Tom frowned at him. ‘What?’
‘My dear boy—we’re going to be hanged, drawn and quartered for this if he was just reaching for his wallet.
But if he has … had … a gun in there, then perhaps they’ll only hang us. Besides which I should have thought it might set your mind at rest somewhat?‘ Audley blinked again, and then sniffed and wiped his nose with the back of his hand. ’Okay?‘ He returned to the Russian. ’You were saying, Nikolai—?‘
Szymiac’s coat was open now, and Tom could see the broken threads and the slight tear where the coat-button on the floor had been ripped out. And the man’s shirt was bloody in two places, over the heart and lower down, near the waistband of his trousers: the spreading stains had mingled but the different wounds were still quite plain. And he could guess which Smith and Wesson bullet was which from Sadowski’s evident professionalism as well as from the memory of his own unsatisfactory firing position, which for one pathetic moment now had roused the half-hope that he might have missed altogether.
He saw the shoulder-holster immediately, tucked under the left armpit, as the body slid back and down under his touch, as inanimate as a sack, the head lolling heavily forward to reveal a bald patch like a tonsure at the back. He started to think well, a real tonsure wouldn’t be inappropriate, but then he thrust the thought away from him and concentrated on extracting the pistol delicately from its cradle. It was small and light and short-barrelled, not unlike a Makarov, but with a distinctly different grip which reminded him of a Walther.
Then he became aware that both the dreadful old men were watching him in silence, so he held it up for their inspection.
‘Well, that’s something,’ murmured Audley. ‘Not much, but better than nothing, I suppose.’ He took a step towards Tom and reached for the weapon. ‘Evidence, Tom.’ He showed it to Panin for a second, and then dropped it into his pocket.
‘P-64.’ The Russian nodded. ‘Polish Army issue.’
‘Is that a fact, now?’ Audley seemed only mildly interested. ‘Well, I suppose it would be, wouldn’t it! But … you were saying—? General Zarubin wants to give me something—to give to Jack Butler, was it? Or what—?’
Tom let the coat fall back on the blood-stained shirt, watching them both intently as they stared at each other — two really dreadful old men!
‘You were saying?’ Audley opened the bidding formally.
‘He will be grateful.’
‘Uh-huh?’ Audley nodded, then looked down at the rifle, which Tom had leant against a chair, and then nodded again at Panin. ‘I can well imagine that. But as we’ve already done his—your—dirty work, that would seem a somewhat devalued currency now. I’ve never been able to pay any bills with gratitude: the next word after “Thank you” is usually “Goodbye”.’
‘But he still has business to transact here. Which, of course, is his main business, you understand?’
Another nod. ‘Yes—of course.’ Audley gestured towards the rifle, and then patted his pocket. ‘This is your business. For which you too are grateful—of course. But if you are insufficiently grateful, and I make waves … then that will interfere with his business—I do apologize for being so slow on the uptake, Nikolai? What you mean … is that General Zarubin’s gratitude is only just beginning, eh?’ Innocent understanding did not sit well on the old man’s face; somehow it only made his expression more brutal. ‘All I can do to you is get you on the next plane home, as persona non grata. And then you have to take your chance. But General Zarubin doesn’t want to go home either—he’s got a lot to lose too, has he?’
The Russian’s mouth tightened. ‘You have much to lose, also—’
‘That won’t wash.’ Audley cut him off. ‘We’ve been there before, too.’
‘And Colonel Butler?’
‘Jack will take his chance, like you.’ Another shake.
‘And your country?’
Audley sniffed, not with his head-cold, but derisively.
‘Just make me your offer, and stop buggering about.’ He made a hideous face at Panin. ‘You always knew it would come to this—at least, that it would if your dumb-mute did his work properly.’
Panin stared at him for a long moment. ‘I can’t give you an offer, David. I am not empowered to do so. But General Zarubin will trade you a name, face to face. And that will … will perhaps clear you from this—’ He pointed past Audley, towards Szymiac ‘—with your superiors.’
‘Tom!’ Audley was no longer looking at Panin, and made no attempt to follow his finger. ‘Better make your call now, just in case, so someone can clear up after us.’ He fixed Tom unblinkingly. ‘And we’ll go and see what Henry Plantagenet has to offer, in exchange for not doing penance for Thomas Becket. Right?’
