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stream of pedestrian traffic to examine his pocketwatch and get his breath.
He was a little early, though the gathering darkness outside in the street
showed nightfall was not far off, overcast blurring the distinction between
night and day. By fast train, as J knew, Norwich was only two hours from
London. Mrs. Smythe-Evans would be arriving in three minutes, if the
British railway system performed with its customary punctuality. He waited,
composing himself, until he heard, above the murmur of the crowd, the rumble
of the train entering the station, then he went to meet her.
He recognized her instantly when he saw her coming toward him along the
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platform. The years had been remarkably kind to her; at least at a distance
she seemed hardly changed at all from the time he had seen her at her wedding.
She was wearing a yellow plastic raincoat, unbuttoned in front to reveal a
tasteful tweed pantsuit, and she carried a small green overnight bag.
J frowned. At her side strolled her husband in a similar yellow raincoat, and
following him, trotting along hand in hand, came three yellow-raincoat-clad
boys. Bringing up the rear, in another yellow raincoat, was a fat, red-faced
woman, who could only be their maid, loaded down with luggage. Mrs.
Smythe-Evans had brought her whole family.
"Damn and blast," J muttered, but he hid his consternation behind a set of
shiny grinning false teeth as he advanced to welcome her.
"Ah, Mrs. Smythe-Evans!" He shook her hand heartily. "How good of you to come.
And this, I
take it, is your husband?"
"Yes. J, meet Reginald Smythe-Evans," she answered brightly.
The men shook hands.
Reginald said stiffly, "Jay? Is that your first name or your last?"
"Neither, old man. It's only a nickname, but people have been calling me by it
for so long I hardly remember any other." Reginald obviously was not satisfied
with this answer, but J turned to the children. "And these, I suppose, are
your handsome children?"
"That's right," she replied, somewhat nervously, but with a note of pride in
her voice. "Here's
Reggie Jr., and Smitty. Shake hands with the gentleman, boys." Gravely they
obeyed. "And this is my youngest, little Dickie." J found a small hand thrust
into his, and a pair of dark eyes peering up at him with a look of disquieting
intelligence.
"Pleased to meet you, sir," said Dickie.
"I hope you don't mind if I brought my family along," she continued. "I
thought if I was coming in to London anyway, we might as well make an event of
it. The boys are out of school, and
Reggie has been working so hard he deserves a holiday. It's all right, isn't
it?" She looked at J
doubtfully.
"Of course, of course. No problem," J assured her. "I've booked a room at a
hotel for you not far from here, and I'm sure we can expand the reservation to
cover your entourage. If you'll follow me . . . " He led the way toward the
exit, allowing no trace of his inner indignation to show outwardly.
"Perhaps I can be of some assistance with this Blade business," Reginald
offered, falling in step.
"I'm afraid not, old chap," J said.
"I can come along for moral support, at least," Reginald persisted.
"Thank you, but I'll have to say no." J was firm.
"And why not?" Reginald demanded.
Awkwardly J explained, "It's a matter of security, classified information,
government secrets and all that rot. I don't make the rules, but I have to
play by them. Your wife is cleared-that is, she has a security clearance."
"And I don't?" said Reginald.
"That's right."
Now Reginald was genuinely surprised. "Why should she have a clearance when I
don't?"
J hesitated a moment, then told him the truth. "When your wife was, so to
speak, intimately associated with our Richard Blade, we looked into her
background quite carefully, and we've kept track of her, in our quiet way,
ever since. Strictly routine, you understand, but fortunate in this case.
That's how we were able to find her so easily. I'm sure you're a loyal British
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subject, Mr.
Smythe-Evans, at least as loyal as Kim Philby or some other people who have
gotten the highest clearances only to turn out to be Russian spies. Obviously
this security clearance business doesn't work. Obviously it only makes us keep
tripping over our own feet, but it's a tradition. You can't expect us to go
against tradition."
"I suppose not," Reginald reluctantly agreed, bewildered but clearly impressed
by the cloak-and-
dagger atmosphere J had managed to project.
"I'll get you all settled in your hotel," J said in a businesslike tone. "Then
I'll borrow your wife for a few hours. I hate to inconvenience you, but it's
dreadfully important. You can fend for yourself for awhile, can't you?"
"I suppose so."
J clapped him on the back. "There's a good chap!"
They came out of the station and descended the steps into Hart Street,
hunching their shoulders against the chill of early evening.
Chapter 5
The Tower of London had been officially closed for hours. The quaint
red-uniformed Yeomen
Warders who squired the tourists during the day and served, in their way, as
guards had long since left. The only people who remained were the
inconspicuous plainclothesmen of MI6A who hovered around the entrance as if
waiting for an omnibus that never came.
As J and Zoe trudged across the street, two of the agents came forward into
the pale illumination of the streetlamp to meet them.
"Good evening, sir," said the taller. "Identification, please."
J handed over his papers.
"And the lady, sir?" the other asked.
"Her name is Zoe Smythe-Evans," J said.
She showed the man her driver's license. He frowned, dissatisfied.
"I'll take full responsibility for her," J added.
The taller man took J to one side and said softly, "This is highly irregular,
sir."
"I know that."
The agent shrugged. "Very well, sir. Password?"
"Lotus."
"Countersign Eaters," said the man, snapping on his flashlight.
"Follow me, please."
While his partner remained behind, the tall man led J and Zoe through the
deserted Tower Park, among the ancient cannons and leafless trees. There was
no fog tonight, and J could see the lights on the opposite bank of the river,
and their reflections shimmering in the water like ghostly spears of colored
flame. Ahead and above, endless streams of headlights crossed the massive
Tower
Bridge.
The agent unlocked the Traitor's Gate and let J and Zoe in, then left them to
continue on their own. Zoe exclaimed with surprise when J opened the hidden
door. "Amazing! I could have sworn that was a blank wall."
J chuckled and continued on.
Zoe followed though it was plain she found the long dim damp tunnel and the
maze of subbasements highly distasteful.
When they reached the elevator, Zoe pressed the button. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]