The Bear's Tears (83 page)

"Aren't you?"

Zimmermann rubbed his chin, then sighed. "Yes. In their place, I
would not allow him to be seen again, by anyone, once he left the
aircraft. Anything else would be a risk, a finesse." He nodded, as if
some inner self had finally become convinced of the argument's
inevitable logic, then raised his arms in a gesture of helplessness.
Hyde merely continued to stare at the telephone clamped to the desk
amplifier, his hands kneading the pottery of his mug as if to reshape
it.

Nine-three.

"Are you trying that number?" Hyde snapped in English at the
intercom.

Zimmermann walked swiftly to the desk and issued instructions in
clipped, precise phrases. The Grenzschütz switchboard operator offered
assurances of his best efforts. Zimmermann looked up at Hyde.

"I have instructed them that the number is to be left ringing.
Continuously."

Hyde was about to reply when the door opened. The features of
the
Grenzschütz Kapitan were clouded with doubt, even embarrassment. His
eyes displayed a sense of having been deceived and there was a stiff,
ominous rectitude about his lips. He closed the door behind him.

"Herr Professor Zimmermann," he began formally. "I must ask you
to
accompany me, please."

"What is the matter?" Zimmermann snapped back, his eyes angry
and
affronted. Hyde sensed that he had already-weighed the situation,
completely understood it. "I do not understand, Kapitan."

Immediately, the Frontier Guard officer was at a disadvantage.
But
he persisted: "You have deceived me and my men, Herr Professor. This is
not a matter of Federal security. You are at present —" He hesitated,
as if once more embarrassed, then added: "You are not officially
recognised, Herr Professor. You do not have official status."

Hyde, turning his head from face to face, realised that someone
had
acted without hesitation to inform Bonn of Zimmerrnann's whereabouts
and intentions. The ramifications did not bear consideration. The
immediate was dangerous enough. This captain could stop them simply by
denying them access to a telephone. The thread was that fine, that
fragile. Hyde forced himself to say nothing, closing his eyes like a
child against something frightening or dangerous.

"Please, Herr Professor," the captain pleaded. "This is a very
embarrassing moment. Please, you will accompany me now —"

Immediately, Zimmermann replied in a raised, authoritative
voice:
"No! Captain, I will not leave your office. I will not do as you ask."

The captain's dark, rounded features scowled, and his eyes
glanced
momentarily down as if seeking a reminder of his rank and authority.
"Herr Professor —" he warned.

"Captain - you are responsible for a stretch of border perhaps
fifty
miles long - yes?"

Puzzled, the officer nodded. "Yes —"

"Good. You have light and heavy armoured cars at your disposal.
You
conduct patrols. You are one of twenty thousand." Zimmermann hesitated,
then pounced with biting sarcasm. "I could get ten, fifty, a hundred
officers to do your job - this moment - from the ranks of the
Bundeswehr or the Grenzschütz or even the Territorialheer reservists!"
The captain's face opened in surprise, his jaw dropping beneath cheeks
growing pink and eyes that signaled his sense of outrage. Zimmermann
hurried his words, his tone studiedly angry and dismissive. Hyde
appreciated the performance, even as his eyes glanced at the clock. "Do
you understand my meaning, Captain? Do you understand what I am saying?
On my side, there is myself and this Englishman - no one else. I cannot
be replaced, neither can he. Nor will we be. What could you expect to
understand about security? About our world!" He gestured in Hyde's
direction. "You receive a telephone call from someone in Bonn you have
never heard of, and you jump to do as he says? Do you think we dragged
this man out of the river for humanitarian reasons? Do you? I suggest
you spend some time - perhaps thirty minutes, checking your
instructions. Meanwhile, you will leave us here, in the safety of your
office where the door and the windows can be guarded,
with the use
of the telephone and the services
of your switchboard operator,
and we shall promise not to attempt to escape!" The climax of the
sentence was mocking, superior.

Zimmermann, to emphasis his assumed, false control of the
situation, immediately placed himself behind the captain's desk,
apparently relaxed and comfortable in the officer's own chair. Rights
of occupation, Hyde thought. Nine-six. Twenty-four minutes. Hyde once
more squeezed his eyes shut. His teeth had ceased to chatter. The
electric fire near his legs now gave out an appreciable warmth. He felt
the last of the coffee warm in his stomach.

