The Network - Jason Elliot [111]
‘It’s weird,’ I say.
‘What’s weird?’
‘It’s just that in films when they have to train someone for a special op, they take him off to a huge underground secret base.’
‘You mean one with those doors that swish open like they do in Star Trek?’
‘Exactly. And a thing that X-rays you and scans your eyeball. You don’t see them saving caterpillars or sitting on the floor in somebody’s living room with a dog asleep on a chair.’
H looks affectionately at his terrier Jeffrey, who occupies the largest chair in the room, and tugs on his sleeping chin.
‘Welcome to the real world,’ he says.
On the way home, Gerhardt has difficulty pulling away from a crossroads, and I realise I’ve forgotten to top up the transmission fluid. I stop at a garage and it occurs to me, as I burn my hand on the cylinder head in the attempt to remove the transmission fluid dipstick, that it’s time to call in the favour from Gemayel before I leave.
It’s also time to see the Baroness. I arrange it in the usual way, but she’s not at the club and a note is waiting for me instead, indicating that I come to her home. I’m not expecting to be followed but take time for a careful dry-cleaning before reaching her front door. She buzzes me in. I feel my calf aching where the stitches have yet to heal as I walk up the stairs to the second floor.
The curtains are half-drawn as if she hasn’t had the strength to open them fully. She’s visibly more frail and I can’t help thinking that the end of an era is near. She uses a hand to steady herself against the furniture as she walks across the room, but stubbornly insists on preparing a pot of tea on her own and not letting me help.
I tell her about Khartoum, my illegal escape, and about my feelings for Jameela.
‘It does happen sometimes.’ She smiles. Her teacup tilts imperfectly on the saucer as she returns it. Then her expression grows more grave and I can tell she has something on her mind.
‘I have some news,’ she says. ‘It’s not what you would call good.’
I’m imagining it’s something personal, so it’s a shock when she refers to the operation we’re planning in Afghanistan.
‘It is only a whisper, but it’s been suggested that some parties would prefer the operation to fail.’
‘To fail? Who could want it to fail? Is this Macavity’s idea?’
She shakes her head and frowns.
‘Elsewhere. There’s no reason Macavity should know. The contrary.’ She lets out a wistful sigh. ‘Have you considered the possibility of the missiles being allowed to fall into the wrong hands in order to be turned against us? To permit such a catastrophe may even be desirable to some. Imagine,’ she smiles darkly, ‘a new crusade. It would reach across the world and drag on for a generation.’
‘That sounds dangerously like a conspiracy,’ I tell her.
‘What is coherent at a more organised level may be incomprehensible at a lesser one. If it is true, as I fear it may be, we must hope that the plan is uncovered along the way. The Network has always been a counterweight to the abuse of power, but it cannot change the weaknesses of human nature.’ She sighs again, then looks up at me. ‘You must be especially vigilant. When will you leave?’
‘Soon. In a week or so.’
‘Well,’ she sighs, ‘I have passed on what I could.’
I’m not certain what she’s referring to, but I sense that it’s more than simply the news she’s given me. It’s her habit to assign more than one meaning to the things she says, but now