The Spy Who Came in From the Cold

That was probably why she went on working at the library—because there, at least, he still existed; the ladders, shelves, the books, the card index, were things he had known and touched, and one day he might come back to them.

Control had done it—he was sure. The terms had been too generous, he’d known that all along. They didn’t throw money about like that for nothing—not unless they thought they might lose you. Money like that was a douceur for discomfort and dangers Control would not openly admit to. Money like that was a warning; Leamas had not heeded the warning.

He knew what it was then that Liz had given him; the thing that he would have to go back and find if ever he got home to England: it was the caring about little things—the faith in ordinary life; the simplicity that made you break up a bit of bread into a paper bag, walk down to the beach, and throw it to the gulls. It was this respect for triviali

“The word is going around that you’re wanted for an offence under the Official Secrets Act. Your photograph’s in all the London evening papers. The captions are very vague.” Leamas was standing very still.

“Yes. I assumed the passports were never used at the border—only presented at the bank for identification purposes. The agent must have travelled on his own passport, quite legally entered the country where the bank was situated, then used the faked passport at the bank. That was my guess.”

“Far as I know. I remember reading in the file that there had been other Rolling Stone payments before I came to the section, but in those cases Banking Section got the local Resident to do it.” “These other payments that took place before you came, where were they made?” “One in Oslo. I can’t remember where the other was.” “Was the alias of the ag

He was married and had one daughter named Carla.

This placed the source in the Secretariat and the Secretariat was very small. The draft minutes had been well and carefully photographed: that suggested that the photographer had had time and a room to himself. Leamas returned to the personality index. There was a man called Karl Riemeck in the Secretariat, a former corporal in the Medical Corps, w

“I don’t accept that condition,” Leamas continued. “You know as well as I do it wouldn’t work. I want to draw the fifteen thousand and get clear. Your people have a rough way with defected agents; so have mine. I’m not going to sit on my fanny in St. Moritz while you roll up every network I’ve given you. They’re not fools; they’d know who to look f