SS-GB by Len Deighton Read Free Book Online Page A

for them.’
    ‘You must have been talking to Harry Woods,’ said Douglas in a vain attempt to turn the argument into a joke.
    ‘You’re pathetic,’ said Sylvia. ‘Do you know that? You’re pathetic!’
    She was pretty, but with the rain making rats’ tails of her hair, her lipstick smudged, and the ill-fitting raincoat that had always been too short for her, Douglas suddenly saw her as he’d never seen her before. And he saw her, too, as she’d be in ten years hence; a tight-lipped virago with a loud voice and quick temper. He realized that he’d never make a go of itwith Sylvia. But when her parents were killed by bombs, just a few days before Douglas lost his wife, it was natural that they sought in each other some desperate solace that came disguised as love.
    What Douglas had once seen as the attractive over-confidence of youth, now looked more like unyielding selfishness. He wondered if there was another man, a much younger one perhaps, but decided against asking her, knowing that she would say yes just to annoy him. ‘We’re both pathetic, Sylvia,’ he said, ‘and that’s the truth of it.’
    They were standing near one of the Landseer lions, shining as black as polished ebony in the driving rain. They were virtually alone there, for now even the most stalwart of German servicemen had put away their tax-free cameras and taken shelter. Sylvia stood with one hand in her pocket, and the other pushing her wet hair off her forehead. She smiled but there was no merriment there, not even a touch of kindness or compassion. ‘Don’t be sarcastic about Harry Woods,’ she said bitterly. ‘He’s the only friend you’ve got left. Do you realize that?’
    ‘Leave Harry out of it,’ said Douglas.
    ‘You realize he’s one of us, don’t you?’
    ‘What?’
    ‘The Resistance, you fool.’ The expression on Douglas’s face was enough to make her laugh. A woman, pushing a pram laden with a sack of coal, half turned to look at them before hurrying on.
    ‘Harry?’
    ‘Harry Woods, assistant to Archer of the Yard, protégé of the Gestapo, scourge of any who dare blow raspberries at the conqueror, and yet, yea, verily, I say unto you, this man dare fight the bloody Hun.’ She walked to the fountain and looked at her reflection in the shallow waters.
    ‘You
have
been drinking.’
    ‘Only the heady potion of freedom.’
    ‘Don’t take an overdose,’ said Douglas. It was almost comical to see her in this sort of mood. Perhaps it was a reaction to the fear she’d felt at the spot-check.
    ‘Just look after our friend Harry,’ she called shrilly, ‘and give him this, with all my love.’
    The hand emerged from her pocket holding the SIPO pass. Before Douglas could stop her, she lifted her arm and threw it as far as she could into the water of the fountain. The rain pounded the stone paving so heavily that the water rebounded to make a grey cornfield of water-spray. She walked quickly through it, towards the steps that led to the National Gallery.
    Under the rain-spotted water it was only just possible to see the red-bordered pass as it sank to the bottom amongst the tourists’ coins, Agfa boxes and ice-cream wrappers. Left there, it might well be spotted by some high-ranking official, who would make life hell for the whole department. Douglas stood looking at it for a moment or two but he was already so wet that it would make little difference to go into the water up to his knees.

Chapter Five
    When Douglas got back to his office that afternoon, he had barely enough time to clean himself up, and put on dry shoes, before there was a message from the first floor. General Kellerman wanted a word with Douglas, if that was convenient. It was convenient. Douglas hurried upstairs.
    ‘Ah, Superintendent Archer, so good of you to come,’ said Kellerman as if Archer was some sort of visiting dignitary. ‘I seem to have such a busy day today.’ Kellerman’s senior staff officer passed his chief a teleprinter