10
THE ROAD OUTSIDE was reassuringly empty except for a young woman exercising her children and her dogs, regardless of the weather. But then suddenly it wasn’t reassuringly empty at all, Tom realized.
Chiefly it was the children and the dogs which disguised Wilhemina Groot initially, because children were not her favourite human beings and dogs were her least favourite animals. But she was also more conventionally disguised in clothes which, to his certain knowledge, had never before featured in her wardrobe: the Willy he knew and now knew that he loved had hitherto either been a smart city girl, dressed by Bruce Oldfield and Yves St Laurent, or a motte-and-bailey girl, dressed in jeans and his own cast-off sports gear for lack of anything better, never a Young Farmer/Young Conservative/Sloane-Ranger-far-from-home, uniformed in Barbour jacket and green Wellington boots, with her blonde hair concealed under a tweed deerstalker.
Tom cursed under his breath, recalling his precise phone instructions, which were the last element of her disguise. It had been her helper he had asked for, as an ally at a pinch, not this complication of Willy herself. But this was unarguably Willy herself now being fraternized by one of a pair of damp and over-exuberant Dalmatian dogs inadequately controlled by a pair of damp children, and he had to make the best of it.
Still, there was a plus as well as a minus in the scene, he told himself desperately: if he hadn’t immediately identified her, then maybe Panin and Sadowski hadn’t either, ahead of him—ahead of him ostensibly to superintend the Zarubin rendezvous, but more likely to get clear of their victims as quickly as possible; to which action Audley had all-too-readily agreed—a worryingly preoccupied Audley (as well he bloody-might be!), but an Audley who was even now four strides ahead of him, on the way back to the parked car; and, at the very least, there was no sign of any of Panin’s own watchers at the moment.
But now he was close to her, and although she had pretended to enjoy the Dalmatian’s affection for Audley’s benefit as he passed her she was looking at him now, and with a much greater desperation than his.
‘There’s a lovely boy, then!’ She observed the Dalmatian’s juvenile owner’s momentary glance at Tom, and hit the dog hard on the jaw with her fist. ‘Hi, Tom!’
The dog emitted an astonished yelp of pain on discovering (as Tom himself had already done) that despite her lack of inches Willy packed a mean punch, and sprawled sideways away from her into the gutter.
The dog’s owner was further diverted by the yelp, but then her spotty little brother, who had been trying to ride the other animal, fell from its back, and added his own anguished cries to the confusion as both Dalmatians set off in different directions.
‘They’ve just gone—‘ Willy skipped to avoid her dog as it tried to pull the little girl away from them, in the same direction as its comrade ’—your friends have gone, Tom … They just pulled out, like a bat out of hell … in a grey Austin Montego with dirty number plates—thataway.‘ She pointed past Tom. ’I only just got here. I’m sorry.‘
‘Did they recognize you—’ Tom stopped as he saw her face.
‘Recognize me?’ Her fuse ignited. ‘For God’s sake, honey! You called for help, and you didn’t give us much time—I told you last night, this isn’t my leag
ue! So how the heck should I know? I didn’t see them last night—if they can recognize an embassy secretary being raped by a goddamn bit-part player from a Walt Disney production—raped in the rain before lunch in the middle of nowhere—?’ But then, in her turn, she also stopped. ‘What’s wrong, Tom?’
‘Nothing’s wrong.’ In the circumstances that was something less than the truth. But at least she was right: if he himself had only just spotted her, disguised by clothes and dogs and children, then she ought not to have rated a second glance. ‘I was expecting … hoping for … your helper, that’s all, Willy. In the front line, as it were—that’s all I meant.’
‘ “As it were”?’ She mimicked him. ‘My most efficient “helper” is keeping an eye on us, don’t you fret. Colonel Sheldon wouldn’t like me to come to any harm—Dad wouldn’t take kindly to that.’ But then, in spite of the typical Willy-banter, she was frowning at him with that sure insight of hers, the ignited fuse quite extinguished. ‘Only you didn’t mean that, did you? Because I know you, Tom Arkenshaw. And this is like last night, when I dropped those names, and it was wrong then. But it’s even more wrong now—isn’t it? Isn’t it?’
