Jarvis was clad as always in the same grey overall that reached down to just below his arthritic knees. Seaforth had never seen him wearing anything else the old man would have seemed naked in a suit and tie. Service rumour had it that Jarvis had fought as a non-commissioned officer in the Boer War and killed five of the enemy with his bare hands during the relief of Mafeking, but Seaforth had no way of knowing if this was true, as Jarvis made a point of never discussing his personal history. Hed been at HQ longer than any of the current occupants or indeed most of their predecessors and had over the years become a fixture of the place, like the soot-stained walls and the ubiquitous smell of cheap disinfectant.
Seaforth had only recently been permitted to join these meetings of the top brass, and he knew that if Thorn had had his way, he would still be sitting marooned in his tiny windowless office at the back of the building. But C had overruled Seaforths boss in this as in numerous other matters, and now Seaforth sat two chairs up from the door, three chairs away from Thorn, and four away from Cs empty seat, savouring his position as an up-and-coming man.
With a sigh of contentment, he ran his hands slowly through the mane of his thick, dark hair and stretched out his long, athletic legs under the table, rocking slowly back on his straight-backed chair, expertly keeping his balance. Like everyone else in the room, he was working harder than ever, existing on small amounts of sleep snatched between air raids; but unlike them, he managed somehow to look healthy and rested, his good looks enhanced if anything by the faint thin lines that had recently begun to crease his brow.
The only blemish on his day so far was the cigarette smoke. It hung in a thick, blue-grey cloud in the unventilated room, blending with the fumes from the dying fire, and clung to Seaforths suit, making his eyes water. He hated cigarettes the poor mans narcotic. They reminded him of home, of labourers coughing in the gloomy public houses after work, drowning their sorrows in watered-down beer. He looked round the room at his fellow spies sucking greedily on their John Players Navy Cut and Senior Service and did his best to conceal his disgust. Cs cigars were different a symbol of his power, like the thick Turkish carpet that began at the threshold of his office in the next-door building or the slow, careful way in which he spoke, the perfectly rounded vowels enunciated in his aristocratic, Eton-educated voice. C was old school, but old school with a new broom, ready to give the young generation its head. Not like Thorn with his Oxford University tie and his visceral suspicion of anyone who hadnt been to a public school. As far as Seaforth was concerned, the last war had been about sweeping away men like Thorn, but so far, at least, Thorn didnt seem to have got the message.
To hell with Thorn, Seaforth thought. Unlike Thorn, he was here on merit because hed been able to produce intelligence out of Germany that the rest of the pathetic pen pushers in this room could only dream of, and his recent summons to Churchills bunker had sealed his advancement to the top table. And there wasnt one damned thing that Thorn could do about it. Seaforth grinned, thinking of the way Thorn hadnt said one word to him on the walk back through St Jamess Park, just stared down at his feet as if he were thinking of putting an end to it all which would be no loss to the Secret Service, Seaforth thought. Alec Thorn had become an encumbrance that MI6 could most certainly do without.
Over by the door, Jarvis cleared his throat. Es coming, he announced in a thin, wheezing voice, and seconds later C entered the room, dressed in a green tweed suit and a red bow tie. He was a tall, impressive figure, possessed of a natural authority and an air of resolution intensified by the piercing blue of his eyes. They were a tool that C knew how to use to his advantage. Look a man in the eye, and if he shrinks, then ten to one hes a bounder, was one of the chiefs favourite adages.
C was nearly five years Thorns senior, but looking at the two of them, chief and deputy chief, sitting side by side at the end of the table, Seaforth thought that Thorn looked far and away the older man. He was careworn, with worry lines etched deep into his wide forehead and thinning grey hair receding from a rapidly spreading tonsure on his crown. And he sat bent over in his chair, alternately turning his filterless cigarette over in his fingers and then tapping its fiery end against the overflowing ashtray in front of him. His suit was worn and the edges of his shirt collar were frayed. Everything about him contrasted with the dapper, handsome figure of C on his left. It wasnt hard to see why Whitehall had picked C for the job when the old chief had been given his marching orders three years before.
All present and correct, said C, glancing affably round the table. Now we cant be too long today, Im afraid. Ive got to be at the Admiralty by twelve for one of their invasion conclaves. I assume everyones seen young Seaforths latest intelligence report about the German plans the one that was circulated three days ago? he asked, waving a piece of densely typewritten paper with Top Secret stamped across the top. Good. Well, its pure gold as usual. Winstons delighted with the quality of the intelligence, apparently, although not so happy with what the Nazis have got pointed at us across the Channel. Did he say anything about the situation when you saw him, anything you can share with us? he asked, turning to his deputy.
