ADAM HALL - The Mandarin Cypher

The nurse inclined the articulated couch an inch or two lower, so that I was in a half-reclining position. The man in the white gown was working on my hand but I couldn't see it because they'd put a little screen round it.

'I can't feel a thing, you know. They're pretty good, aren't they?'

'Yes.'

I looked at him very straight, 'Listen, old boy, are they very annoyed about that poor little bastard? I mean sod?'

'He was only doing what he thought was right.'

'So was I.' I gave an ironic laugh. 'At least, it was right for me!'

He was watching what they were doing to my hand.

'How did you come to be drifting so near the rig?'

'God knows! It was just the current.'

He nodded slowly, still watching the operation. 'Did you fall off a boat, or something?'

'Not exactly. I was in a rubber dinghy, with an outboard, and I'd put the anchor down while I was diving, you see. Then when I tried to pull it up, it wouldn't budge. So I went down again to free it. Thing was stuck in a whole lot of weed, I was about waist deep in the stuff. Well, I cut the anchor clear, and then had to cut myself clear after that because the stuff was all round my legs. Then I must have lost consciousness, or as good as. I just remember feeling sort of drunk — you know how it feels, do you? D'you do any diving?'

'Not a lot.'

'Kind of narcosis. I'd been down too long-always overdo things, that's me.' I shut my eyes and didn't say any more.

'It doesn't hurt?'

I opened my eyes.

'M'm? No. Can't feel a thing, old boy. No, the fatigue's just catching up on me, I suppose. Bit whacked.'

I shut my eyes again.

'I expect you are.'

'Sorry.'

'That's all right.'

He didn't talk again for a while.

Situation totally zero in terms of a get-out and I didn't like the way they'd brought Tewson in to put the questions because the other two men in here were obviously bugs and understood English perfectly and it meant the intelligence cell knew how to think and I don't like people thinking. They hadn't had any more than a few minutes to brief Tewson and I didn't like the way they'd done that either: he clearly wasn't intelligence but he probably wasn't a fool either and they'd just told him to talk about himself as much as he wanted to, if it would help him put me at my ease, and that meant they were perfectly confident that whatever he told me I wouldn't ever be able to pass on.

The thing that interested me most was his present state of mind. It was so like his wife's: he was lonely, and he was scared. But I didn't think they were scared of the Chinese: they'd got into something deeper than it had looked and they hadn't given themselves a chance to pull out while there was time. In spite of his briefing there'd been no need for him to admit he'd lived in Redhill or that he'd been asked to resign from the golf club because he hadn't paid his fees: I'd been aware of his strong compulsion to reminisce with a fellow-countryman just for a couple of minutes, until he'd remembered the others were listening and that he was meant to interrogate me.

That was why they'd taken him on a lead to the Golden Sands at regular intervals for sexual recreation and wifely reassurance: they didn't want their missiles to get stuck in the tube because their design consultant was spiritually disorientated.

'All over,' he said.

'What is?'

I opened my eyes.

'Your little operation.'

Reaction hit the nerves but stopped short at involuntary muscular stimulation. He wasn't looking at me as he said it: he was unaware of any double meaning.

'It feels fine.'

'They're very skilled.'

The surgeon was peeling off the thin disposable gloves and dropping them into a sani-bin and leaving the nurse to do the final dressing. She looked at me once, not smiling, looking away again, just wanting to know that the capitalist-imperialist dupe was exhibiting the correct clinical reaction following anaesthetized surgical trauma.

They wanted to keep me in good health and this tied in with the Chinese attitude towards captive political or intelligence officers of foreign extraction: they relied more heavily on indoctrination, mind-bending and intensive exploration of the psyche rather than induced physical pain. It also tied in with the way they'd pulled me out of the sea an hour ago: there'd been a sudden alarm raised and for a few minutes I'd been a floating target for half a dozen guns, but after they'd made sure I couldn't do anything they'd got me into the launch and given me the appropriate rescue attention while I rolled my eyes and moaned and so forth.

The only sign of enmity had come from one of the divers when he'd surfaced and seen me lying in the stern: his stream of invective had gone on until one of the officers had cut him short. Possibly he was a close friend of the man I'd killed, perhaps even his brother.

The nurse activated the very expensive-looking surgical couch and tipped me upright.

Thank you,' I said to her. 'Thank-you,' nodding and smiling.

Drew a complete blank so I turned to Tewson.

'This come under the National Health?'

He laughed pleasantly, rocking back an inch on his heels. I thought he probably hadn't seen an Englishman to talk to for a long time: 'National Health' was a very English institution and the phrase had struck another chord with him. I could believe that if I just said 'Piccadilly' or 'God save the Queen' he would have broken down and sobbed on my shoulder. Served him bloody well right: he should've thought of what he was doing before he sold out to the Reds in such a hurry. At least people like Philby had the decency to go on hating our guts after they'd made the break.

But of course he hadn't sold out to the Reds at all.

He'd sold out to Nora.

'When were you in England last?'

I was certain he hadn't meant to ask.

'Me? Oh, couple of months ago. Why?'

'I just wondered how things were over there.'

I gave a short laugh. 'Price of bangers is up again, and you can still get into the News of the World if you leave your flies undone on the Tube.'

We laughed together, real old pals.

He'd sold out to Nora: the girl with a taste for soixante-neuf and Ming. He couldn't give her the one so he gave her the other. A man short on libido doesn't have to be insensitive about it and she wouldn't have spared him: it had gone on for years and he hadn't been able to do anything about it because he wasn't earning enough. Then the chance came and he'd sold two things in the same deal: the design of the missile launcher he was working on, and his conscience. And he'd bought back his pride.

'So I suppose you never saw your dinghy again?'

'My what? Oh-no. Drifted off into the wide blue yonder. Cost me a packet. On my income, anyway.'

'Where were you diving?' he asked casually, and I felt sorry for him: he was a genuine boffin and all he'd got on his mind was a slide-rule and they'd told him to interrogate me and make it sound natural and he just wasn't capable. He was a simple-minded genius and this wasn't his field at all.

'South China Sea,' I told him with a shut face.

'Just doing a bit of scuba fishing, were you?'

'That's right.' Then I put my right hand on his arm and lowered my voice. 'Fact is, old boy, I can't tell you what I was doing because I've been sworn to secrecy. Be breaking my word to a friend, get it? Awfully sorry.'

'That's all right'

He was obviously relieved: he'd put the question they'd told him to put and if I didn't want to answer it he couldn't make me.

The nurse was putting my left arm in a sling and I looked into her blank young face as roguishly as my cover demanded, trying to make her look up at me. No go. She pinned the sling to the white tunic I had on: when they'd brought me on board the rig they'd cut away the remains of the rubber suit and put me into this Mao outfit and together with the sling it made a first class change of image if I'd had any use for one.