The Colditz Legacy by Guy Walters

Author:Guy Walters
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Transworld
Published: 2010-12-15T07:00:00+00:00

Chapter Six

April 1973

THE TAXI SMELT heavily of stale tobacco, and the small metal ashtrays were overflowing with cigarette ends. No matter, thought Hartley, as he removed a packet of Silk Cut from his mackintosh. He lit one, the first of the day, and unfolded The Times. Strikes, and more bloody strikes. He half folded, half crumpled the paper, and tossed it on to the seat. He took a long drag on the cigarette, coughed and blew out the smoke through the window. The wet streets were as grey and filthy as the inside of the cab. There was rubbish everywhere, and many pedestrians looked as though they spent the night in it.

Hartley took another drag on the cigarette, and pushed it out of the window. He didn’t like his smoking, and neither did Sarah, but he needed it. One day, he would give up, perhaps next week when they went fishing in Scotland. He would be unbearable for a few days, but Sarah would tolerate it, as she always did. Indeed, there was much to tolerate – late nights home, countless trips abroad, phone calls in the middle of the night, broken-off dinner parties – all of which she took in good part. It wasn’t so much for herself that she had minded, but for their two boys. He had missed too many football matches, one too many prize-givings. They were grown-up now, and although they were friendly, they were not close to him. Maybe things would get better when they had families of their own. Perhaps then they would understand.

Had it been worthwhile, though? Only he knew the answer to that, and he couldn’t even tell Sarah, because she would want to know why. Some of them did tell their wives – they denied it, of course – but Hartley didn’t want to burden Sarah with the weight of his secrets. It had been worth it because knowing what your enemy was planning to do was the most important information of all. And he had found out a lot, and stopped them doing some of it. But he couldn’t stop it all, and that was why the game was so frustrating: you could never quite win, and it would never end.

It was expensive too, and Hartley had lost many men. His superiors told him that that was natural, that it was a by-product of doing what he did, but he could never get used to it. And now that he was one of the superiors, he had to tell young men that losing agents was all part of it. It didn’t mean they shouldn’t care, but they couldn’t take it personally. Deep down, though, Hartley did take it personally – and badly. He masked his feelings, often wondering whether he was too decent for all this. He was not one of the grubby ones, but he had been corrupted by it, because throwing shit around meant that a lot stuck to your hands. It was unavoidable, and the only

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