A Perfect Spy by John le Carré

think—the Americans?”
    â€œWhy do you say that—the Americans? Did he have a thing about them?”
    â€œWhy should he? He served in Washington.”
    â€œNeedn’t stop him. Might even encourage him. Did you know the Lederers in Washington?”
    â€œOf course we did.”
    â€œBut better here, eh? I hear she’s quite an armful.”
    He was turning forward to the days yet to be endured. Tomorrow and the day after. To the weekend, which was already gaping at her like a hole in her shattered universe.
    â€œMind if I keep this?” he asked.
    Mary damn well did mind. She possessed no spare diary and no spare life either. She snatched it back and let him wait while she copied out her future on a sheet of paper: Drinks Lederer . . . dinner Dinkels . . . Tom’s school term ends.... She came to “meet P” and left it out.
    â€œWhy’s this drawer empty?” he asked.
    â€œI didn’t know it was.”
    â€œSo what was it full of?”
    â€œOld photographs. Mementoes. Nothing.”
    â€œHow long’s it been empty?”
    â€œI don’t know, Jack. I don’t know! Get off my back, will you?”
    â€œDid he put papers in his suitcase?”
    â€œI didn’t watch him pack.”
    â€œDid you hear him down here while he was packing?”
    â€œYes.”
    The telephone rang. Mary’s hand shot out to take it, but Brotherhood was already grasping her wrist. Still holding her, he leaned towards the door and yelled for Harry while the phone went on ringing. It was rising four a.m. already. Who the hell calls at four in the morning except Magnus? Inside herself Mary was praying so loud she hardly heard Brotherhood’s shout. The phone kept calling her, and she knew now that nothing mattered except Magnus and her family.
    â€œIt might be Tom!” she shouted while she struggled. “Let go, damn you!”
    â€œIt might be Lederer, too.”
    Harry must have flown downstairs. She counted two more rings before he was standing in the doorway.
    â€œTrig this call,” Brotherhood ordered, loud and slow. Harry vanished. Brotherhood released Mary’s hand. “Make it very, very long, Mary. Spread it right out. You know how to play those games. Do it.”
    She lifted the phone and said, “Pym residence.”
    Nobody answered. Brotherhood was conducting her with his powerful hands, willing her, pressing her to talk. She heard a metallic ping and crammed her hand over the mouthpiece. “It could be a call code,” she breathed. She held up one finger for one ping. Then a second. Then a third. It was a call code. They had used them in Berlin: two for this, three for that. Private and prearranged between the Joe and base. She opened her eyes to Brotherhood to say what shall I do? He shook his head to say I don’t know either.
    Speak, he mouthed.
    Mary drew a deep breath. “Hullo? Speak up, please.” She took refuge in German. “This is the residence of Counsellor Magnus Pym of the British Embassy. Who is that? Will you speak, please? Mr. Pym is not here at the moment. If you wish to leave a message, you may do so. Otherwise, please call later. Hullo?”
    More, Brotherhood was urging. Give me more. She recited her telephone number in German and again in English. The line was open and she could hear a noise like traffic and a noise like scratchy music played at half speed, but no more pings. She repeated the number in English. “Speak up, please. The line is dreadful. Hullo. Can you hear me? Who’s that calling, please? Do—please—speak—up.” Then she couldn’t help herself. Her eyes closed and she screamed, “Magnus, for God’s sake say where you are!” But Brotherhood was miles ahead of her. With a lover’s knowledge he had felt her outburst coming and clapped his hand over the cradle.
    â€œToo short, sir,” Harry lamented from the doorway.