Daniel Silva - The Unlikely Spy

The silence was broken for a few minutes at nine o'clock, when Harry Dalton walked into the room, his face and arm bandaged. Everyone stood and crowded around him- Well done, Harry, old boy… deserve a medal… you kept us in the game, Harry… be all over if not for you…

Vicary pulled him into his office. "Shouldn't you be lying down resting?"

"Yeah, but I wanted to be here instead."

"How's the pain?"

"Not too bad. They gave me something for it."

"You still have any doubts about how you would react under fire on the battlefield?"

Harry managed a half smile, looked down, and shook his head. "Any breaks yet?" he asked, quickly changing the subject.

Vicary shook his head.

"What have you done?"

Vicary brought him up to date.

"Bold move, Rudolf coming back for her like that, snatching her from under our nose. He's got guts, I'll say that for him. How's Boothby taking it?"

"About as well as can be expected. He's upstairs with the director-general now. Probably planning my execution. We have an open line to the Underground War Rooms and the prime minister. The Old Man's getting minute-by-minute updates. I wish I had something to tell him."

"You've covered every possible option. Now you just have to sit and wait for something to break. They have to make a move somewhere. And when they do, we'll be onto them."

"I wish I could share your optimism."

Harry grimaced with pain and appeared suddenly very tired. "I'm going to go and lie down for a while." He walked slowly toward the door.

Vicary said, "Is Grace Clarendon on duty tonight?"

"Yeah, I think so."

The telephone rang. Basil Boothby said, "Come upstairs straightaway, Alfred."

The green light shone over Boothby's door. Vicary went inside and found Sir Basil pacing and chain smoking. He had stripped off his jacket, his waistcoat was unbuttoned, and he had loosened his tie. He angrily waved Vicary toward a chair and said, "Sit down, Alfred. Well, the lights are burning all over London tonight: Grosvenor Square, Eisenhower's personal headquarters at Hayes Lodge, the Underground War Rooms. And they all want to know one thing. Does Hitler know it's Normandy? Is the invasion dead even before we begin?"

"We obviously have no way of knowing yet."

"My God!" Boothby ground out his cigarette and immediately lit another one. "Two Special Branch officers dead, two more wounded. Thank God for Harry."

"He's downstairs now. I'm sure he'd like to hear that from you in person."

"We don't have time for pep talks, Alfred. We need to stop them and stop them quickly. I don't have to explain the stakes to you."

"No, you don't, Sir Basil."

"The prime minister wants updates every thirty minutes. Is there anything I can tell him?"

"Unfortunately, no. We've covered every possible route of escape. I wish I could say with certainty that we'll catch them, but I think it would be unwise to underestimate them. They have proven that time and time again."

Boothby resumed his pacing. "Two men dead, three wounded, and two spies possessing the knowledge to unravel our entire deception plan running loose. Needless to say, this is the worst disaster in the history of this department."

"Special Branch went in with the force they deemed necessary to arrest her. Obviously, they made a miscalculation."

Boothby stopped pacing and fixed a gunman's gaze on Vicary. "Don't attempt to blame Special Branch for what happened, Alfred. You were the senior man on the scene. That aspect of Kettledrum was your responsibility."

"I realize that, Sir Basil."

"Good, because when this is all over an internal review will be convened and I doubt your performance will be viewed in a favorable light."

Vicary stood up. "Is that all, Sir Basil?"

"Yes."

Vicary turned and walked toward the door.

The distant wail of the air-raid sirens started up while Vicary was taking the stairs down to Registry. The rooms were in half darkness, just a couple of lights burning. Vicary, as always, noticed the smell of the place: rotting paper, dust, damp, the faint residue of Nicholas Jago's vile pipe. He looked at Jago's glass-enclosed office. The light was out and the door was closed tightly. He heard the sharp smack of women's shoes and recognized the angry cadence of Grace Clarendon's brisk parade-ground march. He saw her shock of blond hair flash past the stacks like an apparition, then vanish. He followed her into one of the side rooms and called her name from a long way off so as not to startle her. She turned, stared at him with hostile green eyes, then turned away from him again and resumed her filing.

"Is this official, Professor Vicary?" she said. "If it's not, I'm going to have to ask you to leave. You've caused enough problems for me. If I'm seen talking to you again I'll be lucky to get a job as a bloody blackout warden. Please leave, Professor."

"I need to see a file, Grace."

"You know the procedure, Professor. Fill out a request slip. If your request is approved, you can see the file."

"I won't be given approval to see the file I need to see."

"Then you can't see it." Her voice had taken on the cold efficiency of a headmistress. "Those are the rules."

The first bombs fell, across the river by the feel of it. Then the antiaircraft batteries in the parks opened up. Vicary heard the drone of Heinkel bombers overhead. Grace stopped her filing and looked up. A slick of bombs fell nearby-too damned close, because the whole building shook and files tumbled from the shelves. Grace looked at the mess and said, "Bloody hell."

"I know Boothby is making you do things against your will. I heard you quarreling in his office, and I saw you getting into his car in Northumberland Avenue last night. And don't tell me you're seeing him romantically, because I know you're in love with Harry."

Vicary noticed the shine of tears in her green eyes, and the file in her hand begin to tremble.

"It's your bloody fault!" she snapped. "If you hadn't told him about the Vogel file, I wouldn't be in this mess."

"What is he making you do?"

She hesitated. "Please leave, Professor. Please."

"I'm not leaving until you tell me what Boothby wanted you to do."

"Dammit, Professor Vicary, he wanted me to spy on you! And on Harry!" She forced herself to lower her voice. "Anything Harry told me-in bed or anywhere else-I was supposed to tell him."

"What did you tell him?"

"Anything Harry mentioned to me about the case and the progress of the investigation. I also told him about the Registry search you requested." She pulled a handful of files from her cart and resumed her filing. "I heard Harry was involved in that mess at Earl's Court."

"He was indeed. In fact, he's the man of the hour."

"Was he hurt?"

Vicary nodded. "He's upstairs. The doctors couldn't keep him in bed."

"He probably did something stupid, didn't he? Trying to prove himself. God, he can be such a stupid, stubborn idiot sometimes."

"Grace, I need to see a file. Boothby's going to sack me when this business is over, and I need to know why."

She stared at him, a grave expression on her face. "You're serious, aren't you, Professor?"

"Unfortunately, yes."

She looked at him wordlessly for a moment while the building shuddered with the shock waves of the bombs.

"What's the file?" she asked.

"An operation called Kettledrum."

Grace furrowed her eyebrows in confusion. "Isn't that the code name of the operation you're involved in now?"

"Yes."

"Hold on a minute. You want me to risk my neck to show you the file on your own case?"

"Something like that," Vicary said, "except I want you to cross-reference it with a different case officer."

"Who?"

Vicary looked directly into her green eyes and mouthed the initials BB.