Tom looked around quickly. He couldn’t see any All-American marine, but at least he still couldn’t see Panin’s back-up either. Only, Audley had reached the car; and although he was busy kicking one of the Dalmatians right now he could hardly be unaware that Sir Thomas Arkenshaw was busy chatting up some strange young woman when they ought both to be already on the way to Brentiscombe Point.
‘I told you—don’t fret! My “helper” is what you’d call a “pro”, Tom honey.’ She was already grinning, at once wickedly and reassuringly at the same time, as he came back to her. ‘ “Big panic”—or “SNAFU”, as my boss says … only I’m not supposed to know what the “FU” stands for, because he knows my uncle and my dad—is that what you really mean, Tom?’ She almost reached out to him, but then restrained herself. ‘So what do we do now?’
She was lovely. But her helper was all he had for backup, so he owed them both a true signal now, with no pretending. And to hell with Audley, who was looking at him. ‘All right, Willy darling … Maybe big panic, or maybe the worst is over—I don’t know.’ Then he remembered Audley pocketing ‘the evidence’, and knew beyond doubt that the big man had been concerned to arm himself as best he could. ‘But my guess is there’s more to come—though I don’t see how.’
She struggled with that for a second only. ‘The worst is over—?’
She was quick, too. ‘We have to get away from here quickly, as well as after Panin. Because there are two dead men in the house, back up there. And even if the neighbours didn’t hear the shots, then there’ll be one of our removal vans here soon enough, and it probably won’t be too healthy. But we have to follow Panin anyway. Because he’s leading us to Zarubin, Willy.’
‘Zzz-Zarubin-?’
‘Don’t ask me how or why. There isn’t time—and if there was, you wouldn’t believe it, in any case. But he’s made us an offer we can’t refuse, apparently.’ Time had run out, once again; he didn’t even need to look at Audley to know that. ‘Have you got a good map in your car?’
The Zzz of Zarubin was still on her lips, and she had to change their shape to get rid of it. ‘Yes, we’ve got a whole lot of maps—your big maps, with every goddamn thing on them … like every motte and bailey.’
Naturally, with its funds and its forethought, the CIA always had an unlimited supply of Ordnance Survey large-scale masterpieces. ‘Brentiscombe Point is up the coast from here, towards Ilfracombe. There’s a stream comes down to the sea there, and a few cottages. And the Devon Coast Path runs along there, eastwards—there’s a “Roman Fortlet” marked just inland from it.’ He could remember Audley’s voice in his ear. ‘It wasn’t really a fort, it was a signal station. You’ll find two others marked further east—this is the last of the three. On the path under the fort is where we’re meeting him.’ He concentrated on her. ‘Tell your man I want back-up there.’ Now for the truth. ‘And you keep well away this time, Willy. Because if you’re there I shall only worry.’ That was the truth, and there was no way of wrapping it up, ‘You’ll just be in the way. Do you understand?’ And, anyway, it was best unwrapped. ‘Do I make myself clear?’
‘Oh sure! You make yourself very clear. All too clear!’ She almost ignited again, but caught her temper with a conscious effort. ‘Okay, Tom: message received.’ What she wanted to do, he could see, was look over her shoulder at Audley. But she controlled that desire also, and merely nodded. ‘Problems you’ve gotten yourself, but I’ll try not to be an extra one. It’s my bodyguard you want now, not my body. Message received. So off you go, then.’
She was so close to him that he could see the fine moisture of the wet wind on the finer golden down on her skin. And he knew then that of all the things in the world he wanted to do, ‘going off away from her was the last and worst. ’Willy—‘
‘No, Tom!’ She raised her hand, almost as though to touch him again; but then she drew it back, as if their polarities repelled each other.‘ “Stand not upon the order of your going—go at once!”—I learnt that at college, when we played Macbeth.’ She smiled up at him. Tom goggled at her. ‘You played Lady Macbeth—?’ ‘Hell, no! It was a ladies’ college—so I played Macbeth … Go on, Tom, for God’s sake!‘ The hand waved urgently at. him. ’But … just you be very careful out there, like Sergeant Esterhase says—okay?‘
Almost embarrassingly, Audley wasn’t fuming at the delay: he was as avuncular as a bishop at a vicarage tea party.
