A Delicate Truth A Novel - By John Le Carre Page 0,15

Has anyone thought of that your end?’

‘I’m sure they’ve thought about that very deeply, as I have. However, the bag could equally well be a signal to Aladdin to say it’s safe, so come on in. Or it could be a signal to stay away. It seems to me pure speculation at best. Too many possibilities altogether, in my view,’ he ended boldly, even adding: ‘In the circumstances, Jeb’s position strikes me as eminently reasonable, I have to say.’

‘Don’t lecture me. All wait till I return.’

‘Of course.’

‘And no fucking of course!’

The line goes stone dead. No shuffle of breath, no background atmospherics. Just a long silence over the cellphone pressed harder and harder to his ear.

*

‘Jesus fuck!’ – Don, at full force.

Again they are all five huddled at the arrow-slit as a high-sided car with full headlights shoots out of the tunnel and speeds towards the terraces. It’s Aladdin, in his people carrier, late for his appointment. It’s not. It’s the blue Toyota four-by-four without its CONFERENCE sign. Veering off the coast road, bumping on to the metalled service track and heading straight for the black bag.

As it approaches, the side door slides back to reveal the bespectacled Hansi bowed at the wheel and a second figure, undefined but could be Kirsty, stooped in the open doorway, one hand clutching the grab handle for dear life and the other outstretched for the bag. The Toyota’s door bangs shut again. Regaining speed, the four-by-four continues north and out of sight. The plum-pudding bag has gone.

First to speak is Jeb, calmer than ever.

‘Was that your people I saw just now, Elliot? Picking up the bag at all? Elliot, I need to speak to you, please. Elliot, I think you’re hearing me. I need an explanation, please. Elliot?’

‘Nine?’

‘Yes, Paul.’

‘It seems that Elliot’s people just picked up the bag’ – doing his best to sound as rational as Jeb – ‘Nine? Are you there?’

Belatedly, Nine comes back, and he’s strident:

‘We took the executive decision, for fuck’s sake. Someone had to take it, right? Kindly inform Jeb. Now. The decision is set. Taken.’

He is gone again. But Elliot is back at full strength, talking to an off-stage female voice with an Australian accent and triumphantly relating its message to the wider audience:

‘The bag contains provisions? Thank you, Kirsty. The bag contains smoked fish – hear that, Jeb? Bread. Arab bread. Thank you, Kirsty. What else do we have in that bag? We have water. Sparkling water. Punter likes sparkling. We have chocolate. Milk chocolate. Hold it there, thank you, Kirsty. Did you happen to catch that, Jeb? The bastard’s been in there all the time, and his mates have been feeding him. We’re going in, Jeb. I have my orders here in front of me, confirmed.’

‘Paul?’

But this is not Minister Quinn alias Nine speaking. This is Jeb’s half-blacked face, his eyes whitened like a collier’s, except they’re palest green. And Jeb’s voice, steady as before, appealing to him:

‘We shouldn’t be doing this, Paul. We’ll be shooting at ghosts in the dark. Elliot doesn’t know the half of it. I think you agree with me.’

‘Nine?’

‘What the hell is it now? They’re going in! What’s the problem now, man?’

Jeb staring at him. Shorty staring at him over Jeb’s shoulder:

‘Nine?’

‘What?’

‘You asked me to be your eyes and ears, Nine. I can only agree with Jeb. Nothing I’ve seen or heard warrants going in at this stage.’

Is the silence deliberate or technical? From Jeb, a crisp nod. From Shorty, a twisted smile of derision, whether for Quinn, or Elliot, or just all of it. And from the minister, a delayed blurt:

‘The man’s in there, for fuck’s sake!’ Gone again. Comes back. ‘Paul, listen to me closely. That’s an order. We’ve seen the man in full Arab garb. So’ve you. Punter. In there. He’s got an Arab boy bringing him his food and water. What the hell more does Jeb want?’

‘He wants proof, Nine. He says there isn’t enough. I have to say, I feel very much the same.’

Another nod from Jeb, more vigorous than the first, again backed by Shorty, then by their remaining comrades. The white eyes of all four men watching him through their balaclavas.

‘Nine?’

‘Doesn’t anybody listen to orders over there?’

‘May I speak?’

‘Hurry up then!’

He is speaking for the record. He is weighing every word before he speaks it:

‘Nine, it’s my judgement that by any reasonable standard of analysis we’re dealing with a string of unproven assumptions. Jeb and his men here have great experience. Their view