

He didn't persist. Silas was old and set in his ways. He didn't like visits at short notice and he didn't want unscheduled dinner guests. He wiped his nose and said, 'No news from your wife?'

'Nothing.'

'It must be difficult for you but don't give up,' said Silas. 'When are you going to bring the children to see me?'

I looked up in surprise. It had never occurred to me that Silas would welcome such an intrusion into his jealously guarded little world. 'Any time,' I said awkwardly. 'Today week? Lunch?'

'Splendid!' He looked out of the window and said, 'I'll tell Mrs Porter to be sure the sirloin is underdone. And a Charlotte Russe to follow? Billy likes that doesn't he?'

The old man's eye for detail could still astound me; so he'd noticed Billy's appetite for Mrs Porter's rare roast beef and the Charlotte Russe. 'Yes, we all do,' I said.

'We don't have to tempt you; you like everything,' said Silas dismissively. 'Sometimes I wish you were more selective.'

I took it as a comment upon aspects of my life other than my appetite for Charlotte Russe, but I didn't pursue it.

At the time I undertook not to see Dodo I meant it. But it was a resolve hard to stick to as I drove back to London, turning over in my mind everything that had happened.

By the time I got to the outer suburbs I had decided to disregard Silas' request to lay off Dodo. All my instincts told me to go for him and go now.

Dodo had emerged as a truly remarkable freeloader, so I was not surprised that he'd obtained the rent-free use of a house. It belonged to a Hungarian couple he'd met through Gloria's parents. The owners were having a winter holiday in Madeira. It was an elegant old house in Hampton Wick. Positioned between the river and the grounds of Hampton Court Palace, it stood in a quiet back street of early Victorian houses of varying shapes and sizes.

It was growing dark by the time I arrived, the sky purple with that hazy moon that is said to portend rain. The street lamps showed that number eighteen stood alone and back from the road. Rising over its eight-foot-tall garden wall I could see its intricate ironwork balcony, complete with curving pagoda-style top. The contrived seclusion, and the delicacy of the design, immediately suggested it as the sort of villa in which some alluring concubine might have passed her long lonely days.

The wrought-iron gate gave on to a small front garden. I stood there a moment and looked again at the house. The curtains were carelessly closed so that chinks of light were to be seen in almost every window. It was a bitterly cold night and the only sounds to be heard came from cars going along the main road towards Kingston Bridge.

I went up the steps to the bright green front door. There was no doorbell so I hammered loudly, using a brass lion's-head knocker. There was a long time before I heard movement inside. I had the feeling that someone might have gone to one of the upstairs windows to see who it was. Eventually the door opened to reveal Dodo. He was dressed in a white roll-neck sweater, grey cotton jacket, grey cord slacks and loafers with leather tassels. 'Ahhh! Good evening!' he said. 'So you tracked me down.'

'Can I come in?'

He didn't answer immediately. He clung to the door edge and looked me up and down. 'Very well,' he said without much enthusiasm. 'Come in and have a drink.'

He led the way through the hall, past the bentwood coatstand and the big mirror. He didn't suggest that I should take off my overcoat. He ushered me into a room at the back. It was a large room with a grand piano, a couple of easy chairs and some small antique tables cluttered with an array of snuff boxes and chinaware. The Victorian wallpaper provided a jungle of printed vegetation and the only light came from a brass fixture that directed all its rays upon the sheet music displayed on the piano.

The room smelled musty and unused, the window was shuttered and the piano wore a grey sheen of dust. Dodo turned to face me. 'Now what is it?' he said. His voice was hard and belligerent and his eyes glittered fiercely. I guessed he'd been on the booze but you could never be sure of anything with Dodo.

'Listen, Dodo,' I said. 'We'd better get one thing straight…'

He had moved as if reaching past me, but smoothly and without warning he straightened, and bringing his fist forward slammed me in the guts with enough force to wind me. As I bent forward, choking for air, the edge of his hand came down upon the side of my neck. It was a very well-placed karate chop and the pain of it set fire to every nerve in my body.

As I was doubled over and coughing my dinner up he lashed out with a vicious kick. But with my head down I saw his foot coming and lurched aside so that his shoe did no more than graze my arm.

My overcoat had protected me against the full effect of his blows. Had Dodo got me to take off my overcoat in the hall I would by then have been laid out. Another kick but wide of the mark this time. I reached out in the hope of grabbing his foot but he was too fast for me. Too fast and too experienced. I had underestimated Dodo all along the line: underestimated his brains, his influence, his malevolence and his physical strength.