Devereaux stared at him for a moment. “I thought this could be handled reasonably,” he said.
“I’m a reasonable man, everyone around these parts knows that,” Pim said.
“Dammit,” Devereaux said wearily. He stared at the glass of gin as though deciding something. He picked up the glass and drained it. “There isn’t time to convince you. I need information.”
“Just why do you come to me?”
“You’re posturing,” Devereaux said. “I told you that I didn’t have time.”
“Well, I don’t know who you are then,” Pim began.
Then he saw the gun.
Everyone in the public house saw the gun at the same time.
One of the dart players looked at it and then turned and finished throwing his last dart at the board. Oddly, because he was a good player, the dart missed the board completely. The player turned and stood still.
Everyone in the room stood still.
The landlord came down the bar. “Look here, what’s this about? Is that a gun?”
“Come one, Pim,” Devereaux said.
“You can’t do this, you—”
Devereaux pulled back the hammer. They all heard the click, saw the hammer poised behind the firing pin.
It was extraordinary. Everyone stood still and did not speak.
Pim turned, looked at the country faces arrayed in the brightly lit bar. Then he stared outside.
“These Wild West tactics won’t succeed. You’re in England and—”
“I know where we are. I want you to drive. Not your car, mine. Across the road.”
The rental Toyota waited for them. The engine was powerful and Pim bucked the car to life. Devereaux sat beside him but not within easy cutting range. The knife was in Pim’s right sleeve, and he would have to reach across his own body to slash at the other.
Devereaux held the gun steadily.
“Are you going to kill me?” Pim asked. He was not even certain it was his own voice.
“No,” Devereaux said. “I want information. I told you.”
“About Felker. He bolted us. If you know who I am, you know that. Took the ferry out of Harwich last February was—”
“Who killed the Soviet agent?”
“Felker.”
“No.”
“Oh, you were there.”
“No.”
“Then you wanted information; I gave you information.”
“I want the truth this time. This doesn’t concern you anymore. It concerns us. I want information.”
“What’s your name?”
“That isn’t important.”
“Where are we going?”
“I want you to drive through the village and take the road you took to the place where Reed was found. You know the road.”
“Yes.”
“You took it there when you killed Reed.”
“I…I killed Reed?”
“Of course. You or someone you hired. I don’t care about that. I want to know what Reed knew; I want to know about Felker, what he thought he had.”
Pim decided.
He had to get this man out of the car, into a position for a quick cut. Right across the face, push him back. Maybe right into the fen. The same place they had pushed the body of Reed.
“Reed was the Soviet agent.”
“I know. But why did Felker bolt?”
“Found something. Information.”
“And you went to Reed to find out what it was.”
“Yes. How did you know Felker didn’t kill him?”
“It made no sense. If he had what he had — if he had enough to try to sell it to us — then he had no reason to kill Reed and draw the trail to him. He had every reason to keep Reed alive. You were the network master; you had every reason to see him dead.”
“You’re a detective, a fucking detective is what you are,” Pim said, his voice slipping into the rhythm of the East End of London.
“What did Reed know?”
“We never found out—”
“Nonsense. You wouldn’t have killed him without finding it out. What did Reed know?”
“We turn here.”
The Toyota followed the narrow road over the little hump of land and then down the same path to the channel cut along the farmer’s land. It was the spot — or near it — where Gaunt and Pim had dumped Reed.
“Get out,” Devereaux said.
Pim climbed out of the car. The lights were still on.
“Get over there.”
Pim followed the way indicated by Devereaux’s wave of the pistol. The black metal shone in the light of the headlamps.
Pim walked up the little rise to the embankment of the channel.
“Here?”
“Yes.”
Devereaux suddenly put the car in gear and pushed into the grassy field. He stopped a moment before striking Pim. Pim felt he was on a precipice, with the fen behind him, the auto in front of him. Devereaux turned off the headlamps, but the engine purred on.
“Now tell me about Reed.”
“This is ridiculous. Yank. We’re on the same bloody side, ain’t we?”
“The reason you were spying at Mildenhall and Lakenheath…”
“Countersecurity,” Pim babbled. He felt the knife case, but it was hopeless. “We were trying to track down a Soviet agent.”
“You were spying on the American base. The Soviet just fell into your net by mistake. And you killed him after you found out what you wanted to know.”
“Look, can’t we go back to the pub, just sit down and sort this out?”
“I told you, there’s some urgency. If I hit you now, you’ll go into the broad. I’m about ten feet from you. If I hit you hard enough, I can break your legs. There’s a good chance you won’t even live.”
“Jesus, Yank.”
“What did Reed know?”
“Nothing, not a damned thing—”
The engine roared.
“But wait! Wait! He had notes. He had kept bloody fucking messages!”
The engine subsided.
“What did the message say?”
“I don’t know.”
The motor roared again.
“I don’t know, Yank. I kept on him…after Felker bolted. It seemed pretty damned odd, some of it. I mean, why did he have all those bits of information written down? He was in an enemy country.”
“Maybe he wanted you to have them. After you turned him.”
“That doesn’t make any sense.”
Devereaux got out of the car and stood still, his pistol pointed at Pim but invisible in the rural darkness. The night sky was overcast, bereft of moon or stars; only the smell of the sea was in the air.
“If you had turned Felker, you would have had a bunch of goodies to bring back to London.”
“I’m not denying it. That’s what we’re in business for. Same as you, same as me. Except Felker upset our plans.”
“Maybe more than your plans,” Devereaux said, seeing something beyond this moment. “Didn’t you ask him about all those messages he had?”
“He had instructions. To save them.” Even as Pim said it, both men knew it sounded incredible.
“I swear to God, Yank, that’s what he told me.”
“And you thought it was the truth.”
“I knew it. Read wasn’t able to lie. Not after a while.”
“Why did he save the messages?”
“He knew about Felker. Knew we wanted to turn him. He was playing a game with Felker. Felker had…had become his lover. Reed was a flaming fairy, bloody great queen.”
“And he wanted something to bring across,” Devereaux said.
“That’s it,” Pim said. “He saved messages and the code book.”
“What was the code?”
“Dammit, Yank, I could slip and fall—”
“What was the book?”
“England Made Me.” Pim managed a sneer. “Ever heard of it?”
“Greene,” Devereaux said. “Published in the States as The Shipwrecked. I liked the English title better.”
“So much for modern literature,” Pim said. “Can I come down now?”