"I -" the captain began, his face flushed, his eyes now
calculating
behind the anger.

"Well, captain? Well?" Zimmermann persisted. "If we are a danger
to
the state, you have us well controlled - in custody already. Haven't
you?"

The captain's hands were bunched at his sides. His dislike of
Zimmermann became masked and hidden. His eyes moved rapidly as if he
were dreaming where he stood. What if—? What chance —? Hyde saw the
questions dart and flicker. Could he avoid offending Zimmermann and
Bonn at the same time? Zimmermann was a powerful man, his authority
only suspect, not ended. Eventually, he nodded.

"Very well. This room will be placed under guard, Herr Professor
-
in twenty minutes, I shall return. You will then be placed in proper
custody until I receive further orders. Any use you make of the
telephone will, of course, be monitored." Zimmermann shrugged as if
indifferent, and the captain, hiding his anger at the further insult,
turned on his heel and left the office. They heard him barking orders
in the outer room.

Nine-eight.

"Jesus —!" Hyde began.

Zimmermann waved him to silence. "It was nothing," he observed
with
assumed modesty and a smile. "But, they are moving very quickly. They
have excellent communications. They will definitely attempt to save
Babbington when he lands in - in twenty-one minutes." His fingers
drummed on the desk. Through the window a high pale sky retreated
beyond hills dark with pine. A guard ostentatiously took up position in
full view outside the window. Zimmermann laughed. "Ridiculous."

"Anything yet?" Hyde asked the intercom, flicking the switch up
for
the switchboard operator's reply.

"Nothing, sir."

"Sir," Hyde remarked ironically.

"He is playing even safer than his officer."

"And, in twenty minutes' time?"

"That could be - awkward? I do not know what will happen. I will
be
in trouble with my ministry, of course. Whether any - more permanent
measures might be taken, I cannot say. It depends on what power they
can wield. And who could be certain about that?"

Nine-eleven. Nineteen minutes. The KGB might even meet
Babbington on
the tarmac. Come on, come on —

"Christ —!" Hyde exploded, hurling the empty mug at the clock on
the
wall. It struck below it and shattered. Hyde had begun shaking once
more, and tugged the blanket more tightly around him. His feet shifted,
his teeth ground with rage rather than cold.
"Come on, damn you!"

"Sir?"

Zimmermann immediately reached for the intercom switch and
flicked
it.

"Yes?"

"Sir, I have your call. I gave your name, sir - was that… ?"

"Yes, yes - put the call through, man!"

Hyde's head came up. His whole frame was quivering. "Is it —?"
he
began.

Zimmermann clipped the receiver to a desk speaker/amplifier so
that
both he and Hyde could hear Guest and speak to him without having to
transfer the receiver to and fro.

"Sir William Guest? Am I addressing Sir William Guest?"
Zimmermann
asked breathlessly, his voice light and strange.

"Who is this? My telephone has been ringing ever since —" With a
silent movement of his lips, Zimmermann queried the voice with Hyde. He
had slumped in the chair, the blanket falling open, disregarded. He
nodded. His clenched fists beat at his thighs. His head bobbed. It was
Guest, was Guest -impossibly, it was —!

Zimmermann identified himself to Guest in a formal, polite
manner.
Then he said, "I have someone here, Sir William, who must speak with
you - only with you. It is of the utmost urgency. You must listen to
him —" Zimmermann's tone had changed to one of pleading. He was no
longer able to control his voice.

Nine-twelve.

"Yes? What is all this, Herr Zimmermann? Of course, I understand
you,
but not the mystery you seem intent on creating. I have just arrived
after a very unsatisfactory aeroplane journey, I am very tired —"

"Shut up and listen!" Hyde shouted into the telephone, leaning
forward on his chair, his face bent towards the receiver. "It's Hyde -
Patrick Hyde. And I want to talk about Aubrey. Now, listen —"

"Hyde!" Sir William's voice blared from the receiver. "Hyde - how
dare you…" Hyde grinned at Zimmermann. His teeth had begun to chatter
once more, and his shaking seemed well beyond control. Zimmermann
realised that the Australian was without reserves. He was forcing
himself not to subside completely. Zimmermann prepared to take command
of the situation. Hyde pulled the blanket back around his shoulders and
hunched his body. Somehow, diminishing the physical space he occupied
seemed to assist him; as if he were squeezing some sponge within him
which still held a few last drops of energy. "This conversation must
end at once, Hyde," Sir William continued, his habitual tone of
authority fully recaptured. "There are channels - and you are
persona non grata, as you are only too well aware."

