Len Deighton - Spy Hook

'By doing what?'

'By bursting in on poor old Dodo and giving him the third degree.' Old Silas must have been the last living person still using expressions like third degree.

'Did you know him well?'

'Yes, I remember him well,' said Silas, sitting back in his armchair and staring into the fire. 'His real name was Theodor – Theodor Kiss – so he preferred to be Dodo. A keen worker: bright as a button. A good science degree at Vienna University and a good administrative knack. Lots of languages and dialects too. Dodo could effortlessly pass himself off as a German. Or as an Austrian. Effortlessly!'

'Amazing,' I said.

'Oh, I know you can do the same thing, Bernard. But it's quite an unusual feat. Not many Germans can do it, as I know to my cost. Yes, Dodo was a remarkable linguist.'

'He worked for Gehlen,' I said, to remind Silas that this paragon was an ex-Nazi.

'Most of the best ones had worked for him. They were the only experienced people available for hire. Of course, I never used any of them,' said Silas, perhaps wanting to deflect my wrath. 'Not directly. I stayed clear of Gehlen's ex-employees. Lange Koby took him away with the rest of his gang… What did he call them…?'

'Prussians,' I supplied.

'Yes, "Koby's Prussians", that's right. How could I forget that? My memory is going wonky these days.'

I said nothing.

'Your father too. He wouldn't go near any of them. He was upset when you worked for Lange Koby.'

'I teamed up with Max,' I said. 'Koby came as part of the deal.'

Silas sniffed. 'You should have stayed with your father, Bernard.'

'I know,' I said. He'd touched a nerve.

We sat silent for a few minutes. 'Your Dodo is all right,' said Silas, as if he'd been thinking deeply about it. 'Perhaps a bit too keen to demonstrate his valour, but so were all the ones who'd changed sides. But Dodo, when he settled down he became a loyal, sensible agent; the sort of fellow I would have expected you to be specially sympathetic towards. A man like that must be excused an indiscretion now and again. What?' He got out his handkerchief and wiped his nose.

'Indiscretion?'

'I'd say the same for you, Bernard,' he added before my indignation boiled over. 'Have said it, in fact,' he persisted, to make sure I knew I was indebted to him.

He stopped, perhaps waiting for some gesture of appreciation or agreement. I nodded without putting too much into it. Ever since arriving here I had been considering ways to ask him about the mad allegations about my father. Silas had known my father as well as anyone still alive. They'd served together in Berlin, and in London too. Silas Gaunt could solve just about any mystery that arose out of my father's service if he wanted to. If he wanted to; there's the rub. Silas Gaunt was not a man much given to revealing secrets, even to those entitled to know. And this wasn't the time to ask. That much was clear just from looking at the old man's face. He was not enjoying my visit, despite all the smiles and nods and pleasantries. Perhaps he was just worried about me. Or about Fiona or about my children. Or about Dodo. 'I know you have, Silas,' I said. 'I appreciate it.'

'I want you to promise not to go in there ranting and raving,' said Silas. 'I want you to promise to go along there and talk to him in a conciliatory manner that will make him see your point of view.'

'I'll try,' I said.

'We all have a lot of old comrades in common: the Gebhart twins, "Baron" Busch who took you to Leipzig, Oscar Rhine who said he could swim across Lubeck Bay but couldn't… ' Silas had tried to make light of his list of departed colleagues but couldn't maintain the levity. He wiped his nose and tried again. 'We all grieve for the same old friends, Bernard: you, me, Dodo…No sense in quarrelling amongst ourselves.'

'No,' I said.

'He's been in the business even longer than you have,' said Silas, 'so don't start talking down to him.' This was Silas at his avuncular worst. Sometimes I wondered if he ever spoke to the D-G like this, for I knew that Silas regarded all of us as children attempting a man's job at which he'd excelled.

'No, Silas,' I said, and I must have allowed some trace of my scepticism to show, for there was a twitch of the face that I'd learned to recognize as a sign of anger to come.

But the anger didn't come, or at least it didn't show. 'Tell me again about Bret Rensselaer; is he coming back to work?'

'No chance,' I said. 'He's too sick and too old.'

'They say he wanted Berlin,' said Silas.

'Yes,' I said. 'At the time the rumours said Frank would get his K and retire, and Bret would get Berlin.'

'And then Bret would get his K and retire,' said Silas, completing the scenario that everyone had said was inevitable up to the time that things went wrong and Bret got shot. 'So what was the long-term plan for Berlin?'

I looked at him and wondered what everyone in the Department must have wondered at some time or other: why Silas Gaunt had never got the knighthood that usually came with such retirements. 'Come along, Silas,' I said. 'You know more about what goes on in the minds of the men on the top floor than I will ever find out. You tell me.'

'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.