Len Deighton - The Spy Quartet - An Expensive Place to Die, Spy Story, Yesterday’s Spy, Twinkle Twinkle Little Spy

‘Depends upon the work.’

‘Mind you,’ said Datt, ‘I have given her money. I gave her the car too.’

‘It’s easy to give away things you don’t need,’ I said. ‘And rich people who give away money need to be quite sure they’re not trying to buy something.’

‘I’ve treated her badly.’ He nodded to himself. ‘And there’s the boy, my grandson.’

I hurried down the iron steps. I wanted to get away from the boat before Kuang saw what was happening, and yet I doubt if Kuang would have stopped us; with Datt out of the way the only report going back would be Kuang’s.

‘You’ve done me a favour,’ Datt pronounced as he started up the outboard motor.

‘That’s right,’ I said.

The Englishman had told her to lock the ambulance door. She tried to, but as her finger hovered over the catch, the nausea of fear broke over her. She imagined just for a moment the agony of being imprisoned. She shuddered and pushed the thought aside. She tried again, but it was no use, and while she was still trying to push the lock the English boy with the injured knee leaned across her and locked the door. She wound the window down, urgently trying to still the claustrophobia. She leaned forward with her eyes closed and pressed her head against the cold windscreen. What had she done? It had seemed so right when Datt had put it to her: if she took the main bulk of the documents and tapes up to the rendezvous for him, then he would be waiting there with her own film and dossier. A fair exchange, he had said. She touched the locks of the case that had come from the boat. She supposed that her documents were inside, but suddenly she didn’t care. Fine rain beaded the windscreen with little lenses. The motor boat was repeated a thousand times upside down.

‘Are you all right?’ the boy asked. ‘You don’t look well.’

She didn’t answer.

‘Look here,’ he said, ‘I wish you’d tell me what all this is about. I know I’ve given you a lot of trouble and all that, you see …’

‘Stay here in the car,’ Maria said. ‘Don’t touch anything and don’t let anyone else touch anything. Promise?’

‘Very well. I promise.’

She unlocked the door with a sigh of relief and got out into the cold salty air. The car was on the very brink of the waterside and she stepped carefully across the worn stones. Along the whole quayside men were appearing out of doorways and warehouse entrances. Not ordinary men but men in berets and anklets. They moved quietly and most of them were carrying automatic rifles. A group of them near to her stepped under the wharfside lights and she saw the glitter of the paratroop badges. Maria was frightened of the men. She stopped near the rear doors of the ambulance and looked back; the boy stared at her across the metal boxes and film tins. He smiled and nodded to reassure her that he wouldn’t touch anything. Why did she care whether he touched anything? One man broke away from the group of paratroops near her. He was in civilian clothes, a thigh-length black leather coat and an old-fashioned trilby hat. He had taken only one step when she recognized Loiseau.

‘Maria, is it you?’

‘Yes, it’s me.’

He hurried towards her, but when he was a pace away stopped. She had expected him to embrace her. She wanted to hang on to him and feel his hand slapping her awkwardly on the back, which was his inadequate attempt to staunch miseries of various kinds.

‘There are a lot of people here,’ she said. ‘ Bi f ? ’

‘Yes, the army,’ said Loiseau. ‘A paratroop battalion. The Belgians gave me full co-operation.’

Maria resented that. It was his way of saying that she had never given him full co-operation. ‘Just to take me into custody,’ she said, ‘a Whole battalion of Belgian paratroops? You must have exaggerated.’

‘There is a ship out there. There is no telling how many men are aboard. Datt might have decided to take the documents by force.’

He was anxious to justify himself, like a little boy seeking an advance on his pocket money. She smiled and repeated, ‘You must have exaggerated.’

‘I did,’ said Loiseau. He did not smile, for distorting truth was nothing to be proud of. But in this case he was anxious that there should be no mistakes. He would rather look a fool for over-preparation than be found inadequate. They stood there staring at each other for several minutes.

‘The documents are in the ambulance?’ Loiseau asked.

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘The film of me is there too.’

‘What about the tape of the Englishman? The questioning that you translated when he was drugged?’

‘That’s there too, it’s a green tin; number B fourteen.’ She touched his arm. ‘What will you do with the Englishman’s tape?’ She could not ask about her own.

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