The misty Heath (4)

Smiley was at a loss. There was a limit to what he could unveil from his hospital bed; he needed Peter Guillam. Deduction can only take one so far. Catching the assailants will lead to the person who sent them; muscle must be met by muscle and when it comes to muscle there is no one better than Guillam.

He knew he needed Guillam. At the same time, he realised that he hasn't heard from Peter for years. Could it be that Peter did not know? Could he not have heard? Smiley would expect a visit. Peter is not a man of words. But he would have expected him to do something. He would have expected him to track the assassin down and bring back his head on a plate. Could it be? Could Guillam have anything to do with it? At least with Peter, he knew, what you see is what you get. Once he sees him he'd know.

Guillam arrived within an hour of receiving the PC's call. How old he looked. For Smiley Peter was always the youngster. He must be in his 60s by now. Muscle doesn't age well. Smiley was like a father to him. He took him off the streets. He trusted him. Helped him climb up the ranks. Someone from his background could never, should never, have reached his position in the Circus. He would do anything for Smiley. And Smiley knew it. Furthermore, Smiley knew that there was an inherent imbalance in this relationship. A lack of reciprocity. He may have been like a father to Guillam, but Peter was never a son to him. He trusted Peter because he knew he can control him. And, as he was contemplating whether that was still the case, it dawned on Smiley that this imbalance is inherent in all of his relationships. None more so than with Ann.

Guillam was there before, during Smiley's first weeks in hospital. When he was still drifting in and out of consciousness. He didn't leave a message. He never did. He only came back now since Smiley called for him. He swore to himself he would only return with the answer. He would only return when he caught the person behind this. For once, he thought, he could prove to Smiley he was more than just muscle. He failed.

"I got the shooter" Guillam said. "He was a nobody. Not a professional. Not part of the game. Just a man who saw you during your walks in the Heath. He was offered money and a lot of it. A man trying to make a quick pay cheque. He fell to his knees the moment I confronted him. Crying. Begging for mercy. The only thing he had to say was: "she gave me £5,000 and I thought: how hard would it be to shoot a man in his late 80s?" He didn't know her name and didn't see her properly. The only thing he remembered was that she had a French accent. I let him go."

"She?" Said Smiley. "French accent" he muttered.

To be continued . . . .

PS 970km down. 30km to go.