The Human Factor (7 page)

‘What's wrong?' Castle asked.

‘Haven't you received one of these?'

‘Oh, a medical check-up? Of course. I don't know how many times I've been checked in my time. It's something to do with insurance – or pension. Before they sent me to South Africa, Doctor Percival – perhaps you haven't met Doctor Percival – tried to make out I had diabetes. They sent me to a specialist who found I had too little sugar instead of too much . . . Poor old Percival. I think he was a bit out of practice in general medicine, being mixed up with us. Security is more important than a correct diagnosis in this outfit.'

‘This chit
is
signed Percival, Emmanuel Percival. What a name. Wasn't Emmanuel the bringer of good tidings? Do you think they might be sending me abroad too?'

‘Would you like to go?'

‘I've always dreamt of being sent one day to Lourenço Marques. Our man there is due for a change. The port should be good, shouldn't it? I suppose even revolutionaries drink port. If only I could have Cynthia with me . . .'

‘I thought you favoured a bachelor life.'

‘I wasn't talking about marriage. Bond never had to marry. I like Portuguese cooking.'

‘It's probably African cooking by now. Do you know anything about the place apart from 69300's cables?'

‘I collected a whole file on the nightspots and the restaurants before their damned revolution. Perhaps they are all closed now. All the same I don't suppose 69300 knows the half of what I do about what goes on there. He hasn't got the files, and anyway he's so damned serious – I think he takes his work to bed. Think what the two of us could put down on expenses.'

‘The two of you?'

‘Cynthia and me.'

‘What a dreamer you are, Davis. She'll never take you on. Remember her father, the major-general.'

‘Everybody has his dream. What's yours, Castle?'

‘Oh, I suppose sometimes I dream of security. I don't mean Daintry's sort of security. To be retired. With a good pension. Enough for me and my wife . . .'

‘And your little bastard?'

‘Yes, and my little bastard too, of course.'

‘They aren't very generous with pensions in this department.'

‘No, I don't suppose either of us will realize his dream.'

‘All the same this medical check-up
must
mean something, Castle. That time I went over to Lisbon – our man there took me to a sort of cave beyond Estoril, where you could hear the water washing up under your table . . . I've never eaten any lobsters as good as those were. I've read about a restaurant in Lourenço Marques . . . I even like their green wine, Castle. I really ought to be there – not 69300. He doesn't appreciate good living. You know the place, don't you?'

‘I spent two nights there with Sarah – seven years ago. At the Hotel Polana.'

‘Only two nights?'

‘I'd left Pretoria in a hurry – you know that – just ahead of BOSS. I didn't feel safe so near the frontier. I wanted to put an ocean between BOSS and Sarah.'

‘Oh yes, you had Sarah. Lucky you. At the Hotel Polana. With the Indian Ocean outside.'

Castle remembered the bachelor flat – the used glasses,
Penthouse
and
Nature
. ‘If you are really serious, Davis, I'll talk to Watson. I'll put you up for an exchange.'

‘I'm serious enough. I want to escape from here, Castle. Desperately.'

‘Is it as bad as all that?'

‘We sit here writing meaningless telegrams. We feel important because we know a little bit more than someone else about the groundnuts or what Mobutu said at a private dinner . . . Do you know I came into this outfit for excitement? Excitement, Castle. What a fool I was. I don't know how you've stood it all these years . . .'

‘Perhaps being married helps.'

‘If I ever married I wouldn't want to live my life here. I'm tired to death of this damned old country, Castle, electricity cuts, strikes, inflation. I'm not worried about the price of food – it's the price of good port which gets me down. I joined this outfit hoping to get abroad, I've even learnt Portuguese, but here I stay answering telegrams from Zaire, reporting groundnuts.'

‘I always thought you were having fun, Davis.'

‘Oh, I have fun when I get a little drunk. I love that girl, Castle. I can't get her out of my head. And so I clown to please her, and the more I clown the less she likes me. Perhaps if I went to Lourenço Marques . . . She said once she wanted to go abroad too.'

