Iain Pears - Arcadia

‘A what?’

‘A long story. The point is that I didn’t have any proof one way or the other, so I had one last go. When you stuffed Volkov into a van and packed him off to a secure location, I rang Portmore to say where he was going and when he would arrive. Two hours later, he was shot. Couldn’t have been you. You were with me all the time, or with that young man from counter-intelligence next door. You didn’t make a phone call. You could not possibly have ordered the attack, and only one other person could have done it. As I say, it is going to be hard to apologise enough to Kupransky. Do you think you could get him a proper lectureship in London? Something with a nice pension?’

‘Henry, you are being—’

‘Portmore isn’t afraid of handing the Service over to a Russian spy when he retires, Sam. He is afraid of not handing it over to a Russian spy.’

Lytten now sat down next to Wind, rubbing his hands together to ward off the cold. ‘You are — must be — a front runner for Portmore’s job. He wanted you out of the way and discredited so his own candidate would succeed. He even told me he thought it necessary to bypass all the senior candidates. If I could somehow nail you that would have been good, but I’m sure his idea was that I should come up with nothing conclusive. He would then argue that a shadow hung over everyone, so you would all have to be passed over just in case. Gontal gave me the idea.’

‘Who?’

‘Doesn’t matter.’

‘Who is his candidate?’

‘I have no idea. We will just have to wait and see.’

‘You mean leave him in his post? That’s ridiculous.’

‘Think of the entirely false information you can funnel to the Russians. Think of the ways you now have of guarding the few people we have left. Think of the pleasure of waiting until his chosen successor is named, then grabbing both of them.’

‘Are you sure of this?’

‘I have tried not even to think about it too much. But yes. I am sure.’

Wind sat disconsolately on the settee, looking, for the first time in years, incapable of dealing with the situation.

‘I’m sorry, Sam. I have had longer to get used to the idea than you have. I revered Portmore as well. He was — and in his way he still is — courageous and loyal. He was magnificent during the war, but I am certain he is the spy we’ve all been hunting for so many years. If you set up a proper investigation I’m sure you will find enough to confirm it.’

‘It is a thin case.’

‘At the moment. It would not stand up in court, and if the Americans ever find out that every secret they shared was as good as posted direct to Moscow, we would never be able to hold our heads up in public again.’

‘So?’

‘Quiet retirement, a knighthood, maybe the master of a Cambridge college, in exchange for a full accounting and his protégé’s head on a platter. Not much choice, really. Besides, he once really was a hero. We owe him that.’

Wind leant forward, his hands together against his mouth. ‘Jesus,’ he said softly. ‘When did you work this out?’

‘I didn’t suspect him until I had to. I took him for granted as the best and most doggedly loyal of men. Which he was, of course. Just loyal to something else.’

‘I wonder where Angela is?’ Lytten asked, after a brief search of the house produced no sign of her. ‘Sam, could you send some of your minions round the back to see if the car is still there?’

They came back ten minutes later to report that there was no car, just some fresh tyre tracks.

‘She must have heard you arrive and feared the worst. Not surprisingly, I suppose; she’s already spent much of the day in a cell, and she’s a bit busy at the moment. Her opinion of you will probably never recover.’

‘I will apologise unreservedly when I get the opportunity.’

‘I just hope she doesn’t do anything rash, like disappear for good.’

‘How could she do that?’

‘You’d be surprised. Now I’m stranded. You’ll have to drive me home, Sam. I can’t stay here.’

‘Not immediately. I must see Volkov first, or whatever his name really is. I need a statement from him, and I’ll need one from you as well. That can’t wait. I can get you to a train in the morning.’

‘Very well,’ Lytten replied. ‘I don’t suppose a few hours will make any difference.’

So Sam dispatched his men, while Lytten said goodbye to his aunt and promised that he would come again soon.

‘Bring that nice young girl with you. Very charming, she is.’

‘I will if I can,’ he promised.

Then he and Wind walked out into the evening air.

‘At least it’s not raining,’ Lytten said. ‘Quite a pleasant evening, in fact.’

‘It won’t last,’ Wind grumbled. ‘You’ll see.’

As the train lumbered along, I sat in the dimly lit and blessedly empty carriage and reassembled my calculations. The massive run of chance events which both brought the Devil’s Handwriting into existence and stopped it being destroyed made me realise that a simple solution was no longer available. It was not that I would be unable to try again, perhaps, but I calculated that random events would again prevent me from being successful. The chances of everything turning out as it had, I reckoned, were tiny, almost as small as the chances the computer simulation had calculated of avoiding nuclear war. In fact, I realised as we passed through Swindon, it was highly likely that they were identical, that the one was an inverse image of the other, on the microscopic scale.

A surge of excitement ran through me. What an idea that was! Now, if I could only pin it down and produce the maths that would firmly link the two, then I would have a really interesting paper to present to...

Well, to whom, exactly? No one could understand it where I was, and in the not too distant future everyone who might do so was likely to be wiped out. Was I responsible for that? I had to bear my share of blame. But (I reassured myself) I had not brought the Devil’s Handwriting into existence, nor did I ensure its survival, nor did I use it. That strand of things was independent of me. I had established to my satisfaction, after all, that if my creation of Anterwold was generating a nuclear war, the nuclear war was simultaneously generating Anterwold.

I had neither the time nor the energy to do the calculations. Even thinking as much as I did had to be squeezed in between stops at railway halts, where I looked out of the window anxiously to see if any policemen were standing there, waiting for me.

They weren’t. Even at Oxford there was no one and I walked out of the station a free woman, then took a taxi up to Henry’s house.

I let myself in, drew the curtains, then collapsed in exhaustion on the settee in Henry’s study. I was so tired. I should have done something, but all my spirit had left me.

There was nothing I could do. I heard the sound of footsteps. It had to be one of Wind’s people. I prepared to meet my fate. Accessory to treason or some such?

The door opened and Rosie put her head through. I could have kissed her, I was so relieved.

‘So what is going on?’ Rosie asked.

‘Well, Henry has probably been arrested as a spy and I am a fugitive. I don’t have the Devil’s Handwriting, I can’t destroy it and the world is about to descend into nuclear war. Apart from that... How are you?’

‘The Professor has been arrested as a spy? Why would anyone think that?’

‘Maybe he is. How should I know?’

‘Don’t you care?’

‘Not in the slightest. I am a bit worried about what Wind might do to him. I really don’t want him locked up for the next decade. I need his help.’

‘What are you going to do?’