Read Online A Small Town in Germany by John le Carré - Free Book Online
Authors: John le Carré
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right. We didn't know quite what sort of subsistence you people get.'
'What are the posters saying?'
'Oh, we hardly read them any more. Reunification... alliance with Moscow... Anti-America... Anti-Britain.'
'Nice to know we're still in the big league.'
'You've hit a real Bonn day, I'm afraid. Sometimes the fog is a little colder,' de Lisle continued cheerfully, 'then we call it winter. Sometimes it's warmer, and that's summer. You know what they say about Bonn: either it rains or the level crossings are down. In fact, of course, both things happen at the same time. An island cut off by fog, that's us. It's a very metaphysical spot; the dreams have quite replaced reality. We live somewhere between the recent future and the not so recent past. Not personally, if you know what I mean. Most of us feel we've been here for ever.'
'Do you always get an escort?'
The black Opellay thirty yards behind them. It was neither gaining nor losing ground. Two pale men sat in the front and the headlights were on.
'They're protecting us. That's the theory. Perhaps you heard of our meeting with Siebkron?' They turned right and the Opel followed them. 'The Ambassador is quite furious. And now, of course, they can say it's all vindicated by Hanover: no Englishman is safe without a bodyguard. It's not our view at all. Still, perhaps after Friday we'll lose them again. How are things in London? I hear Steed-Asprey's got Lima.'
'Yes, we're all thrilled about it.'
A yellow road sign said six kilometres to Bonn.
'I think we'll go round the city if you don't mind; there's liable to be rather a hold-up getting in and out. They're checking passes and things. '
'I thought you said Karfeld didn't bother you.'
'We all say that. It's part of our local religion. We're trained to regard Karfeld as an irritant, not an epidemic. You'll have to get used to that. I have a message for you from Bradfield, by the way. He's sorry not to have collected you himself, but he's been rather under pressure.'
They swung sharply off the main road, bumped over a tramline and sped along a narrow open lane. Occasionally a poster or photograph rose before them and darted away into the mist.
'Was that the whole of Bradfield's message?'
'There was the question of who knows what. He imagined you'd like to have that clear at once. Cover, is that what you'd call it?'
'I might.'
'Our friend's disappearance has been noticed in a general way,' de Lisle continued in the same amiable tone. 'That was inevitable. But fortunately Hanover intervened, and we've been able to mend a few fences. Officially, Rawley has sent him on compassionate leave. He's published no details; merely hinted at personal problems and left it at that. The Junior Staff can think what they like: nervous breakdown; family troubles; they can make up their own rumours. Bradfield mentioned the matter at this morning's meeting: we're all backing him up. As for yourself...'
'Well?'
' A general security check in view of the crisis? How would that sound to you? It seemed quite convincing to us.'
'Did you know him?'
'Harting?'
'That's right. Did you know him?'
'I think perhaps,' de Lisle said, pulling up at a traffic light, 'we ought to leave the first bite to Rawley, don't you? Tell me, what news of our little Lords of York?'
'Who the hell are they?'
'I'm so sorry,' de Lisle said in genuine discomfort. 'It's our local expression for the Cabinet. It was silly of me.'
They were approaching the Embassy. As they filtered left to cross the carriageway, the black Opel slid slowly past like an old nanny who had seen her children safely over the road. The lobby was in turmoil. Despatch riders mingled with journalists and police. An iron grille, painted a protective orange, sealed off the basement staircase. De Lisle led him quickly to the first floor. Someone must have telephoned from the desk because Bradfield was already standing as they entered. 'Rawley, this is Turner,' de Lisle said, as if there were not
'What are the posters saying?'
'Oh, we hardly read them any more. Reunification... alliance with Moscow... Anti-America... Anti-Britain.'
'Nice to know we're still in the big league.'
'You've hit a real Bonn day, I'm afraid. Sometimes the fog is a little colder,' de Lisle continued cheerfully, 'then we call it winter. Sometimes it's warmer, and that's summer. You know what they say about Bonn: either it rains or the level crossings are down. In fact, of course, both things happen at the same time. An island cut off by fog, that's us. It's a very metaphysical spot; the dreams have quite replaced reality. We live somewhere between the recent future and the not so recent past. Not personally, if you know what I mean. Most of us feel we've been here for ever.'
'Do you always get an escort?'
The black Opellay thirty yards behind them. It was neither gaining nor losing ground. Two pale men sat in the front and the headlights were on.
'They're protecting us. That's the theory. Perhaps you heard of our meeting with Siebkron?' They turned right and the Opel followed them. 'The Ambassador is quite furious. And now, of course, they can say it's all vindicated by Hanover: no Englishman is safe without a bodyguard. It's not our view at all. Still, perhaps after Friday we'll lose them again. How are things in London? I hear Steed-Asprey's got Lima.'
'Yes, we're all thrilled about it.'
A yellow road sign said six kilometres to Bonn.
'I think we'll go round the city if you don't mind; there's liable to be rather a hold-up getting in and out. They're checking passes and things. '
'I thought you said Karfeld didn't bother you.'
'We all say that. It's part of our local religion. We're trained to regard Karfeld as an irritant, not an epidemic. You'll have to get used to that. I have a message for you from Bradfield, by the way. He's sorry not to have collected you himself, but he's been rather under pressure.'
They swung sharply off the main road, bumped over a tramline and sped along a narrow open lane. Occasionally a poster or photograph rose before them and darted away into the mist.
'Was that the whole of Bradfield's message?'
'There was the question of who knows what. He imagined you'd like to have that clear at once. Cover, is that what you'd call it?'
'I might.'
'Our friend's disappearance has been noticed in a general way,' de Lisle continued in the same amiable tone. 'That was inevitable. But fortunately Hanover intervened, and we've been able to mend a few fences. Officially, Rawley has sent him on compassionate leave. He's published no details; merely hinted at personal problems and left it at that. The Junior Staff can think what they like: nervous breakdown; family troubles; they can make up their own rumours. Bradfield mentioned the matter at this morning's meeting: we're all backing him up. As for yourself...'
'Well?'
' A general security check in view of the crisis? How would that sound to you? It seemed quite convincing to us.'
'Did you know him?'
'Harting?'
'That's right. Did you know him?'
'I think perhaps,' de Lisle said, pulling up at a traffic light, 'we ought to leave the first bite to Rawley, don't you? Tell me, what news of our little Lords of York?'
'Who the hell are they?'
'I'm so sorry,' de Lisle said in genuine discomfort. 'It's our local expression for the Cabinet. It was silly of me.'
They were approaching the Embassy. As they filtered left to cross the carriageway, the black Opel slid slowly past like an old nanny who had seen her children safely over the road. The lobby was in turmoil. Despatch riders mingled with journalists and police. An iron grille, painted a protective orange, sealed off the basement staircase. De Lisle led him quickly to the first floor. Someone must have telephoned from the desk because Bradfield was already standing as they entered. 'Rawley, this is Turner,' de Lisle said, as if there were not
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