Page 54 of Shadow Ticket
“I love her!” the disoriented Spaniard raves on. Known to happen of course, even in matrimonials. But given the man is a smooth talker by profession, how sympathetically should Hicks be listening to this? “Not to get metaphysical, but she is an angel, you see, being an angel is a fate she movestoward blindly, believing herself no more than a gold digger like everyone else.”
Shifting uncomfortably, “Hot tomato with a soul, not for everybody o’course but if that’s your pipeful, Jack, just keep puffin away, peace be with you and however the rest of that goes.”
Porfirio brings out a gold case full of Kyriazi Frères, Hicks takes one and lights up, grabbing another to put behind his ear. “For later.”
“An optimistic thought, ‘later.’ ” A pause to inhale. “I assume you’re taking precautions.”
“Against…?”
“There’s a betting book already open on you. The smart-money narrative has it that you are an American gangster, being deported to somewhere in Eastern Europe. Traveling in the custody of Lieutenant-Commander and Mrs. Quarrender, of the British Intelligence, currently under contract to forces unnamed to provide secure shipment and delivery.”
“The British what was that again?”
“It’s an open secret. You might want to have a word with them. Try not to bring my name up if you can help it.”
20
“He looks so innocent, Alf. One can trust him, surely.” The Quarrenders tap a shuttlecock-weight glance back and forth. “See here then McTaggart, you can keep a secret can’t you, hmm no I thought not.”
“You mustn’t mind him, he’s only taking the piss again, pay no attention, I never do.”
“He may as well know,” Alf continues. “McTaggart, you’re familiar we assume with MI3b. Among ourselves we call it F.’s shop, after the way Mansfield Smith-Cumming of MI6 signed himself ‘C.’ Our bloke? F. Quite unremarkable in person, to look at him you wouldn’t think he’d a brain in his head. But that’s him, the big boss calling the shots. Barking mad, of course.”
A look from Philippa. “Alphabet Soup, you are once again committing felonious indiscretion, do take more care in your speech or one shall have to liquidate—who knows, even further than that, glaciate you.”
Whereupon at length it comes out. Seems Alf and Pips have been out on a worldwide scouting expedition to find recruits for the Secret Intelligence, and are currently on their way back from the U.S., where a number of code breakers have recently found themselves at loose ends after the Black Chamber was shut down, on Halloween of 1929, just after the stock market crashed, by Republican bigwig and Secretary of State Henry “Gentlemen Don’t Read Each Other’s Mail” Stimson.
“Finding many new hires?”
“A dim outlook, given the budget we’ve been authorized. Plus thecompetition from Germany, Russia, Japan, and so on. Wouldn’t be interested, would you, McTaggart? Nice espionage career? Pay is terrible to begin with, all somewhat boracic around the MI these days, you know, but one does get to mingle on an everyday basis with persons of consequence.”
As adventuresome younger children of merchant families were once sent eastward to make their fortunes, so nowadays children of civil service families are sent out to gather not riches, but negotiable intelligence, military and political. “Used to be a gentleman’s game. Started to go haywire I suspect as early as the first Reform Act, less and less per annum to qualify sort of thing, till we’re all taking in each other’s washing, and any angels who might be watching over us apt to be as down on their luck and knowing no more than we do.”
“And now, as we’ve been frank and open with you, McTaggart, perhaps in your turn you might—”
“Frank and open,” mutters Hicks. “How come everybody thinks I’m being deported and you two have got me somehow in custody? When you guys know I’m only a private op.”
“Well, one hopes that’s all you are, of course.”
“Routine ticket, only over here for as long as it takes, till everything’s back to normal.”
“Oh, dear,” Pips making with an eyebrow, “do you really not know? ‘Normal’? Things will never go back to the way they were, it’ll all just keep getting more, what the Chinese call, ‘interesting.’ ”
“Take up shooting,” advises Alf. “Trapshooting off the fantail every day here, you know. There’ll be plenty of live targets soon enough,” adding once Hicks is out of earshot, “Man’s an idiot.”
Pips isn’t so sure. In their early careers both of them were seconded to the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art for instruction in how to appear, if not innocent, because who actually is, then at least thoroughly unacquainted with Secret Services either side of the Atlantic. If Hicks’s ignorance here is pretended, then he has been trained by levels of theatrical genius quite unreachable even by Brits.
“It’s this del Vasto person he’s been talking to,” declares Philippa, “a millionaire with no visible day job? Violating the A. J. Raffles principle thata successful jewel thief needs a legitimate cover, such as star cricketer, to divert attention from what he’s really up to, sharing with cricket bowlers especially a kitful of deceptive skills, as we know from the film.”
“Ronald Colman wearing a blazer on the pitch,” Alf mutters, “not cricket really.”
Alf and Pips have had a careful eye for a while on Porfirio, having spotted the gag right away—provoking amusement or class resentment to direct attention away from the brush passes, handoffs, and drops of his real trade.
“Either a jewel thief or a spy. Travels everywhere and never has to bring out a sixpence. Handed thousands of miles of free globe-trotting per year, unconditionally and off the books, like a maharaja in the newsreels—one by one they come creeping up to him with their gifts of translocation and velocity, pilots, travel agents, airline executives, only time he ever slows down is to collect a freebie or sell one off. Meantime down inside a vault under some Alp, his secret bank accounts continue to grow.”
“And then there’s the wife,” Philippa archly.
“Ex-wife, according to her. You think she’s in on it?”
