The Intercom Conspiracy Read Free

definitely
not
willing to be edited. You’d better understand that now. Nothing I say or write is going to be abridged, abbreviated, cut, rearranged, reorganised, modified or ‘improved’ by you or anyone else. I’m not asking that my name go up in lights as collaborator and I’m not interested in narrative reconstructions (Christ, what a phrase!) or any arrangements you may make with other witnesses, if any. What I am insisting on is that everything
I
say or write goes in
exactly
as is, without any change or distortion, and that it is properly credited to me: From Theodore Carter.
    Get me another drink, will you, love? There should be a fresh bottle in the stair cupboard
.
    Sorry, Nicole. Forgot to switch off. Val’s here
.
    So there it is, Mr Whatsit. As soon as I get a letter from you confirming your acceptance of the terms and conditions I have outlined here, plus a copy of your contract with the commissioning publisher, plus a cheque for 50 per cent of the advance (dollars or Swiss francs, either will do), we’re in business. The publisher can countersign our letter agreement.
    Oh, one more thing. Under no circumstances, Mr Whatsit, amI prepared to have anything to do, directly or indirectly, with any of those persons you mention who can’t or won’t be identified. That department’s all yours. Chicken? You bet I am. I’ve had enough of those buggers to last me a lifetime. And if you’ll take a tip from me, you’ll meet them only in broad daylight and in public places with plenty of other people around and a policeman within sight. You’ll have trouble enough with those ‘narrative reconstructions’. You don’t want to end up needing a reconstruction job on yourself, too.
    Nicole, my dear, scrub the last paragraph. I don’t want him getting cold feet. Then clean it up a bit, end yours sincerely and do an extra carbon. No, wait. Better do a draft for me to see first. After all, this is business
.
    FROM CHARLES LATIMER
    Dear Mr Carter,
    Thank you for your letter. I found it most entertaining. I do hope, however, that I am not expected to take all the proposals you make in it seriously.
    You appear to favour the forthright, no-nonsense method of doing business. I say ‘appear to’ because, of course, exhortations to face the facts and cut the cackle are often the reverse of what they seem; the most devious men commonly profess simplicity. However, I will take you at what appears to be your word and speak plainly.
    There is always a tendency among those who have survived a harrowing experience to exaggerate the danger they were in and to assume that they alone are qualified to speak about it. As an experienced journalist you should be aware of that tendency and so be capable of observing it in yourself.
    You say that you were the worst-hit casualty of the
Intercom
affair and are the only surviving protagonist. My dear Mr Carter, you were a minor casualty and never a protagonist. You just looked like those things, because you were standing on that small piece of the iceberg that showed above the surface. You don’t really know what hit you; you only
think
you know. There aretwo ways of describing your part in the affair – as that of an innocent bystander caught in a bank hold-up, or as the victim of a practical joke perpetrated by strangers.
    You don’t understand what I am now talking about, do you? Quite so. Your view of what you call the
Intercom
affair is a very restricted one. All you know is what happened to you. You don’t know why or exactly how it happened. I do know
why
, and I am now beginning, because I am taking the necessary trouble and a certain amount of risk, to discover
how
. There is more than one horse’s mouth, Mr Carter.
    It does not surprise me in the least to hear that the offers you have received for your story have been disappointing. What does surprise me is that at this late stage you have received any offers at all. That is why I thought that my suggestion of a fee (yes, I