The Judas Code

‘That’s simple. The warnings came from Churchill and Roosevelt and other interested parties and he interpreted them as mischief-making. Most accounts of World War II have made that quite clear.’

‘But it doesn’t wash, does it? He also ignored warnings from his own spies. Richard Sorge in Tokyo, for instance. And the evidence before his own generals’ eyes – the build-up of the German army on his borders.’

‘And why are you, a novelist, so anxious to put the record straight?’

‘Three reasons. One, because I abhor flawed logic. Any history student who suggested in an exam that Uncle Joe misread Hitler’s intentions just because he thought the Allies were deceiving him would deserve to get C minus.

‘Two, because if Stalin had got it right then you’d have to re-draw today’s maps of the world. If, for instance, Germany and Russia had persevered with their unholy alliance, if their armies hadn’t bled each other for more than three years, then Britain might be a Nazi or a Soviet satellite.’

Chambers took a silver cigarette case from the inside pocket of his jacket, on the other side from the Browning. He didn’t offer it to me – perhaps he even knew I’d given up smoking – and selected a cigarette. He lit it with a gold Dunhill lighter and inhaled with pleasure. A true smoker, not a chain-smoker. ‘And the third?’

‘Because it’s my guess that the real reasons behind Stalin’s apparent stupidity will make a better story than any novel I’ve written.’

‘I see.’ He blew a jet of smoke into a shaft of dusty sunlight. ‘Yes, I can see that.’ His voice had assumed an introspective quality and I wondered if I could jump him. I had never been an athlete, let alone a fighter, but I was big enough and fairly fit. He said crisply: ‘Don’t try it,’ followed by: ‘But you haven’t explained about the Judas Code.’

‘Why don’t you explain it? It seems to have worried the hell out of you.’

‘Because I have the gun,’ slipping his hand inside his jacket. I told him.

To try and plug the gap in appraisals of World War II caused by Stalin’s apparent aberration I had travelled all over Europe winkling out people who might once have had access to secret information that could explain it. Spies in other words; among them former members of Britain’s XX Committee, various branches of America’s OSS, Germany’s RSHA VI (foreign intelligence) and Abwehr and the Soviet Union’s two European espionage organisations known as the Red Orchestra and the Lucy Ring.

Predictably, most of the agents denied that they had ever been spies. Who wants to admit to a furtive past if he is currently a burgormaster or the chairman of a bank? But a few, mostly the very old whose cloaks of secrecy were now in tatters, did agree that the history books should be rewritten. Watching their reactions to my questions was like peering into coffins and seeing corpses momentarily resuscitated. From each coffin came a dusty whisper: ‘The Judas Code.’ No more. Ageing reflexes belatedly recognised indiscretion, coffin lids snapped back into place.

Chambers seemed to relax, relieved, I guessed, that I appeared to know nothing more. ‘If I were you,’ he said, ‘I should forget all about it.’ He crossed his legs, revealing black silk socks.

‘Why? It was important enough to bring you round here like a dog after a bitch on heat.’

‘There are some secrets that are best left undisturbed. For everyone’s sake.’

‘You would have to be more explicit than that to convince me.’

He was about to reply when the phone on the coffee table between us rang, as intrusive as a fire alarm. I reached for the receiver but Chambers beat me to it.

He gave the telephone number, paused and said: ‘Yes, I inserted the advertisement. Can you help me?’

As I tried to snatch the receiver Chambers backed away and, with a pickpocket’s agility, plucked the Browning from his pocket and aimed the barrel between my eyes.

‘… Yes, my name is Lamont. Can we meet somewhere? … Very well, midday … Yes, I’ll explain then … Thank you for calling …’

‘So where are we meeting?’ I asked as he sat down again.

‘You are not meeting anyone.’

‘Are you in the habit of impersonating people?’

‘Not recently. In the past, well yes, it has been known.’ He handled the gun with love, then asked: ‘Do you have a price?’

‘They say everyone does.’

‘What’s yours?’

‘A niche at the top of the best-seller list.’

‘Alas the one bribe I can’t offer you because if The JudasCode achieved that distinction it would negate everything I have set out to achieve.’

‘Which is?’

‘To persuade you to abandon your inquiries.’

‘And why would you want to do that?’

‘I can’t tell you that. Would £10,000 persuade you that I had good reasons?’

I shook my head.

‘Twenty thousand?’

‘I’m going to write the book.’

He stubbed out his cigarette fastidiously, making sure he didn’t soil his fingers with tar, and stared at me without speaking. In the hall the grandfather clock chimed 9. 30; a pigeon on the windowsill pecked at the glass; I became aware of the hum of the traffic far below.

Finally he said: ‘If you continue to follow this up I shall kill you.’

He took a gold hunter from his waistcoat pocket and consulted it as though shortly he had another appointment to threaten someone with death.

‘I’m going to call the police,’ I said.

‘Please do so,’ he said. ‘But have the courtesy to wait till I’ve gone.’ He stood up, walked to the window and gazed at the dignified streets below. ‘You have a wife and three children, I believe?’

‘You keep them out of this!’

‘Don’t worry, I won’t touch them. But they’re very fond of you, aren’t they? Would it be fair to deprive your wife of a husband, your children of a father? Because, please believe me, Mr Lamont, I mean what I say. Try and crack the Judas Code and you’re a dead man.’

Throat pulsing, the pigeon backed away along the windowsill.

Perhaps I should have said: ‘I don’t scare that easily,’ but it wouldn’t have been the truth. Instead I said: ‘All right, you’ve had your say, now get out.’

He shrugged, buttoned his overcoat, walked to the door, said: ‘Please be sensible,’ and was gone.

I considered calling the police but even if they traced my visitor - I doubted whether his name was Chambers but he couldn’t escape the scar – he would merely deny everything.

As I was making a cup of instant coffee in the kitchen the phone rang again.

A man’s voice: ‘If you want to meet Judas go to the lion house at the Zoo at eleven this morning. Be carrying a copy of—’

‘The Times?’

‘The Telegraph. And appear to be making some notes.’ Click as he cut the connection.