Munro came in, also suited, and shook his hand. He was followed by an older man in a cutaway frock coat – very old fashioned – who was introduced as Colonel Massinger. Massinger had a sallow, seamed face and a rasping voice as if he were recovering from laryngitis. His thinning dark hair was flattened against his skull with copious, gleaming oil and his teeth were noticeably brown as if stained from chewing tobacco. Then Fyfe-Miller appeared, jovial and energetic, and Lysander’s mind began to work faster. Tea was offered and politely declined. In fact he realized he was suddenly feeling a little nauseous – this encounter seemed more like a tribunal – he doubted if he’d be able to drink a cup of tea without heaving.
After a few pleasantries (‘Enjoy your leave?’) he was handed a piece of paper by Massinger. Written on it were columns of numbers. He studied it – it made no sense.
3 14 11 2
11 21 2 3
24 15 7 10
3 2 2 7
And so on.
‘What do you make of that?’ Munro asked.
‘Some sort of code?’
‘Precisely. We have an agent working for us in Geneva who, over the last few months, has intercepted six letters containing sheets of paper like this.’
An ‘agent’, Lysander thought? ‘Intercepted’? What is this, he wondered, some War Office intelligence briefing?
‘This type of code is classic,’ Munro said. ‘It’s called a one-on-one cipher because it can’t be cracked – impossible – as its key is known only to the person sending it and the person receiving it.’
‘Right.’
‘What we need you to do, Rief,’ Massinger butted in, as if he was in a hurry and had to go off to another appointment somewhere, ‘is to go to Geneva, meet our agent there who will then lead you to the man who is receiving these messages.’
‘May I ask who this man is?’
‘A German consular official.’
Lysander felt a near-uncontrollable urge to begin laughing. He wondered if refusing a cup of tea had been a mistake. He would have liked something to sip.
‘And what would I do then?’
‘Persuade this consular official to give us the key that will allow us to decrypt this cipher.’
Lysander said nothing. He nodded his head a few times as if this were the most reasonable task in the world.
‘How do you imagine I might “persuade” him?’
‘Use your ingenuity,’ Fyfe-Miller interrupted.
‘A large bribe would probably be the most effective method,’ Munro said.
‘Why me?’
‘Because you’re completely unknown,’ Colonel Massinger said. ‘Geneva is like a cesspit of spies and informants, agents, couriers. Buzz, buzz, buzz. Any Englishman arriving in the city, whatever his cover story, is noted within minutes. Logged, investigated and, sooner or later, exposed.’
Lysander was fairly sure that his features remained impassive.
‘I’m English,’ he said, reasonably. ‘So surely the same thing will inevitably happen to me.’
‘No,’ Massinger said, showing his stained teeth in a faint smile. ‘Because you will have ceased to exist.’
‘Actually, I wouldn’t mind a cup of tea after all.’
Fyfe-Miller went to the door and tea was ordered, duly appeared, and they all helped themselves to a cup from the pot.
‘Maybe I put that last statement a little over-dramatically,’ Massinger said, stirring his tea endlessly. Clink-clink-clink. ‘You would be reported “Missing in Action”. And during that time you would journey to Geneva under a different identity. Clandestinely.’
‘Your new identity will be that of a Swiss railway engineer,’ Munro continued. ‘Your arrival in Switzerland, your “return home”, as it were, will cause no notice. You will contact our agent and receive further instructions.’
‘Am I allowed to know what this is all about?’
Munro looked at Massinger. Massinger stopped stirring his tea.
‘It’s very complicated, Rief,’ Massinger said. ‘I don’t know if you’ve been following the war news closely, but this year we have embarked on several significant “pushes” – big attacks – at Neuve Chapelle, Aubers Ridge and recently at Festubert. They haven’t been complete disasters but let’s say we failed signally in almost all of our objectives.’ He put his cup down. ‘It was as if we were expected, if you know what I mean. Trenches opposite were reinforced, new redoubts built, reserves were in place for counter-attacks, extra artillery behind the support lines. Almost uncanny . . . We suffered very, very heavy casualties.’
His voice trailed off and he looked, for a second, a worried and almost desperate man.
Munro took over.
‘We think – to be blunt – that, somewhere in our high command, there is . . .’ he paused, as if the concept were eluding him. ‘No, there’s no other way of putting it – there’s a traitor. Passing on intelligence of our forthcoming attacks to the enemy.’
‘And you think these coded messages are evidence,’ Lysander said.
‘Exactly.’ Fyfe-Miller leaned forward. ‘The beauty of this is that, as soon as we have these codes deciphered, we’ll know who he is. We’ll have him.’
Fyfe-Miller was staring at him with that odd hostile-friendly intensity he had. Lysander felt his mouth go dry and a muscle-tremor start up in his left calf. Fyfe-Miller smiled at him.
‘We know what you can do, Rief – remember? We’ve seen your capabilities in Vienna, seen you in action. That’s why we thought of you. You speak excellent German and you’re an unknown face and an unknown quantity. You’re intelligent, you think on your feet.’
‘I don’t suppose I can do anything but volunteer.’
Munro spread his hands apologetically.
‘It’s not an option available to you, I’m afraid,’ he said. ‘Not volunteering.’
Lysander exhaled. In a way, he thought, being backed into a corner was better than being asked to do your duty.
‘However,’ Massinger said, ‘there is the matter of your outstanding debt to His Majesty’s Government since the Vienna business. Somewhere above one thousand pounds, now, I believe.’
‘We would see this mission as payment in full,’ Munro said. ‘A recognition of the somewhat unorthodox nature of the task we’re asking you to perform.’
‘Fair exchange is no robbery,’ Fyfe-Miller said.
Lysander nodded as if he knew what he was talking about. He kept hearing Hamo’s words: any fool can obey an order – it’s how you interpret it that counts.
‘Well, that’s an incentive, at any rate,’ he said, with admirable calm, he thought. ‘I’m ready when you are.’
Everybody smiled. Another pot of tea was called for.
11. Autobiographical Investigations
Fyfe-Miller then took me upstairs to a bedroom. On the bed was a suitcase that he flipped open.
‘It’s your new uniform,’ he said. ‘You’re now a lieutenant – on lieutenant’s pay – attached to the General Staff. We’ll take you up to the line – we think we’ve calculated the best place – and you can go out on a patrol one night –’ he stopped and smiled. ‘Don’t look so worried, Rief. You’re going to have masses of briefings before you go. You’ll know the plan better than your family history. Why don’t you try it on?’
Fyfe-Miller stepped out on to the landing while I undressed and put on my new uniform, complete with red, staff-officer flashes on the lapels. It fitted perfectly and I said as much to Fyfe-Miller.
‘Your tailor, Jobling, was very helpful.’ He looked at me and smiled one of his slightly manic grins. ‘To the manor born, Rief. Very smart.’
Once again I wonder what machinations have been going on behind the scenes. How had they known about Jobling? Perhaps not so hard to find out, I suppose. I think of these three men and their new influence over me and my destiny: Munro, Fyfe-Miller and Massinger. A duo I know – a little – and an unknown. Who’s in charge of this show? Massinger? If so, whom does he report to? Is Fyfe-Miller a subordinate to the other two? Questions build. My life seems to be running on a track I have nothing to do with – I’m a passenger on a train but I have no idea of the route it’s taking or its final destination.