John Gardner - Seafire

She gave a resigned sigh. "Might as well talk to a brick wall."

Everyone except M was gathered in the reading room at the Home Office, and two members of the Security Service loitered in the passageway outside the door.

"Ah, our wanderer returns." The Minister spoke with a little surprise. "Tanner, you didn't tell us that Captain Bond was back."

"He wasn't, sir. Not when I spoke with you early this morning."

"With your permission, Minister, I'd like to tell you exactly what I've been doing in Germany."

"Of course. Go ahead. Nobody's going to stop you."

So Bond gave what he later called his "recital," particularly stressing the facts concerning Tarn's German citizenship and the scene he had witnessed on the previous evening. When he came to the end, the Minister asked if he could be excused for a moment. "I have someone coming over from the Foreign Office." He made toward the door and had almost reached it when Bond stopped him.

"Minister, I'm afraid I am the bearer of even worse news."

"Oh?"

"I suggest you stay and hear me out."

Reluctantly, the Minister returned to his seat, grumbling that he hoped this would not take long.

"I've made no secret of the fact that I've been unhappy with MicroGlobe One from the outset," Bond began, and Wimsey made an exasperated noise.

"We're not going into all that again, surely."

"I'm afraid we have to, Commissioner. My feeling is that Tarn has been leading us a merry dance from the beginning. For instance, who actually suggested that Fräulein von Grüsse and myself should tip him off about the impending search-and-seizure warrants?"

"Not me," Wimsey proclaimed loudly.

"No." Bond looked at him, steely-eyed. "No, Claude, I'm now sure it wasn't you. The whole of that idea was rather cleverly arranged. You voiced the idea, but someone else put it into your mind. Have any of you really thought deeply about how Tarn could have faked his death at such short notice? That business on the way to Duxford wasn't organized on the fly. It had been set up long before Fredericka and I even arrived in Cambridge." He made a gesture toward Tanner, who nodded and left the room.

"There are other matters, which I touched on very briefly when we were last gathered here. How in blazes could your people, Wimsey – the police – and the Security Service have been so left-footed when Tarn and company came back into England? How did the timing work when Fredericka and I went up to Hall's Manor and found Lady Tarn's body? There are too many coincidences, and Tarn had just too much luck. He and his partners knew I would be in Wasserburg well before my arrival. I very nearly lost my life in Germany, and there's a possibility that Tarn actually thinks I am dead." He turned to Flicka. "That's why I didn't talk to you very much when I got back this morning, my dear. I'm covered in bruises and my right arm's giving me a little trouble, but I'm sure the dog that bit me wasn't rabid. As the Führer elect, I am certain Tarn would have made certain that his stable of guard dogs is free from any infection."

"Where are we actually going with this?" asked the Minister.

"Bear with me, Minister."

Tanner came back into the room carrying the tape recorder they had used on the previous occasion.

"You see, ladies and gentlemen." Bond indicated that the machine should be put on the table. "Max Tarn could not have pulled off his various little dodges unless he had a very special kind of help. Help from inside this room."

"Oh." Wimsey sighed. "Who the hell do you think…?"

"I don't think, Claude. I know. I know because our mole – as they say in the spy novels – left his voice behind in Germany."

"What're you talking about, Bond? How much more of this -"

Tanner, who had inserted the tape, pressed the Play button.

"This is most urgent," said the Minister's voice on the tape. "An agent from the British Intelligence Service is on his way to Wasserburg. His mission is to run a check on Max and on the current Tarnenwerder situation…"

There was an audible gasp, even from the Director General of the Security Service, and the Minister tried to make for the door.

"No good, sir." A pistol had appeared, like some smart conjuring trick, in Tanner's hand. "There are people waiting for you there."

"This is… That's a fake… Someone's…" the Minister blustered, stood, sat down, and then stood again. His manner now was of defeat.

Tanner suggested that he surrender to the Security Service people outside, and as the door opened. Bond caught a glimpse of the two interrogators nicknamed Burke and Hare, loitering in the background.

"I'm sorry, ma'am," Tanner addressed the DG of MI5. "I'm afraid I've probably overstepped my authority in bringing in a pair of your people."

"Not at all." She waved the apology away. "Well, I suppose I'm the senior member of The Committee for the present, so I'd better take the chair."

"Sorry again, ma'am. After James – er, Captain Bond – telephoned me from Munich almost in the middle of the night, I spoke at length with the Prime Minister. He's appointed a new chairman of MicroGlobe One. A friend of yours, I think. Lord Harvey of Danehill. He's a member of the Joint Intelligence Committee."

"Yes. A very fine man." The DG looked a shade put out.

"He'll take the chair very shortly. He didn't want to come in until this whole business had been dealt with. It is a touchy matter, so the Prime Minister's office has asked that nobody talks about it to anyone outside this room." He turned to Bond. "There wasn't much doubt, even without my hearing the tape. I checked as you asked. He's known Tarn for a long time. Same school. Same house at school also. They've been cronies for years."

"I think," the DG interrupted them, "this would be a good opportunity to take some coffee. We've all been up for quite a long time."

"Want to take a look-see before you face The Committee again?" Tanner asked. "He went to pieces as soon as they took him out."

Bond nodded, reaching for Flicka's hand, and Tanner led them to a small room within shouting distance of the reading room.

He knew this pair of interrogators rarely failed to extract whatever information was held by the target – the "subject," as they called all of their unhappy clients.

The Minister was in his shirtsleeves and seemed to have aged by at least ten years in just over ten minutes.

"Hallo, Minister," Bond greeted him brightly. "Treating you well, then?"

The Minister did not reply, so he looked at the interrogators, raising an eyebrow.

"Coughing like a man smoking seventy a day," Burke smiled.

"Singing arias like Pavarotti." Hare nodded.

"He's admitted complicity?"

"Friend of Max Tarn's for years, he says. He also says that he didn't realize the extent to which the man went. He just helped oil the wheels from time to time, but we know he did more than that."

"May I ask him a couple of things?"

"Be our guest." Hare turned back to the Minister. "You'll have no objection to this gentleman's questions?"

"Depends what he asks." The Minister had that look, deep in his eyes, that said he knew his career had ended and his only chance was to be completely candid.

"I can promise you," Bond began, "that if you come clean, I'll personally do my best to see that we keep all this out of the comic papers. Also, I don't expect anyone will want to shout about your activities from the rooftops. Be really cooperative and you'll not even see the inside of a courtroom."

"I've heard all that before." The Minister did not even look at him.

"I just want information about Tarn's associates. Did you know Lady Tarn's bodyguards? A pair of grotesques called Cuthbert and Archibald?"

"You mean the pair of cross-dressers? Cathy and Anna?"