So there had been three runners. And although he dearly wanted to know who Prusakov was — and where and how and why Prusakov had run out of luck and cleverness "two days since", that would have to wait. 'At large where, Jake?
Lukianov?'
Jake shrugged. 'That, I don't know. And neither do the Russians, evidently.' The shrug became a shake. 'They are dummy1
tearing their hair — but that is also common knowledge . . .
What was it Cohen used to say, in the Saracen? "Screaming blue murder, like Auntie Vi did when she caught her tits in the mangle"?' The shake stopped and the bushy eyebrows lifted. 'All the way from Finland to the Black Sea — how many perfectly innocent criminals have been caught? And honest smugglers, who reckoned they'd bribed the border-guards sufficiently, too — ?' The eyebrows came down. 'The first plus-side is that the KGB is pushing all its contacts so hard that we are picking up people we never suspected, who are sticking out their necks. But the minus is that we're also losing valued middle-men who never knew who they were working for.' Quite terrifyingly, Jake began to become incredulous at his own revelations. 'If they were moving their tank divisions and dispersing their SS-20s as well, then we'd be battening-down for the Third World War — just as you are, David!' But then the incredulity steadied itself. 'Only you've gone off half-cock. Because they haven't shifted a mobile army-cookhouse.' The shake came back, but more disbelievingly. 'Just all their bloody spies . . . and their sleepers . . . and even some of their Spetsnaz sleepers —
which is even more outrageous . . . the handful that we know, here in England — ' Jake Shapiro actually bit his lip, under his moustache, on that ' — and that's strictly between you and me, as of now, David: if you want more on Spetsnaz, then you've got to trade at the very highest level — not you, but Jack Butler and his Minister. And it will involve a public pronouncement on your Government's attitude to the PLO.'
dummy1
He nodded. 'This is big business now, David.'
Audley felt almost as disembodied as he had also so recently felt on Capri when the screaming had started, half-aware that his features must have become as wooden as Jake Shapiro's suddenly were. Because Jake knew what he was saying: it had all been agreed — and bloody-quickly agreed, too — at his own very highest-level, in the few minutes which had elapsed between his "Mr Lee" call to the Saracen's Head and their joint-arrival under General Abercrombie's statue. Or (what was more likely, actually — and what was certainly worse, therefore) it had been agreed before? Which meant that the Israelis were so worried that they were desperate to co-operate at any price, in spite of Jake's pretended arrogance.
'I can't promise that, Jake.' Suddenly he felt greedy: having got so much so easily, he wanted more. And, anyway, however interesting that Spetsnaz information sounded —
and in exchange only for some half-arsed ministerial statement, which could be made to sound like something-and-nothing — it was just a sprat to catch a mackerel. 'I'm not even supposed to be talking to you now.'
'I can remedy that.' Jake gave him a bleak look. 'If you hadn't called me this morning, I would have called you this afternoon. Because I am empowered to do business with you, old friend.'
'With me?'
dummy1
'With you to start with. And to show good faith I will give you Prusakov: they took him in Italy, in a house outside Rome.
But, unfortunately he swallowed a pill, so that is the end of him. However, they also took the Arab who was with him.
And they will have squeezed him for sure. But that has not given them Lukianov. And he is the most dangerous of the three, we believe. Because he was the one who approached the various terrorist organizations in the first place, seeking the highest bidder for his merchandise — we know that.'
'What merchandise, Jake?'
Shapiro shook his head. 'That we do not know.' He looked at Audley sidelong. 'And you do not know — ?'
He must give the Israeli something. 'You've heard about Capri?'
'Capri — ?' Jake frowned.
Audley unfolded his Telegraph and offered the right page.
He had to allow that the stage might have lost a great actor when Jake's parents had illegally emigrated. But his surprise looked genuine.
'You were there?' The Israeli crumpled the newspaper as he looked up from it. 'This was . . . yesterday — ?'
'Yes.' Whatever else Mossad knew, Capri didn't fit in with it.'
Tell me about it.'
Audley shook his head. 'The Russians killed two Arabs. And they lost one of their own men, doing it. That's what we believe. But the man wasn't Lukianov, anyway. At least, I dummy1
don't think so.'
