Len Deighton - Spy 06 - Spy Sin by Spy Sinker

Author:Spy Sinker [Sinker, Spy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

way of shocking him.

‘I don’t understand, Frau Direktor.’ He glanced

round but there was no one else standing along the

riverfront: just workers and shoppers going home.

‘I never get the minutes of the morning meetings

until late in the afternoon of the following day. Is there a

reason for that?’

194 Spy Sinker Spy Sinker 195

‘Everyone receives the minutes by the same delivery.’

He gave a sly smile. ‘We are slow; that is the only

reason.’ A large air-conditioned bus came crawling over

the bridge. Pale Japanese faces pressed against its grey

smoked glass. From inside it came the shrill commentary of the tour guide of which only the words

‘Hauptmanns von K6penick’ could be easily distinguished. The bus moved slowly on and was lost behind

the trees. ‘They never go and see the Schloss or the Art

Museum,’ said Renn sadly. ‘They just want to see the

town hall. The tour guide will tell them about the

bootmaker who bought an army captain’s uniform from

a pawn shop, assumed command of some off-duty

grenadiers and arrested the mayor and the city

treasurer. Then they will all laugh and say what fools we

Germans are.’

‘Yes,’ said Fiona. Despite the Schloss and the dark

green woodland and the clear blue lakes and the rivers,

the only thing anyone ever remembered about

K6penick was its captain.

‘The sad thing is,’ said Renn, ‘that poor old Wilhelm

Voigt, the bootmaker, didn’t want the city funds; he

wanted a residence permit, and K6penick had no

department authorized to issue one. He wasn’t a

Berliner, you see, and his escapade was a fiasco.’

‘I am not a Berliner, nor even a German by birth

She did not finish.

‘But you speak the most beautiful German,’ said

Renn, interrupting her. ‘Everyone remarks upon it:

wonderful Hochdeutsch. When I hear it, I feel selfconscious about my miserable accent.’ He looked at

her. ‘Do you have a headache?’

She shook her head. ‘Do you not sometimes wonder

if I am a class enemy, Herr Renn?’

He pursed his lips. ‘Vladimir Ilyich Lenin was born

i

into a bourgeois family,’ said Renn in what was a

typically ambivalent reply.

‘Leaving the birth of Comrade Lenin aside for the

moment,’ said Fiona. ‘If there was an attempt to have

me removed from this job, what would be your

attitude?’

His already contorted face became agitated as he wet

his lips and frowned to indicate deep thought. ‘I would

have to consider the facts,’ he said finally.

‘Consider the facts?’

‘I have a wife and family,’ said Renn. ‘It is them that I

have to consider.’ He turned to see the river, slow and

unctuous now; once it had been fast, clear and fresh.

Not so long ago anglers had landed big fish here, but

there was no sign of any now. He stared down into the

water and hoped the Frau Direktor would be satisfied.

‘Are you saying that you would throw me to the

wolves?’ said Fiona.

‘Wolves? No!’ He turned to her. ‘I am not a thrower,

Frau Direktor. I am one of the people who are thrown.’

The church clock struck six. His working day was over

and done. He opened his overcoat in order to reach into

his back pocket for a flask. ‘About this time I sometimes

take a small glass of schnapps … If the Frau Direktor

would permit.

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