The telephone rang. ‘Is that you, Cynthia?' but it wasn't. It was Watson, the head of Section 6. ‘Is that you, Castle?'

‘It's Davis.'

‘Give me Castle.'

‘Yes,' Castle said, ‘I'm here. What is it?'

‘C wants to see us. Will you pick me up on the way down?'

3

It was a long way down, for C's office was one floor underground, established in what during the 1890s had been a millionaire's wine cellar. The room where Castle and Watson waited for a green light to go on above C's door had been the adjoining cellar for the coal and wood, and C's office had housed the best wines in London. It was rumoured that, when the department had taken over the house in 1946 and the architect started to reconstruct the building, a false wall was discovered in the wine cellar and behind it lay like mummies the millionaire's secret treasure of fabulous vintages. They were sold – so the legend went – by some ignorant clerk in the Office of Works to the Army and Navy Stores for the price of common table wines. The story was probably untrue, but whenever an historic wine came up at a Christie auction, Davis would say with gloom, ‘That was one of ours.'

The red light stayed interminably on. It was like waiting in a car for a traffic accident to be cleared away.

‘Do you know what the trouble is?' Castle asked.

‘No. He just asked me to introduce all the Section 6 men whom he's never met. He's been through 6B and now it's your turn. I'm to introduce you and then leave you. That's the drill. It sounds like a relic of colonialism to me.'

‘I met the old C once. Before I went abroad the first time. He had a black eye-glass. It was rather daunting being stared at by that black O, but all he did was shake hands and wish me good luck. They aren't thinking of sending me abroad again by any chance?'

‘No. Why?'

‘Remind me to speak to you about Davis.'

The light turned green.

‘I wish I'd shaved better this morning,' Castle said.

Sir John Hargreaves, unlike the old C, was not daunting at all. He had a brace of pheasants on his desk and he was busy on the telephone. ‘I brought them up this morning. Mary thought you might like them.' He waved his hand towards two chairs.

So that's where Colonel Daintry spent the week-end, Castle thought. To shoot pheasants or report on security? He took the smaller and harder chair with a due sense of protocol.

‘She's fine. A bit of rheumatism in her bad leg, that's all,' Hargreaves said and rang off.

‘This is Maurice Castle, sir,' Watson said. ‘He's in charge of 6A.'

‘In charge sounds a little too important,' Castle said. ‘There are only two of us.'

‘You deal with Top Secret sources, don't you? You – and Davis under your direction?'

‘And Watson's.'

‘Yes, of course. But Watson has the whole of 6 in his care. You delegate, I suppose, a good deal, Watson?'

‘I find 6C the only section which needs my full attention. Wilkins hasn't been with us long. He has to work himself in.'

‘Well, I won't keep you any longer, Watson. Thanks for bringing Castle down.'

Hargreaves stroked the feathers of one of the dead birds. He said, ‘Like Wilkins I'm working myself in. As I see it things are a bit like they were when I was a young man in West Africa. Watson is a sort of Provincial Commissioner and you are a District Commissioner left pretty well to yourself in your own territory. Of course, you know Africa too, don't you?'

‘Only South Africa,' Castle said.

‘Yes, I was forgetting. South Africa never seems quite like the real Africa to me. Nor the north either. That's dealt with by 6C, isn't it? Daintry has been explaining things to me. Over the weekend.'

‘Did you have a good shoot, sir?' Castle asked.

‘Medium. I don't think Daintry was quite satisfied. You must come and have a go yourself next autumn.'

‘I wouldn't be any good, sir. I've never shot anything in my life, not even a human being.'

‘Ah, yes, they are the best target. To tell you the truth, birds bore me too.'

C looked at a paper on his desk. ‘You did very good work in Pretoria. You are described as a first-class administrator. You reduced the expenses of the station considerably.'

‘I took over from a man who was brilliant at recruiting agents, but he hadn't much idea of finance. It came easily to me. I was in a bank for a while before the war.'

‘Daintry writes here that you had some private trouble in Pretoria.'

‘I wouldn't call it trouble. I fell in love.'