The Israeli drew a deep breath. 'It can't have been "Lucky"
Lukianov. Because the Russians wanted all three of them back alive, from the start. And as of last night —as of this morning, too . . . they still wanted him.' He lifted the crumpled Telegraph. 'So if this is kosher, then it could be a terrorist squabble to decide who's going to attend the auction. The fewer the bidders, the lower the price, maybe?
Not that they can't all afford to pay . . . But Abu Nidal certainly isn't going to let Ahmed Jebril get it, if he can stop him.' He sighed. 'Whatever it is . . .'
Audley let out his breath slowly. It was probable that Jake knew more than he was telling. But he didn't know about Peter Richardson yet.
'Okay, Jake.' If he risked more, then he might betray how little he'd known. Because Jake was smart. 'Tell me about this fellow Lukianov.'
2
'Good morning, Mrs Harlin.' Audley could always gauge how far he was into the doghouse from the expression on the face of Jack's PA. And one glance this morning was enough. 'Any messages for me?'
'Good morning, Dr Audley.' All the years of their acquaintance made not the slightest difference: with Mrs dummy1
Harlin it was Jack Butler contra mundum now, just as she had once given her whole loyalty to Fred Clinton before him.
'There are no messages for you. But Sir Jack is waiting for you in the conference room.'
'In the conference room?' It was still her loyalty to Jack which allowed her to warn him that they already had visitors.
And she had no need to elaborate on her encoded message: a conference before 10 o'clock in the morning always meant trouble. 'Thank you, Mrs Harlin. Would you tell him I'm here, then?'
'I have already told him of your arrival, Dr Audley.' The arrow on her disapproval-dial moved up into the red as he failed to move. 'He is w—' Her features relaxed suddenly' —
ah, Sir Jack! Dr Audley — '
'Yes.' Butler's voice came from behind him.
'Hullo, Jack.' Audley glanced over his shoulder, but then returned to Mrs Harlin. 'Just one thing, Mrs Harlin. Would you phone my wife and tell her that I've had a talk with Matthew Fattorini, and that he's going to fix up a trip to America for Cathy.' He shook his head at her. 'She'll understand . . . We've got this problem of Cathy wanting to swan off to India for a year, to do her Christian duty. But she's still much too young for India.' He gave Butler half a shrug. 'And if this doesn't work I shall call on you, Jack. She's your god-daughter after all.'
Butler considered him dispassionately for a moment, as though weighing his anger with this flimsy alibi against other dummy1
more pressing matters. Then he looked down at his PA. 'And while you're about it, Mrs Harlin, you may reassure Mrs Audley that her husband has found time to attend to his duties. So she is not to worry about him.'
'Oh — ?' Audley decided to cut his losses also, for the same reason. 'We have company, I gather?'
Butler pointed towards the passage.
'Who — ' He found himself addressing Butler's back '—who have we got, Jack?'
'Henry Jaggard.' Butler stopped suddenly, indicating the door to a side-office. 'In there, David.'
The office was empty. 'Who else, Jack?'
'Your friend Renshaw, from the Cabinet Office. Leonard Aston. Commander Pitt.' Butl
er stared at him. 'And a woman named Franklin. You know her?'
'I've heard tell of her.' Jaggard evidently meant business.
'Isn't she Henry's new secret weapon?' He cocked his head at Butler. 'Is she targeted on us this morning —not the enemy?'
Another hard stare. 'Is there anything I should know before we go in, David?'
Not yet there wasn't. 'Have they seen Mitchell's report, on the Italian debacle?'
'Of course.'
Of course — yes! Because Kulik had been Henry Jaggard's business, and they had just been "helping out" —eh? 'Uh-dummy1
huh? So now I'm getting the blame for losing Peter Richardson — is that it?'
'You didn't lose him. He didn't turn up.' Butler's jaw set firm.
'And with the Russians there too, as well as those Arabs, that was just as well.'
Good old Jack! 'He's still loose, is he? Old Peter — ?' That was the real worry. 'The Italians were locking all the gates when I left.'
Butler drew a breath. "They think he's off their patch now.'