‘I’m sorry, David!’ Still no sign of Panin’s man—any more than of Willy’s: the road was empty enough to risk a three-point turn across it.
‘Don’t be.’ What was worse than not-fuming was the big man’s unashamed interest; and, looking in all directions as he completed the manoeuvre, Tom observed Willy crossing the road ahead of him now; which would bring her to Audley’s side, for further inspection. ‘There’s no hurry, now that we know where to go—’ The car’s angry acceleration slammed him back into his seat as Tom put his foot down ‘—just take it easy! Because Major-General Zarubin will wait for us, Tom.’ As they reached her, Audley raised his hand in a parody of Queen Elizabeth the Queen Mother’s much-loved wave; and, what was worst of all, Wilhemina Groot returned the wave. ‘Yes . . Major-General Gennadiy Zarubin will undoubtedly wait patiently on our coming, Tom.’ Audley settled himself back comfortably, even folding his arms to demonstrate his equanimity. ‘He has a name to give us. So he needs us.’
Tom became aware that his foot had the accelerator flat down; and that this was both unnecessary, because the damage was done, and dangerous, because they were already approaching the next corner too fast. ‘What name, David?’
‘What name?’ Audley jerked forward as the brakes began to do the best they could. ‘Now … would that have been Mosby Sheldon’s young woman, by any remote chance, Tom?’
Tom cooled himself down, helped by the relief of getting round the bend on four wheels and on the road. ‘And if it was?’
‘Then he’s still running true to form. Because he had a very pretty woman in tow last time I met him. And she didn’t look the part either, as I recall … ’ The old man twisted in order to observe him more closely. ‘But … what you omitted to tell me, young Tom … is that you already know her quite well. Or even better than that, perhaps?’
Tom forced himself to watch the speedometer. ‘What?’
‘Oh, come on, now!’ Audley’s voice teased him. I may be almost superannuated, but I still have some of my eyesight and all of my memory. And—apart from that—I wouldn’t for one moment question your taste, either. For she seems to be a spirited young woman, as well as a stylish one—am I right?‘
It was that damned return wave, thought Tom, But then that was Willy, to the life. ‘And if you are right?’
‘My dear Tom! Don’t snap at me so—I have never objected to such imaginative extensions of th
e “Special Relationship”—quite the opposite!’
‘I wasn’t snapping.’ As Tom cut him off be realized that he was making a fool of himself. ‘I didn’t expect her—not here. That’s all.’
‘Of course!’ Audley hastened to spread agreement on the subject. ‘But … what I meant to say, in my clumsy way … is that we take a somewhat more laid-back, view of friendly contacts with friendly powers in Research and Development. Much more so than your boss Henry Jaggard probably does, to take an example. Which is not to say that he’s wrong, in taking a narrower view of his activities … But we are in the business of contacts and fair trading, without too much red tape, you understand … So some of my very best friends—real friends—the ones I can rely on to play honestly with me anyway, even though we both know that we salute a different flag every morning, and when the sun goes down, are Americans … or Germans.’ The old man sniffed. ‘At least, so long as we are of value to each other. Which makes life more interesting. But also sometimes even makes it safer, too.’
Tom had the feeling that he was tuned in to a commercial. But since Colonel Sheldon had despatched Willy and her helper to the Green Man last night it was a commercial with a demonstrably convincing sales story: because the CIA obviously cared for Dr David Audley’s skin. In fact, if anything, they cared rather more for it than Henry Jaggard seemed to do.
‘Hah-hmm … ’ Audley cleared his throat. ‘So what did your young lady have to tell you then, Tom?’
So that was the object of the commercial break then, thought Tom bleakly: the old man was trying to talk his fears away again, possibly letting the sound of his voice blot out the thumping of his heart as usual. But he was also desperate for more information, in the certain knowledge that he was sailing much too close to a rocky shore in almost total darkness, with the boom of the breaking waves in his ears.
For the Good of the State Page 29
