Chapters (38)
- Cover
- Also by Philip Kerr
- Dedication
- Epigraph
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- AUTHOR’S NOTE
“I already told you,” she said evenly. “Are you deaf? I don’t know the name of any Soviet agents in MI6.” She tossed the pencil away and crushed the paper into a ball, which she now threw at me. “I can’t tell you what I don’t know, can I? He’s lying. Neither of us knows the name of any Soviet agents in MI6.”
“Anne French ought to be the one person you people can trust because she’s already betrayed the HVA’s Hollis operation to you,” I said. “And, of course, it’s perfectly understandable that you should trust her. Christ, I know I would. Anyone would. At great personal risk she’s told you everything about Othello and in considerable detail. That’s undeniable. Did you hear me deny it for very long? No. I’ve confirmed it and so has Harold Hennig. Well, more or less. But if I have supplied the names of two men who’ve been Soviet agents in MI6 and she says she can’t, then where does that leave your opinion of her? And of me? Clearly she’s demonstrated her loyalty to her own country and to you, and yet she says she knows nothing at all about any Soviet agents in MI6. It’s puzzling.” I looked at her and smiled kindly. “You might as well tell them, Anne. I really don’t think that either one of those names is going to be such a surprise to them.”
“Fuck you,” she hissed.
“You already did, sweetheart. In bed. Several times. And then in here. But do let me know if I’ve forgotten somewhere else.”
THIRTY-TWO
The thugs from Portsmouth took me back to the red room, only this time they didn’t chain my hand to the radiator, or leave the light on, or even hit me, for which I was grateful. So I wandered round the room for a while, for the exercise, stood at the window, opened it, and then pushed at the louvered shutters. I was glad of the fresh air, but the shutters themselves didn’t shift a centimeter, not even with all my weight against the center gap. It was dark outside and I had no idea what time it was. I could hear and smell the sea and I longed to be outside. I felt sick and terribly tired. My jaw still ached and I was longing for a bath.
“Be careful what you wish for, Gunther,” I said to myself. “They might take you for a bath in the sea. The kind of bath for which you won’t need any soap. Just a pair of concrete overshoes.”