Audley relaxed. Richardson under Italian lock-and-key might have made things easier. But Richardson still free strengthened his own position right now. 'Why do you think that?'
'Someone answering his description chartered a plane at Rome late yesterday afternoon, just before they closed things up. An American businessman, with a good American passport. Name of Dalingridge.' Butler frowned slightly at him. "The Americans don't know anyone of that name . . . Do you?'
The name had caught him so much by surprise that he'd let his face show it. 'Where was he heading?'
'You know the name?'
It was too late to deny it. But, also, it was altogether too good to be true . . . unless Richardson had intended it to be exactly that. 'I might — yes.'
'From where?' Butler was past doubting that Mr Dalingridge dummy1
was Major Richardson. So now it was far too late to deny it.
'Christian name . . . "Richard", by any chance?' And it was fair enough, anyway: old Jack had given his orders and had taken all the responsibility for what he'd done (and not done), with no recriminations. So he deserved a bit of good news.
'"Richard Dalingridge", Jack?'
Butler nodded. "That's a name he would have used, is it?'
Then he nodded the question away as superfluous. 'And he'd expect you to know that, would he?'
Old Jack was smart, and quick with it, as well as loyal, the new question reminded Audley. But that, of course, was why he deserved to be where he was, as well as accounting for it.
'He would — yes. Where did he go?'
'Mmm . . .' Butler was doing his arithmetic. 'He went to Lyons. And that's all we've got so far.'
It was enough, anyway. By high-speed train "Mr Richard Dalingridge" could have been soon enough in Paris. And then it would have been time for another passport, from his professional smuggler's stock, prudently acquired for such a rainy day. And what would that name be? "Hugh Saxon", maybe . . . becaue "Hugh Dallingford" would sound a bit too much like "Dalingridge" — ? Or . . . maybe he'd reckon that one signal from Italy, where it would be sure to be picked up, would be enough.
He grinned at Butler. Once the shock of that retirement dummy1
criminality was assimilated, it came as no surprise that Peter hadn't forgotten any of his lessons — or anything else from the old days. Yes . . . Peter, of all people, by God!
But his grin wasn't being returned. 'Is there something I should know now, David?' Butler glanced towards the door.
'I can't keep them waiting much longer.'
Audley disciplined his face. There really wasn't any reason to keep grinning, anyway. Not in view of all he still didn't know . . . which, apart from Peter's most likely intention . . .
included almost everything else that mattered. 'Not really.'
He hardened his heart against Butler in his own interest.
'We've still got the inside track on Richardson . . . But then there's this terrorist business.' He looked at his feudal lord accusingly. 'You didn't exactly come clean about that yesterday.' But he mustn't know too much about that. And, anyway, it was more than likely that it had been Henry Jaggard who hadn't come clean wih Butler. 'Or didn't you know that, Jack?' Better to let old Jack off the hook altogether. So he shrugged. 'The Italians seemed to think there was a connection. Even after Comrade Zimin appeared on the scene. But they weren't very forthcoming after that.
They just wanted to get shot of me as quickly as possible after they'd decided that I wasn't going to be helpful.' He cocked his head at Butler. 'There is a connection, I take it?'
Butler's lips tightened. 'I think you'd better hear what Jaggard has to say. Then we can decide what to do.'
So that was the way the land lay. This was Jaggard's dummy1
business, not theirs — they had merely been "helping out".
And, whoever was to blame (or, as the case might be, whoever finally carried the can, justly or not) for Berlin and Capri, Butler wasn't going to be caught twice.
But that wouldn't do at all — not now! 'I don't see that we have any choice in the matter, Jack.' He took a step towards the door.
'Choice?' Butler didn't move. 'It isn't your job to run Henry Jaggard's errands. And it isn't my job to waste your time.'
In another moment Butler would be telling him he was also
"a bit long in the tooth". But it wouldn't do to get angry: if there was one thing he'd learnt during his long years with Fred Clinton it was that a good salesman tailored his sales pitch to the customer. 'No, of course. But. . . I'm the only person with whom Peter Richardson is likely to make contact.' He gave Butler a sly look.' "Mr Dalingridge" —
remember?'
