A Game of Spies Read Free Page B

cigarette.
    Hobbs was a large man, well over six feet tall, and fit, with an ex-athlete’s build that was just starting to tend toward fat. He had a defeated look about him today, Hagen thought: tired and jaded and weary-eyed, with his sandy-blond hair teased into a rat’s nest by the wind.
    Hagen joined him by the railing, lighting a cigarette of his own. For several moments, neither man spoke. The water of the lake lapped quietly in the breeze. Finally, Hobbs cleared his throat.
    â€œYou’ve got something to tell me,” he said.
    He spoke roughly—proud of his humble roots, Hagen thought; eager to identify himself as East End instead of Oxford. Hagen considered suggesting that they move inside, out of the wind, to have their conversation. But Hobbs looked settled in, somehow at home against the gray lifeless background. It would be easier to give the man the news here.
    â€œI’ve received word from Reichsleiter Himmler,” Hagen said. “You’re not to be allowed to leave Germany—at least, not for the immediate future.”
    Hobbs said nothing. His broad shoulders sagged a bit as his eyes continued to scan the lake. The news could not have come as a surprise, of course. By now he must have been expecting it. But it was one thing to expect such news and another to hear it said aloud. Hagen gave the man a minute before continuing.
    â€œIn time we may make a different arrangement. But for now you’re to remain with us. We’ll be finished with the debriefing in another few days; then you’ll go to Berlin.” He paused. “I’ll see to it that you’re taken care of there.”
    Again Hobbs said nothing.
    â€œYou have my apologies,” Hagen said. “But you must understand, it is out of my hands.”
    Hobbs took a final, vicious drag from his cigarette and then flicked it off the balcony. “Were you given a reason?” he asked.
    â€œIt seems you are considered a security risk.”
    â€œEven after my contributions here?”
    Hagen shrugged.
    Now Hobbs turned to face him more fully. A crooked smile played across the man’s mouth. There was something self-hating in that smile, something so bitter that it was difficult to look at straight on.
    â€œBut surely, Herr Hagen, there’s something I could do to change the situation. Give me a moment. I’ll think of it.”
    Hagen knew what the man was driving at. The implication was that they were pulling out on the deal only to increase the strength of their bargaining position. The extension of that implication suggested a desire to insert Hobbs back into England as a double agent, to continue spying for the SD.
    Hagen very nearly gave the man an answer: that Himmler and Heydrich did not trust Hobbs that far. Returning him to England as a double agent had been too tempting an opportunity to reject out of hand—they had genuinely hoped that he would impress them with his trustworthiness. But now, after four months of debriefing, Hobbs had done little to impress them. He drank too much and the information he provided was faulty, often contradictory. He was a man with few scruples and no real loyalties. He was also a dangerous man, trained at tradecraft by MI6, the most practiced espionage organization in the world. And so the decision to ship him off to Berlin, where he would be out of harm’s way and available for the future, was not a bargaining tactic. It was non-negotiable.
    Before he could say this, however, Hobbs rushed on:
    â€œIf you’ve got in mind what I think you’ve got in mind, then my price just went up.”
    A faint smile tugged at Hagen’s lips. Hobbs the play-actor had said much the same thing, he was remembering, back at the café in Holland.
    â€œWe’ve got nothing in mind,” he said, “except exactly what I’ve said.”
    â€œThat’s ridiculous. Think of what I could offer.”
    â€œThe decision is out of