"There was this American secret annex that got it all going, prepared by their Enforcement people in Miami. The summary of evidence to date. Strelski, that the chap? Roper's original pitch to the cartels, the broad elements of the deal, all very shrouded, very top secret. Yours and Burr's eyes only."
"And your eyes too, of course," Goodhew suggested, pulling back from him in a presentiment of disgust.
"I played this game, you see. The one you can't help playing when you read a report like that. Well, we all do, don't we? Can't help it. Natural curiosity. Can't stop your mind going... spot the snitch. These long passages with only three chaps in the room. Two sometimes. Wherever they were, there was always this reliable source peaching on them. Well, I know modern technology is the cat's whiskers, but this was ridiculous."
"So you spotted the snitch."
Palfrey looked really proud, like a man who has finally put his courage together and done his duty for the day.
"And you told Darker whom you'd spotted," Goodhew suggested.
"The Greek chap. Hand in glove with the cartels and ratting on them to Enforcement as soon as their backs were turned. Apostoll. Lawyer, just like me."
* * *
Informed by Goodhew that same night of Palfrey's indiscretion, Burr faced the dilemma every agent-runner dreads most.
His first response typically was from the heart. He drafted an urgent personal signal to Strelski in Miami, saying he had reason to believe that "unfriendly Purists are now conscious of the identity of your Brother Michael." He changed "conscious" to "witting" out of deference to the American espiocrats' jargon and sent it. He forbore from suggesting that the leak was British. Strelski could work that out for himself. His duty by Strelski done, the descendant of Yorkshire handloom weavers sat stoically in his attic room, staring through the skylight at the orange Whitehall sky. No longer was Burr eating out his heart for a sign, any sign, of his agent. Now it was his duty to decide whether to pull his agent out or swallow the risk and carry on. Still pondering, he ambled down the long corridor and perched himself, hands in pockets, on the radiator in Goodhew's office, while the pigeons argued on the parapet.
"Shall we do worst case?" Goodhew suggested.
"Worst case is, they put Apo under a bright light and he tells them he had orders from us to discredit Corkoran as a signer," said Burr. "Then they target my boy as the new signer."
"Who is
Burr shrugged. "Apo's clients. Or the Purists."
"But good heavens, Leonard, Pure Intelligence is on our side. We have our differences, but they wouldn't endanger our source merely because of a turf war between..."
"Oh yes they would, Rex," Burr said kindly. "That's who they are, you see. That's what they do."
* * *
Once again Burr sat in his room, contemplating his choice alone. A gambler's green desk lamp. A weaver's skylight to the stars.
Roper: two more weeks and I can have you. I'll know which ship, I'll know the names and numbers and the places. I'll have a case against you that not all your privilege and your smart insider friends and not all the legal sophistry in the business can buy off.
Jonathan: the best joe I ever had, the only one whose code I never cracked. First I knew you as an inscrutable face. Now I know you as an inscrutable voice:
Behaviourist, thought Burr grimly. My God, if you're not a behaviourist, who is? What about your little spot of temperament at Mama Low's?
The Cousins will do nothing, he decided in a spurt of optimism. An agent identified is an agent gained. Even if they succeed in identifying Jonathan, they'll sit on their thumbs and wait to see what he produces.
The Cousins are sure to act, he told himself, as the pendulum swung the other way. Apostoll is their expendable asset. If the Cousins want to deserve favour with the cartels, they'll make them a present of Apostoll. If they think we're getting too close for comfort, they'll blow Apostoll and deprive us of our source....
Chin in hand, Burr gazed up at the skylight, watching the autumn dawn appear between the torn ridges of cloud.
Abort, he decided. Spirit Jonathan to safety, change his face, give him yet another name, put up the shutters and go home.
And spend your life wondering which of the six ships currently on charter to Ironbrand contain the arms haul of a lifetime?
And where the exchange of merchandise took place?
