“DO COME IN,” Owen said. His tone was glacial. Wyman closed the door and sat down in front of Owen’s desk.
“How did it go?” he asked.
“The Minister was not pleased,” Owen said solemnly.
“You know, I had a vague suspicion that he wouldn’t be,” Wyman smiled.
Owen gave a disdainful sniff.
“Like myself, the Minister is not entirely convinced by your conjectures.”
“Indeed? Then how does he account for the fate of Dovetail and his network?”
“He doesn’t. It is for us to explain these things.”
“Quite,” Wyman said. “So what exactly is going to be done about it?”
Owen looked downwards and toyed pensively with his moustache. He was one of those people who believe that long theatrical pauses can make the most mundane speeches sound impressive.
“The Minister has one overriding preoccupation. It is one I share. We are both concerned that this matter should not prove to be unduly expensive.”
Wyman smiled cynically. “In medieval times there was a fashionable view to the effect that everything had a ‘just price’. This notion seems to have been revived recently. What exactly is the just price of weeding out a Moscow infiltrator?”
Owen sighed wearily.
“Please don’t be difficult. We are all under immense pressure with regard to money.”
“So I’ve heard.”
“My only concern is to keep the cost of this work to a minimum. There is no question of a ‘just price’. We will pay whatever the job requires, within reason.”
“Splendid,” Wyman said. He suspected, however, that his idea of what was “within reason” would not correspond to Owen’s.
“Hence,” Owen said, “you may take a week’s leave to pursue unofficial inquiries.”
“A week?” said Wyman incredulously. “This could take months! What could I possibly achieve in a week?”
“You will at least be able to confirm your suspicions about the Dovetail network.”
“They do not require confirmation. As far as I am concerned, we simply need to establish the identity of the KGB plant without delay. If I had a month, I think I could do it. In a week I could only begin my inquiries.”
“Very well,” said Owen. “Begin them. Your success or otherwise in the coming week will determine how we will proceed after that.”
Wyman nodded. Clearly, Owen and the Minister were trying to persuade themselves that there was really no infiltrator in the Department. If Wyman returned with empty hands after a week, that would “prove” that his suspicions were unfounded.
“You said you would be making ‘back-door inquiries’,” Owen said. “But you weren’t very specific about them. Perhaps you’d like to tell me now.”
“I’d prefer not to. All I will say is that obviously we can’t afford to tell this story to people who currently work for us or for the CIA. Hence, I will try to see what can be obtained from people who are no longer directly involved in intelligence work, but who still have some field contacts. I also have one or two personal connections who may be able to help.”
“I see. Do impress upon these people the need for absolute secrecy. We can’t—”
“I think they are quite capable of understanding the problem,” Wyman said sardonically.
“Good. May I ask where you are proposing to make your inquiries?”
“I will need to go to Rome, Paris and Vienna. As I only have a week, I will have no option but to fly to these places, regrettable though the expense will be.”
The irony in Wyman’s voice had turned into mordant sarcasm. Owen, who was oblivious to sarcasm, gave a grunt of disapproval.
“Well, I suppose it can’t be helped.”
“I do not propose to keep in contact while I am away. When I have returned you will be presented with a full report of my findings.”
“Good,” said Owen. He approved of written reports.
“I also have a request to make. I have now taken charge of all the documents relating to Grünbaum and his merry men. Before I leave I will lock everything in my office, and I would be grateful if the office remained locked until I return.”
Owen gave Wyman an inquiring look.
“You are taking this very seriously, aren’t you? Very well. I see no reason why you can’t lock the office.”
“Yes,” Wyman said. “Unlike you and the Minister, I do spy strangers. And when I said I wanted the office locked, I meant that it should be permanently locked. No one should have access to it—not even the secretaries or Mrs Hobbes.”
“I understand,” Owen said curtly. “Is there anything else?”
“No, thank you,” Wyman said. He got up and walked over to the door. Just before opening it he turned and smiled at Owen.
“Wouldn’t it be amusing if I’d made one fatal error of judgment?” he asked.
“And what would that be?”
“The childish assumption that you yourself are above suspicion.”
He laughed quietly as he left the room.