along he jumped on it. I doubt it would have come to anything, it was just a way of him relieving the boredom.’
I could imagine that was true. Lucas’s ‘day-to-day stuff’ would have been the co-ordination of information from the network, arranging meetings and payments and then funnelling back the goods to Battle. For someone like Lucas, especially given the charmed life he led, that would have been child’s play, despite the need to spend a good deal of time on the ‘wrong’ side of the wall with all the dangers that could bring. He must have felt wasted dealing with the poor results of Battle’s network, eager to move on to more exciting opportunities. If he’d believed the actions of Anosov might lead to something exciting, he’d have been all over it.
‘Tell me precisely what he said about it.’
‘As I say, he wasn’t very forthcoming. I don’t think he wanted to discuss it until he had something concrete to pass on.’
‘All the more reason to know the little he did say.’
‘I think I asked him what was so interesting about a crazy guy. People go crazy sometimes, you know? He made a comment along the lines of “Who says he was crazy?”’
I nodded, encouraging Engel to continue.
‘So I said, “The guy strips off and kills a bunch of people, he obviously isn’t in his right mind.” I definitely phrased the last bit like that because he laughed and said, “If he wasn’t in his right mind, what was?”’ Engel shrugged, ‘I had no idea what he meant and told him so. He just shrugged and changed the subject.’
‘What was?’ I wondered aloud.
By the bar, a group of American soldiers were arguing good-humouredly about a game of cards they’d recently played. One of the soldiers was bemoaning the fact that he was owed money by someone else in the camp. The others were egging him on with his string of threats as to what he planned doing to the man if he didn’t pay up.
Engel stared at the men and grumpily tried to hide behind his drink. ‘People that threaten and never do,’ he said, ‘hot air and empty promises.’
‘That’s espionage all over,’ I told him. ‘I wonder if they’re regulars? Another drink?’
Engel, whose beer was barely touched, made to decline but I was already on my way to the bar, placing myself right next to the Americans.
‘Two more,’ I told the barman, this time speaking English.
I turned slightly towards the Americans hoping one of them would take the opportunity to talk to me. A large, red-cheeked man with teeth so large he could bring down a bison on an open plain, offered me a terrifying smile.
‘Now, either you’ve turned your back on that lousy English beer you guys drink or you’re new in town. Which is it, feller?’
‘Bit of both,’ I said shaking the man’s hand. ‘Dennis Theakston.’
‘I’m Jerry Franks.’ He pointed to each of his colleagues in turn. ‘This is Lester Reynolds, Tom Hurwitz and Billy Shepherd.’ Each shook my hand in turn, big, assertive shakes to let me know they were both happy to meet me and capable of beating me in a wrestling match should the occasion arise. I love Americans. Unlike some of my countrymen, I don’t see openness and enthusiasm as qualities to frown upon.
‘I’m over here on business,’ I said. ‘My company imports wine and I have to sign the paperwork and shout at the packaging people. It keeps my boss happy.’
‘Who’s sat on his ass back at home, I bet?’ asked Reynolds, scratching at a moustache you could have comfortably stored a family of thrushes in.
‘You’ve got it,’ I agreed, and they all laughed at my fictional boss’s expense.
‘You drink in here often?’ I asked.
‘Most nights,’ Franks admitted. ‘It’s close to the base and they play decent tunes. There used to be a pool table too but some fool tore the hell out of the baize so it’s out of action.’
‘Shame,’ I said. ‘I’d have taken one of you on if the price was right.’
‘A
I could imagine that was true. Lucas’s ‘day-to-day stuff’ would have been the co-ordination of information from the network, arranging meetings and payments and then funnelling back the goods to Battle. For someone like Lucas, especially given the charmed life he led, that would have been child’s play, despite the need to spend a good deal of time on the ‘wrong’ side of the wall with all the dangers that could bring. He must have felt wasted dealing with the poor results of Battle’s network, eager to move on to more exciting opportunities. If he’d believed the actions of Anosov might lead to something exciting, he’d have been all over it.
‘Tell me precisely what he said about it.’
‘As I say, he wasn’t very forthcoming. I don’t think he wanted to discuss it until he had something concrete to pass on.’
‘All the more reason to know the little he did say.’
‘I think I asked him what was so interesting about a crazy guy. People go crazy sometimes, you know? He made a comment along the lines of “Who says he was crazy?”’
I nodded, encouraging Engel to continue.
‘So I said, “The guy strips off and kills a bunch of people, he obviously isn’t in his right mind.” I definitely phrased the last bit like that because he laughed and said, “If he wasn’t in his right mind, what was?”’ Engel shrugged, ‘I had no idea what he meant and told him so. He just shrugged and changed the subject.’
‘What was?’ I wondered aloud.
By the bar, a group of American soldiers were arguing good-humouredly about a game of cards they’d recently played. One of the soldiers was bemoaning the fact that he was owed money by someone else in the camp. The others were egging him on with his string of threats as to what he planned doing to the man if he didn’t pay up.
Engel stared at the men and grumpily tried to hide behind his drink. ‘People that threaten and never do,’ he said, ‘hot air and empty promises.’
‘That’s espionage all over,’ I told him. ‘I wonder if they’re regulars? Another drink?’
Engel, whose beer was barely touched, made to decline but I was already on my way to the bar, placing myself right next to the Americans.
‘Two more,’ I told the barman, this time speaking English.
I turned slightly towards the Americans hoping one of them would take the opportunity to talk to me. A large, red-cheeked man with teeth so large he could bring down a bison on an open plain, offered me a terrifying smile.
‘Now, either you’ve turned your back on that lousy English beer you guys drink or you’re new in town. Which is it, feller?’
‘Bit of both,’ I said shaking the man’s hand. ‘Dennis Theakston.’
‘I’m Jerry Franks.’ He pointed to each of his colleagues in turn. ‘This is Lester Reynolds, Tom Hurwitz and Billy Shepherd.’ Each shook my hand in turn, big, assertive shakes to let me know they were both happy to meet me and capable of beating me in a wrestling match should the occasion arise. I love Americans. Unlike some of my countrymen, I don’t see openness and enthusiasm as qualities to frown upon.
‘I’m over here on business,’ I said. ‘My company imports wine and I have to sign the paperwork and shout at the packaging people. It keeps my boss happy.’
‘Who’s sat on his ass back at home, I bet?’ asked Reynolds, scratching at a moustache you could have comfortably stored a family of thrushes in.
‘You’ve got it,’ I agreed, and they all laughed at my fictional boss’s expense.
‘You drink in here often?’ I asked.
‘Most nights,’ Franks admitted. ‘It’s close to the base and they play decent tunes. There used to be a pool table too but some fool tore the hell out of the baize so it’s out of action.’
‘Shame,’ I said. ‘I’d have taken one of you on if the price was right.’
‘A
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