Commander Ian Fleming walked out of Cambridge police station in a mixed mood.
Donald Maclean had been on his list of suspects and Maclean was now dead. A house falling on him saw to that, Killed by the very people he served, But the other man was still alive. The man who had been found in the very same house.
'Where to sir?' asked Flemings driver.
'All right sir.'
They got to the end of Hobson Street before they were stopped by a mix of regulars and Home Guard. They were asked for their papers, which they showed.
'I must ask you where you have just come from and your destination.' asked an officer.
Fleming told him 'One moment please gentlemen.' and with that the officer walked back to the little hut at the side of the road block. He returned a few minutes later, seemly happy with the answer he had got, and they were left to get on their way. Why was he stopped, when others were just waved though, was it because he was in uniform?
Still no love lost between the army and navy, then.
A few minutes later the commander walked into the entrance of the hospital and after a brief chat at the desk he walked to the ward that the man was in.
Anthony Blunt lay on a bed in the comer of the ward. Before Fleming could get to him he was stopped by a nurse.
'I'm sorry sir you can't come in here.'
'I can and I will. Now get out of my way.'
'Sir, I'm going to have to fetch the doctor if you don't leave.'
'Fetch you ever you want.'
The nurse left the ward.
He drew the curtain around and sat next to the bed, he looked across at Blunt. He was surprised that he was even alive, he'd been told, of course, that he had suffered injuries but these were far worse than he could ever had imaged. The curtain drew open and a doctor demanded what Fleming was doing there. The commander explained the situation.
The doctor still not happy let it pass. 'If he comes around you get me before doing anything else. It that clear?' said the doctor.
'Yes doctor.' was Flemings reply. He, of course had no intention of doing anything of the sort.
By the early evening he almost nodded off. The got up with a start, Blunts eyes were open.
'How are you feeling?' asked Fleming
No answer came as Blunt lost continuousness again.
Nothing for it, he'd have to wait longer yet.
He was almost completely asleep when the curtain opened a man stepped through, he took one look at him, turned, and ran.
Fleming followed whilst pulling out his PPK, he shouted and when the man didn't stop he fired.
The man went down. Blood coming from his left shoulder.
A nurse got to the man before he could and was crouching beside him. He flung her aside.
Too late, the man had already bitten down on his cyanide capsule.
By the time others came to the ward Fleming had returned to his seat.
He sat there for what felt like an age.
Blunts eyes opened again.
'What have you got to tell me?'
Again nothing. Blunt passed out.
He came around again when he was shaken by awake by Fleming. Ian had waited for over twenty hours and it was twenty hours too long.
'Are you going to tell me who else or do I have to keep this up?'
Blunt went into some kind of fit, Fleming let him go, it passed almost as quickly as started.
Their eyes met.
He leant closer.
Nothing he could make out.
Another spasm and Blunt was dead.
Just over an hour later the commander was in C's office, and he told C of his last forty eight hours.
'Any idea who, if anyone, else is involved' asked C
'There are still a number of the Apostles who we haven't completely ruled out.'
They talked for another half an hour. C summed up. 'Yes, we will have to go through them all again'
'I'll get right on it sir.'
'No commander. You are in no condition to do anything, you've been up, for what, the best part of three days?'
C held up his hand when Fleming started to object. 'No. You will get some rest and something inside of you.'
Fleming opened his mouth. C's hand again went up. 'That was not a suggestion.'
Fleming just nodded his head, he knew that he was shattered. 'You will put them two together, won't you sir?'
'Yes all right, but I don't really think it would do much good. They'll know we'd be watching them. But you have put a lot of work into this and you haven't been wrong yet, so yes we will, nothing to lose and all that.'
C looked across to Fleming, he was already asleep.
C watched as Cairncross and Burgess met, they first shook hands, the after a moment of hesitation embraced. A petty officer entered the room, with a tray, they both looked up. The navy man set down a hearty breakfast for them both along with a large pot of tea.
'A last meal for the condemned men?' asked Guy. There was no comment from the Royal Navy man.
They talked for the rest of their meal. How they were taken in by lies told to them, how they now knew how stupid they were and of their now hatred of Stalin.
'How many of us left?' asked Guy.
'How many indeed? A lot less than there were. We all have felt the loss of friend's. In one way or another, from fighting in Spain to being bombed by our so called allies. The bastards.'
'So you do you think is still with us?'
They went through a number of names. Some they knew were dead, others they hadn't heard from in years. Within half an hour the men were too tried to carry on and dropped off into a fitful sleep.
C turned to the man seated beside him.
The man looked up. 'Sir?'
'Did you get all that down.'
'Yes sir. All the recording equipment was checked earlier and of course we are writing it down as well.' He handed C the list of names the two men had talked about.
C then had an idea. He left the room. When he was out of sight of prying eyes he wrote a note on a small slip of paper and edged it under the door.
C returned and addressed a dapperly dressed man in the corner. 'You know them both, any ideas Kim?'