Smiley's People by John le Carré Read Free Book Online

was open to the weather, protected only by a canopy. It was a case of seconds. Not of days or kilometres any more; not hours. Seconds. The timing hand of his watch flickered past the six. The next time it reaches six, you move. A breeze was blowing but he barely noticed it. The time was an awful worry to him. When he got excited—he knew—he lost all sense of time completely. He was afraid the seconds hand would race through a double circuit before he had realised, turning one minute into two. In the stern section all seats were vacant. He made jerkily for the last bench of all, holding the basket of oranges over his stomach in both hands, clamping the newspaper to his armpit at the same time: it is I, read my signals. He felt a fool. The oranges were too conspicuous by far. Why on earth should an unshaven young man in a track suit be carrying a basket of oranges and yesterday’s newspaper? The whole boat must have noticed him! “Captain—that young man—there—he is a bomber! He has a bomb in his basket, he intends to hijack us or sink the ship!” A couple stood arm in arm at the railing with their backs to him, staring into the mist. The man was very small, shorter than the woman. He wore a black overcoat with a velvet collar. They ignored him. Sit as far back as you can; be sure you sit next to the aisle, the General had said. He sat down, praying it would work the first time, that none of the fall-backs would be needed. “Beckie, I do this for you, ” he whispered secretly, thinking of his daughter, and remembering the General’s words. His Lutheran origins notwithstanding, he wore a wooden cross round his neck, a present to him from his mother, but the zip of his tunic covered it. Why had he hidden the cross? So that God would not witness his deceit? He didn’t know. He wanted only to be driving again, to drive and drive till he dropped or was safely home.
    Look nowhere, he remembered the General saying. He was to look nowhere but ahead of him: You are the passive partner. You have nothing to do but supply the opportunity. No code word, nothing; just the basket and the oranges and the yellow envelope and the newspaper under your arm. I should never have agreed to it, he thought. I have endangered my daughter Beckie. Stella will never forgive me. I shall lose my citizenship, I have put everything at risk. Do it for our cause, the General had said. General, I haven’t got one: it was not my cause, it was your cause, it was my father’s; that is why I threw the oranges overboard.
    But he didn’t. Laying the newspaper beside him on the slatted bench, he saw that it was drenched in sweat—that patches of print had worn off where he clutched it. He looked at his watch. The seconds hand was standing at ten. It’s stopped! Fifteen seconds since I last looked—that simply is not possible! A frantic glance at the shore convinced him they were already in mid-lake. He looked at the watch again and saw the seconds hand jerking past eleven. Fool, he thought, calm yourself. Leaning to his right, he affected to read the newspaper while he kept the dial of his watch constantly in view. Terrorists. Nothing but terrorists, he thought, reading the headlines for the twentieth time. No wonder the passengers think I’m one of them. Grossfahndung. That was their word for massive search. It amazed him that he remembered so much German. Do it for our cause.
    At his feet the basket of oranges was leaning precariously. When you get up, put the basket on the bench to reserve your seat, the General had said. What if it falls over? In his imagination he saw the oranges rolling all over the deck, the yellow envelope upside down among them, photographs everywhere, all of Beckie. The seconds hand was passing six. He stood up. Now. His midriff was cold. He tugged his tunic down to cover it and inadvertently exposed his mother’s wooden cross. He closed the zip. Saunter. Look nowhere. Pretend you are the dreamy sort, the General had