"He could have. But he only had about a couple of hours to do it in – after I'd rung from Hannover. Until then he'd beenexpecting Blagg, and he might know exactly what he'd left." Maxim had decided to play this bland and straight – well, fairly straight. Captain Apgood and the prints he had made weren't even going to get a mention-in-despatches.

"I understand. But perhaps you think he would have changed something if he could?"

"Out of pure habit, yes."

Sims smiled at him. "Yes. Now, you have seen the certificates of death?" He had gone back to those.

"I had a look through. "

"And it seems that something happened at Dornhausen at 11.30 hours on April 15 1945. A bomb, do you think?"

"Probably. The place had been occupied by the Americans for ten days or more, but 9th Air Force was flying missions down to the south and Czechoslovakia until the end of the month. And not every bomb falls in the right place."

"That is very true, Major. But you have looked up some history for me? I am very grateful. "

Maxim shrugged. "The rest of the news doesn't look too good. I mean, there's a death certificate for her and I don't see how it could be faked. You'd have a problem trying to fit it into the sequence, wouldn't you? There'd be a number in a ledger – or something…"

"You are quite right, Major. You know something about these matters."

"Not really."

"Oh yes." He brooded for a moment. "You know I have a problem being in Germany. If I am recognised… I must be careful. Please, will you come to Bad Schwärzendemto help me?"

"I can tell you want to go, " George said. "And in the end I had to say you could. Co-operation, that's the word. Show willing – but not too much. I just wish The Firm would find somebody else to delegate to… and Harry, for God'ssake remember Number 10when it comes to the crunch. And don't let itcome to the crunch, either. "

He rang off and stared gloomily at the phone. He should have been saying No, Never, Not Again. Yet while he didn'tmuch care about the outcome of Plainsong, except in a generally patriotic sense, he cared very much that it shouldn't fail in any way that would leave a vindictive Foreign Office with a load of blame to distribute. Anything to keep Plainsong alive and Scott-Scobie andco. quiet until the news from Scotland got better. Or perhaps much worse. Well, by tomorrow we should know…

But of course we won't, he told himself. We go through life saying Well, tomorrow we shall know, one way or the other. Whether we've passed the exam, got thejob, if she's pregnant or not. And tomorrowcornesand we don't know. Oh, it brings plenty of its own unique disappointment and despair, but nothing to solve the dilemma of today.

He picked up the phone again and asked for Agnes at the Mount Row number. She was out.

Chapter 19

The house was part of a terrace, narrow and rising four stories from the level of the semi-private road running alongside Kensington High Street. Victorian, of course, but if you spend sixty-four years on the throne then a lot of building styles are going to be named after you. There was no entryphone, just a column of assorted bellpushes and their faded name-cards. It would be a long walk down for whoever had the top flat. Agnes found a card lettered neatlypfaffinger and pushed the bell.

She had just pressed it a second time when she heard a faint voice above the High Street traffic. A small head was poking out of the topmost window.

"I'm Algar!" she yelled up. "I rang you!"

The head ducked back and out again, and a crumpled piece of paper fell fast to the pavement. It was a brown envelope with a Yale key inside. Certainly cheaper than an entryphone.

Leni was waiting at the foot of the last flight of stairs, which was partitioned off to give her a flimsy front door of her own. Despite the thick skirt and cardigan, Agnes was surprised at the delicate frailness of her, like one of those rather coy Parian ware figurines, and with much the same over-large blue eyes. They went on up.

"Would you like some coffee? It will only be a moment."

"Very much. Thank you." Agnes sat down gingerly on a worn green velvet wing chair. The room was low-ceilinged, comfortable, long-lived in. Sagging plank bookshelves covered most of the walls, with papers and magazines scattered over all the flat surfaces. From atop one pile on the desk under the window, a very fat long-haired black cat gazed impassively at Agnes.

Leni came back with the coffee and poured it into twonon-matching teacups. It was real and freshly made.

"Are you really from the Security Service? A young girl like you?"

"Of course. " Agnes reached for her bag.

"No, no. I believe you. But why? Can you tell me why?"

"It's a living. " No, that was too flip for this shrewd little old lady. "I like it and I'm good at it. "

Leni smiled quickly, thenjust sat, very upright as if setting a good example, and seemed to be thinking something out. "Two other men came: were they from your service? They said they were attached to the Ministry of Defence – that's what you usually say, isn't it?"

"We have a card that says that. Do you want to… "

"No, they didn't show me their cards. But is it still true you only recruit people who are born British?"

Forty years of political broadcasting and handling refugees had probably given Leni as good a sense of how the twilight world worked as Agnes had herself.

"That's broadly true, yes."

"These men were German. At times we spoke German, it was easier for them."

"What did they want?"

"The same as you: to talk about Mina."

"Did they know she was alive, in this country?"

Leni hesitated. "Are you sure she is?"

"Oh yes. She came to visit you a week ago, at Bush House. She was issued with a security pass in the name of Linnarz." That was true, and if it suggested they had been alerted by the security pass and not by a friend in the underpaid BBC World Service, then so much the better.

"Look," Agnes went on, "these people werenot from my service. I'd like you to be quite sure that I'm who I say I am. I can get anybody you name at the BBC to talk to my office and then vouch for me. "

"I believe you. But who were the men?" 'I hope they were from our Intelligence Service, playing silly tricks. If not, then God help us. And Mina."

"You're saying that just to frighten me."

Agnes waited, sipping her coffee.

"I'm sorry,"Leni said. "That was silly, like a radio play." For her, radio was too serious for plays.

"When did they come?"

"On… on Friday."

"What did you tell them?"

"They knew I had seen Mina, too. How did they know?"

Agnes shook her head helplessly, but knew that Guy Husband would also have his contacts at Bush House. Most likely the SSD had a friend in need, too. "Did you tell them where Mina lives now?"

"Oh no. She didn't tell me. "

Agnes smiled and put her cup carefully down on an uneven surfaceof Der Spiegelsand Encounters. "Good. Can you tell me something about Mina?-just talk about her. How you met her, how she got on when she first came over here…"

"You must have it all in your files. "

"We have a lot of paper in our files. I rather prefer people. "

They had met a few days after Mina had stood up at the end of a recital in the Usher Hall at Edinburgh to announce that she would very much like to stay here in England (a tiny mistake the Scots reporters had kindly ignored) rather than return to East Germany. In the early 1950s every defection by either side was exploited like a battle won. The Home Office granted her political asylum with uncharacteristic haste and from then on she was interviewed constantly by every newspaper and radio network represented in Britain – including, of course, the BBC's German language service, which was aimed directly at the East Zone.