"For Christ's
sake
—!"

"Sir William," Zimmermann interjected, waving Hyde to silence.
The
Australian glared at him. And obeyed. "Sir William - time is very
short, as you will understand once you have heard what we have to tell
you. I beg you to listen." Zimmermann's tone was edged with
obsequiousness, which Hyde loathed. The German adopted the role of a
subordinate, but one with his own degree of rank and authority. "I
really must insist —" he continued.

"What is it, Herr Zimmermann? Really, what is the cause of this
unexpected, uninvited conversation?"

"Proof!" Hyde exclaimed. "Proof that Aubrey's innocent and your
pal
Babbington's been a very naughty boy behind your back! And from the
same fucking school, too —!"

"Hyde! Be silent!" Zimmermann barked. He pressed his finger to
his
lips, then pointed to himself. "I'm sorry, Sir William. Mr Hyde's
loyalty is not in question, as you can —"

"But it is, Herr Zimmermann - I don't know what tale he has told
you, but I'm afraid you are in the company of a renegade. One of our
rotten apples, I'm sorry to say…"

"Forgive me, but I don't think so."

"Really. With the kind of accusation he appears to be making?
You
surely don't believe him?"

Nine-fourteen. Both of them glanced in the same moment at the
clock
on the wall, the coffee from Hyde's mug an elongated, drying splash
beneath it on the cream paint.

"I am afraid that I am forced to do so," Zimmermann replied with
studied deference and conviction.

"Herr Zimmermann - I really am very tired…"

"Please, Sir William —! You have been in Washington for a matter
of
days now…"

"Yes?"

"You are then not familiar with what has happened - that Sir
Kenneth
Aubrey is in the Soviet Union at this moment?"

There was a silence, then Guest said, "The news does not
surprise
me. I will, no doubt, be receiving a report in due course. From Andrew
Babbington."

"He'll be on your doorstep within the hour, mate, with his
version
of events. You can bloody count on it!"

"Sir Andrew has been in Vienna. Aubrey was captured by your
intelligence service there —"

"Ah."

"But, they lost him. He was
allowed
to fall into the
hands
of the KGB. They spirited him at once to Moscow. His flight will have
landed by now."

Nine-fifteen. Yes, Hyde admitted, banging his thighs with
clenched
fists. Landed by now. Zimmermann had checked with Vienna before leaving
Waldsassen for the border. The Aeroflot flight had left Vienna at
six-fifteen. Three hours to Moscow. It was down by now. Red carpet, the
boys in the band, the forced handshakes and back-pattings, the black
car - finis. Gone. Tomorrow, all you have to look forward to is a
heart-attack and the obituary in Pravda.

"And?"

"Sir William, I am convinced that Sir Kenneth is in the gravest
danger —"

"From his own people?" Guest remarked with studied irony.

"No - from the Soviets. He is not one of them."

"But Andrew Babbington is? Preposterous!"

"Hyde has evidence, Sir William. The man is named specifically.
The
whole - scenario, shall we call it, whereby Sir Kenneth was made to
appear a Soviet agent… Mr Hyde has this on a computer tape. He has
obtained definitive evidence of Sir Andrew Babbington's treachery and
the Soviet attempt to disgrace Sir Kenneth and replace him with their
own agent."

"I promoted Andrew Babbington," Guest replied. The tiny click of
the
clock's minute hand moving was audible in the room. Zimmermann's words
had fallen emptily, with a dull, hollow noise. The cassette lay, still
wrapped in polythene, on the captain's desk. It was mute; might have
been blank for all the use it appeared to be.

Zimmermann shrugged, lacing his fingers, unlacing them. He
appeared
at a loss.

Guest said, "Preposterous. Quite preposterous. What kind of
twisted
mind invented this rubbish? Hyde? Aubrey? The Russians? It really is
ridiculous, you know, Herr Zimmermann."

Nine-sixteen.

"Christ, I'm cold," Hyde murmured.