‘Yes. So I see. With an African girl. What those fellows call Bantu without distinction. You broke their race laws.'

‘We're safely married now. But we did have a difficult time out there.'

‘Yes. So you reported to us. I wish all our people when they are in a bit of trouble would behave as correctly. You were afraid the South African police were getting on to you and would try to tear you in pieces.'

‘It didn't seem right to leave you with a vulnerable representative.'

‘You can see I've been looking pretty closely through your file. We told you to get out at once, though we never thought that you'd bring the girl with you.'

‘HQ had had her vetted. They found nothing wrong with her. Wasn't I right from your point of view to get her out too? I had used her as a contact with my African agents. My cover story was that I was planning a serious critical study of apartheid in my spare time, but the police might have broken her. So I got her away through Swaziland to Lourenço Marques.'

‘Oh, you did quite right, Castle. And now you're married with a child. All well, I hope?'

‘Well, at the moment my son has measles.'

‘Ah, then you must pay attention to his eyes. The eyes are the weak spot. The thing I really wished to see you about, Castle, was a visit we are going to have in a few weeks' time from a certain Mr Cornelius Muller, one of the head boys in BOSS. I think you knew him when you were in Pretoria.'

‘I did indeed.'

‘We are going to let him see some of the material you deal with. Of course, only enough to establish the fact that we
are
cooperating – in a sort of way.'

‘He'll know more than we do about Zaire.'

‘It's Mozambique he's most interested in.'

‘In that case Davis is your man, sir. He's more abreast of things there than I am.'

‘Oh yes, of course, Davis. I haven't yet met Davis.'

‘Another thing, sir. When I was in Pretoria, I didn't get on at all well with this man Muller. If you look further back in my file – it was he who tried to blackmail me under the race laws. That was why your predecessor told me to get out as fast as I could. I don't think that would help our personal relations. It would be better to have Davis deal with him.'

‘All the same you are Davis's superior, and you are the natural officer to see him. It won't be easy, I know that. Knives out on both sides, but he'll be the one who's taken by surprise. You know exactly what not to show him. It's very important to guard our agents – even if it means keeping some important material dark. Davis hasn't your personal experience of BOSS – and their Mr Muller.'

‘Why do we have to show him anything, sir?'

‘Have you ever wondered, Castle, what would happen to the West if the South African gold mines were closed by a racial war? And a losing war perhaps, as in Vietnam. Before the politicians have agreed on a substitute for gold. Russia as the chief source. It would be a bit more complicated than the petrol crisis. And the diamond mines . . . De Beers are more important than General Motors. Diamonds don't age like cars. There are even more serious aspects than gold and diamonds, there's uranium. I don't think you've been told yet of a secret White House paper on an operation they call Uncle Remus.'

‘No. There have been rumours . . .'

‘Like it or not, we and South Africa and the States are all partners in Uncle Remus. And that means we have to be pleasant to Mr Muller – even if he did blackmail you.'

‘And I have to show him . . .?'

‘Information on guerrillas, blockade-running to Rhodesia, the new chaps in power in Mozambique, Russian and Cuban penetration . . . economic information . . .'

‘There's not much left, is there?'

‘Go a bit carefully on the Chinese. The South Africans are too much inclined to lump them with the Russians. The day may come when we need the Chinese. I don't like the idea of Uncle Remus any more than you do. It's what the politicians call a realistic policy, and realism never got anyone very far in the kind of Africa I used to know. My Africa was a sentimental Africa. I really loved Africa, Castle. The Chinese don't, nor do the Russians nor the Americans – but we have to go with the White House and Uncle Remus and Mr Muller. How easy it was in the old days when we dealt with chiefs and witch doctors and bush schools and devils and rain queens. My Africa was still a little like the Africa of Rider Haggard. It wasn't a bad place. The Emperor Chaka was a lot better than Field-Marshal Amin Dada. Oh well, do your best with Muller. He's the personal representative of the big BOSS himself. I suggest you see him first at home – it would be a salutary shock for him.'