Everyone else had their attention fixed on Thorn too. The whole country was jittery about the threat of the invasion, and the people in the room had access to privileged information about how real the threat actually was. A week earlier, GHQ had sent out the code word Cromwell, meaning invasion imminent, to all southern and eastern commands. Church bells had been rung the agreed signal for an invasion and widespread panic had ensued.
The PM doesnt see how they can invade without air supremacy, and theyre a long way from having that, said Thorn. He says were going to fight to the death even if they do come, but we already know that. Still, it was inspiring to hear it from him first-hand.
Im sure it was. Must have been an experience for you too, young Seaforth. Not every day an officer of your rank gets summoned to an audience with the Pope. But, as we all know, the PM likes to get his information first-hand and youre the one providing it this time, so full credit to you, said C, lightly clapping his hands for a moment. Everyone joined in except Thorn, who looked stonily ahead, keeping his eyes fixed on a photograph of Neville Chamberlain on the opposite wall that no one had got round to replacing since Chamberlain had resigned the premiership back in May after the Norwegian disaster.
And what we need now is more of the same, C went on. All the powers that be want from us is news of when the bastards are coming and what theyre bringing with them, and Seaforths man is giving us exactly that and on a regular basis.
Yes, pretty convenient, isnt it? Thorn said softly.
What, you dont trust the source, Alec? C asked sharply, turning to his deputy. Well, hes been right every time up until now, you know about the build-up of the expeditionary force, about troop movements, about bombing objectives.
Except for when the Luftwaffe switched their attention from the aerodromes to London. He didnt tell us about that, did he? Might have spoilt the surprise, said Thorn, whose doubts about the authenticity of Seaforths intelligence had mushroomed in the three days since their visit to Churchills bunker.
Well, there really wasnt time for that, was there? said C equably. The Germans were provoked into bombing London by us bombing Berlin. Stupid fools! Winston tricked them. The RAF couldnt have withstood it much longer if the Luftwaffe had carried on attacking planes rather than people, or at least thats what Ive heard on the grapevine. There were just not enough Spitfires to go round. Instead Goerings given them a chance to catch their breath and reinforce.
You asked me a question, said Thorn, looking C in the eye and acting as though he hadnt heard anything C had just said. And heres my answer: No, I dont trust the source, and I dont buy the idea that his access has improved because hes just been promoted. Its too damned convenient if you ask me.
But people get promoted in wartime, Alec, C said smoothly. You should know that its one of the facts of life.
I know it is. And not just in Berlin, either, said Thorn, making no effort to disguise his meaning as he darted a furious glance down the table at Seaforth and angrily ground out his cigarette in the overflowing ashtray. C watched his deputy carefully for a moment and then began to speak again.
So, moving on, our agent tells us that Hitlers ordered a short delay to Operation Sea Lion while the expeditionary force is expanded and the rest of the heavy armour is brought up to the coast, he said, holding up Seaforths briefing paper again. So this is what I need, gentlemen: reliable information about whats actually happening on the ground in Belgium, in France, all the way round to bloody Scandinavia. Soldiers practising amphibious landings; sailors kissing their sweethearts goodbye you know what Im talking about. We need to fill in the blanks. And quickly, gentlemen, quickly.
C paused, glancing around the table, but no one spoke. Jarvis, standing behind his bosss chair, darted forward and filled up Cs glass from a decanter of cloudy water.
All right, then, said C. Lets get to work. Is there anything else?
Weve had several decodes in this morning, said Hargreaves, a small bespectacled man sitting opposite Seaforth who was in charge of liaison with the boffins, as the communications branch of the Secret Service was euphemistically known. He had thick grey eyebrows that incongruously matched his grey woollen cardigan. One of thems interesting its an intercept from yesterday. Its quite short: Provide detailed written report. What are the chances of success? C. Seems like its someone called C somewhere in Germany whos communicating with an agent here in England, although apparently theres no way of pinpointing the receivers location without more messages. Theyre checking to see if there are any other messages that have come in up to now using the same code, although it could well be the agent is using a different code to communicate back to Germany. Thats an extra precaution they take sometimes. Ill let you know what they come up with.