The Unlikely Spy(11)

The sneezing attack subsided and Vicary was actually able to enjoy the ride. He didn't care for the countryside as a rule. He was a Londoner. He liked the crowds and the noise and the traffic and tended to get disoriented in open spaces. He also hated the quiet of the nights. His mind wandered and he became convinced there were stalkers roaming in the darkness. But now he sat back in the car and marveled at England's natural beauty.

The car turned into the drive at Chartwell. Vicary's pulse quickened as he stepped from the car. As he approached the door, it opened and Churchill's man Inches stood there to greet him.

"Good morning, Professor Vicary. The prime minister has been awaiting your arrival most eagerly."

Vicary handed over his coat and his hat and stepped inside. About a dozen men and a couple of young girls were at work in the drawing room, some in uniform, some like Vicary in civilian clothes. They spoke in hushed, confessional tones, as though all the news was bad. A telephone rattled, then another. Each was answered after one ring.

"I hope you had a pleasant trip," Inches was saying.

"Marvelous," Vicary replied, lying politely.

"As usual, Mr. Churchill is running late this morning," Inches said. Then he added confidingly, "He sets an unattainable schedule, and we all spend the rest of the day trying to catch up with it."

"I understand, Inches. Where would you like me to wait?"

"Actually, the prime minister is quite eager to see you this morning. He asked that you be shown upstairs immediately upon your arrival."

"Upstairs?"

Inches knocked gently and pushed open the bathroom door. Churchill lay in his tub, a cigar in one hand, the day's second glass of whisky resting on a small table within easy reach. Inches announced Vicary and withdrew. "Vicary, my dear man," Churchill said. He put his mouth at the waterline and blew bubbles. "How good of you to come."

Vicary found the warm temperature of the bathroom oppressive. He also found it hard not to laugh at the enormous pink man splashing about in his bath like a child. He removed his tweed jacket and, reluctantly, sat down on the toilet.

"I wanted a word with you in private--that's why I've invited you here to my lair." Churchill pursed his lips. "Vicary, I must admit from the outset that I am angry with you."

Vicary stiffened.

Churchill opened his mouth to continue, then stopped himself. A perplexed, defeated look dawned over his face.

"Inches!" he bellowed.

Inches drifted in. "Yes, Mr. Churchill?"

"Inches, I believe my bathwater has dropped below one hundred four degrees. Would you check the thermometer?"

Rolling up his sleeve, Inches retrieved the thermometer. He studied it like an archaeologist examining an ancient bone fragment. "Ah, you're right, sir. The temperature of your bath has plummeted to one hundred two degrees. Shall I warm it?"

"Of course."

Inches opened the hot water tap and let it run for a moment. Churchill smiled as his bathwater attained its proper temperature. "Much better, Inches."

Churchill rolled onto his side. Water cascaded over the side of the tub, soaking the leg of Vicary's trousers.

"You were saying, Prime Minister?"

"Ah, yes, I was saying, Vicary, that I was angry with you. You never told me that in your younger days you were quite good at chess. Beat all comers at Cambridge, so I'm told."

Vicary, thoroughly confused, said, "I apologize, Prime Minister, but the subject of chess never arose during any of our conversations."

"Brilliant, ruthless, gambling--that's how people have described your play to me." Churchill paused. "You also served in the Intelligence Corps in the First War."

"I was only in the Motorcycle Unit. I was a courier, nothing more."

Churchill turned his gaze from Vicary and stared at the ceiling. "In 1250 B.C. the Lord told Moses to send agents to spy out the land of Canaan. The Lord was good enough to give Moses some advice on how to recruit his spies. Only the best and the brightest men were capable of such an important task, the Lord said, and Moses took his words to heart."

"This is true, Prime Minister," Vicary said. "But it is also true that the intelligence gathered by the spies of Moses was poorly utilized. As a result the Israelites spent another forty years wandering the desert."

Churchill smiled. "I should have learned long ago never to argue with you, Alfred. You have a nimble mind. I've always admired that."

"What is it you want me to do?"

"I want you to take a job in Military Intelligence."

"But, Prime Minister, I'm not qualified for that sort of--"

"Nobody over there knows what they're doing," Churchill said, cutting Vicary off. "Especially the professional officers."

"But what about my students? My research?"

"Your students will be in the service soon, fighting for their lives. And as for your research, it can wait." Churchill paused. "Do you know John Masterman and Christopher Cheney from Oxford?"

"Don't tell me they've been pulled in."

"Indeed--and don't expect to find a mathematician worth his salt at any of the universities," Churchill said. "They've all been snatched up and bundled off to Bletchley Park."