'You're also a three-time loser.' Butler held his ground. 'You can be de-briefed this morning. And back in Washington this evening.'
He had to try another line. 'Richardson was our man, Jack —'
'He was Sir Frederick Clinton's man.' Butler cut him off brutally. 'And only briefly. And then he resigned.'
He could try "the National Interest". But, coming from him, that would be no more convincing than ancient departmental loyalty. So all that was left was for him to act in charcter. 'I'm dummy1
too far in to want to stop now, Jack. And, if anyone wants me dead, I'll be damned if I stop —I'll be damned if I'll leave what concerns me to Henry Jaggard. Apart from all of which . . . he'll fuck it up for sure.'
Butler winced at the obscenity, as he always did at Audley's deliberate lapses, in spite of all his army years. But then he drew a deep resigned breath. 'Very well. We'll wait and see.'
The woman Franklin would be the one to watch. So he mustn't look at her first —
'Ah, David!' Even on Sir Jack Butler's own ground, and in his own conference room, Henry Jaggard had to assert himself as though it all belonged to him. 'Good of you to join us.'
'Henry.' Audley ignored him, nodding first and second to Len Aston and Billy Pitt, then grinning at the Honourable Charles Renshaw. 'Hullo, Charlie. Sorry to get you out of bed so early.' Now the woman. 'Miss Franklin, I presume — ?' Well, well! She was damn-well worth looking at, never mind watching! 'Sorry I'm late, Henry. But . . . I gather you all know what's happened. And if you must give us the tricky jobs that your chaps aren't up to, then what can you expect?'
'That's unjust. The man Kulik asked for you, David.' Jaggard rolled easily with the punch.
'But, fortunately, he didn't get me.'
'You can say that again!' Charlie Renshaw made a face. 'You dummy1
go along with the perceived wisdom, do you, David —that they were gunning for you?'
'It certainly looks that way now, yes.'
'You were lucky.' Jaggard nodded.
'Not lucky. Jack just made the right decision, that's all. As usual.'
'And that was lucky.' Jaggard stuck to his guns. 'I would have sent you — to Berlin, anyway.'
'And I would have gone. I've always liked Berlin.' Audl
ey nodded back. 'Maybe you're right at that — I'm lucky to have Jack to save me from myself. And from you, Henry.'
'On the other hand, you might not have conducted matters there quite as insouciantly as did Miss Loftus.' Jaggard pursed his lips. 'In which case we might not be in our present quandary.' He stared around before returning to Audley.
'Because Sir Jack has informed us that Kulik's confidence in you was misplaced — that you don't know what is going on?'
'I don't know what it is I'm supposed to know — not yet . . .
that's true.' Audley looked at each of them in turn, with the exception of Butler. 'I know a lot of things, about a lot of people —'
'Including Major Richardson?' Miss Franklin interrupted him more gently than he deserved, he thought. 'We were hoping he would narrow the field for us, Dr Audley.'
She had a pleasant voice, the thought expanded: received Queen's/BBC/Oxbridge accent, but with the merest hint of dummy1
Welsh somewhere in its background.
'Well . . . yes, he does ... or he may, Miss Franklin.' He must stop thinking how pretty she was, and remember only that she was reputed to be formidably intelligent. 'Although I'm afraid I didn't know him as well as everyone assumes, Kulik included. He was one of Sir Frederick Clinton's Queen's-shilling men . . . And old Fred always played his cards close to his chest.' He smiled at her. 'But Peter Richardson didn't turn out to be quite the trump he expected. However, given more time, I shall do better —' He completed the smile, and then erased it before catching Commander Pitt's eye ' —
although I could do the best of all if you could produce him, Commander.'
'Oh aye?' Pitt seemed ready for him. 'You think he's coming here, do you?'
'You think he's still alive?' Jaggard offered the alternative quickly.
'I think ... I think that if Fred Clinton fancied him, then he's a downy bird, Henry. So ... yes, I think he's still alive.' He nodded at Jaggard. 'He certainly wasn't on the Capri casualty list, anyway. And it looks as though he's heading for home now.'
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