Here Be Monsters

by Anthony Price

  ‘Eh?’ Audley frowned into her politeness. ‘What?’

  ‘Sir Peter, Dr Audley—‘ She faltered under his frown ‘—Sir Peter will see you now.’

  ‘Ah—hmm … ’ Audley’s face became a mask of vague intransigence, for which his somewhat battered features were well-suited. ‘Right. Then you just tell Sir Peter that we’ll see him in five minutes—right?’

  The woman’s own face, at least above the pasted smile, registered something like consternation. It was as though, as a junior archangel at the Gates of Heaven, she had said Saint Peter will see you now, only to discover that she had been addressing some Old Testament prophet who rated her master as just another newcomer.

  But then she rallied. ‘Sir Peter is a very busy man, Dr Audley.’

  ‘And so am I.’ The intransigence was not so much vague as blandly and brutally confident. ‘Five minutes, tell him—right?’

  The hate above the woman’s smile was almost tangible. ‘Yes, Dr Audley. If—if you would take the left-hand lift … when you are ready?’

  ‘Thank you.’ Audley turned back to Elizabeth. ‘Now, Miss Loftus—as you were saying—?’

  Elizabeth watched the receptionist’s retreating back, outwardly stiffened, but inwardly slumped. He would never have dared to treat Mrs Harlin like that.

  ‘I was going to say … I was going to say that you are a nig sometimes, David—to quote your wife.’

  ‘Only when it is necessary—to quote Tsar Alexander, Elizabeth.’

  ‘But I was late, you said. So it wasn’t her fault.’

  ‘You were late—and she’s paid to handle awkward bastards like me. And we’re paid to do what I’m doing now, actually.’

  ‘Which is not telling me a damn thing?’

  ‘We haven’t time for that now—which is tactics, Elizabeth.’ He glanced towards the lifts, and so did she. There were three of them, and there were people waiting outside two of them, on the right. But no one was waiting outside the left-hand one, which was open and empty.

  ‘What tactics?’

  ‘What tactics?’ He came back to her. ‘Getting an interview with Sir Peter Barrie was a slice of luck to start with, because he probably spends half his life jetting somewhere, first-class. Like this morning, for instance, Elizabeth.’

  ‘This morning?’

  ‘He was booked to Cairo this morning, top security. Because Xenophon’s got a deal going with the Egyptians, so my Israeli friends tell me. But when his old friend -his very old friend—who, quite surprisingly, is me … when his old friend phones him up this morning, first his secretary says he’s a busy man, and hard luck … But then she phones me back and says he has got maybe a few spare minutes, between one pressing matter and another. And that begins to interest his old friend, Elizabeth. And then you’re quite unconscionably late. But he’s still got time to spare. And that might also be luck. But I think I’ve had all the luck I can reasonably expect already. So that interests me even more. So I’m just pushing my luck for another five minutes, do you see?’ He smiled hideously at her. ‘Besides which I really would like to know what Major Turnbull said about Mr Edward Parker, Elizabeth.’

  ‘And I’d like to know what Squadron Leader Thomas has to do with Xenophon Oil, David.’

  He nodded. ‘Fair enough. And the answer is—absolutely nothing, so far as I know.’ He looked at her. ‘So now I get my answer—fair?’

  It wasn’t in the least fair. But, unfair or not, she needed Audley more than he needed her. ‘He thinks Parker was murdered.’

  This time the look was elongated. ‘Yes … ’ Then he nodded again. ‘Yes … although he didn’t say quite as much in his report. But then he has this thing—this psychological block, would it be?—about unveiling his opinions in print.’ He cocked an eye at her. ‘But if he says that was the way of it, then we had both better believe it … And that justified dear Oliver St John Latimer taking me away from more important matter, I suppose.’

  More important matters? There was a display of time spanning Xenophon’s international, intercontinental, world-wide operations, electronically illustrated over a huge spinning globe in the middle of the foyer, continuously red for this minute of British Summertime, and green for Xenophon’s own communications satellite, as it fulfilled its function from the North Slope of Alaska to the China Sea. But Elizabeth felt only the pressure of the red numbers adjusting their verticals and horizontals as her own lifespan was counted.

  ‘Good God!’ exclaimed Audley, looking past her. ‘Razzak!’

  The emphasis twisted her towards the direction of his attention. ‘What?’

  ‘Razzak!’ This time he only murmured the name, but took a half-step sideways as he did so. ‘Well, well! Hullo there?

  There had been people there, in the doorway, where the doors had been hissing them in and out all the time as they had been talking. But now there was a large Arab there, transfixed by Audley’s glance.

  ‘Hah!’ The man’s hesitation was lost in his slight change of direction. ‘David—of all people! What black mischief are you up to here?’

  ‘My dear fellow—not the same as yours, I hope!’ Audley completed the step. ‘I didn’t even know you were in London—‘ He broke off as the same receptionist whom he had bullied came out of nowhere to intercept the Arab.

  ‘General?’ The same welcoming smile was there, but it was a desperate smile, bereft of both hope and confidence. ‘General Razzak?’

  The Arab turned towards the woman. ‘Madame … I have an appointment with Colonel Saunders. But it was made very recently, by telephone, so I quite appreciate any delay. So I will wait here—‘ He flicked a glance towards the entrance, which was now partially obscured by two large men who were patrolling the steps at different levels, admiring the view ‘—until the Colonel is free?’

  ‘Ah—‘ began Audley.

  ‘A moment, David—‘ The Arab held up a mutilated hand. ‘—I am at your service, Madame.’

  ‘Oh—yes, General.’ The effort of not looking at Audley embarrassed the woman, ‘Colonel Saunders will see you now. If you will go to the right-hand lift, General. Level Six.’

  ‘Thank you, Madame.’ The Arab bowed. ‘That is most kind of you. After I have transacted the common courtesies with this gentleman I will go directly to Level Six. And meanwhile, if you could report my arrival to my embassy? Would that be possible?’

  ‘Of course, General. Immediately.’

  ‘Thank you.’ The Arab smiled sweetly at her, and then cased the foyer for a second time as she returned to the desk. “The Libyans have put a price on my head, so I have to take these boring precautions, David—please forgive me.’

  ‘And the Iranians too, presumably?’ Audley was quite matter-of-fact.

  ‘And them too!’ The Arab completed his scrutiny, and grinned at Audley. ‘You have your cross to bear—and I have my crescent. The irony of which is that I shall go to Paradise, while you will find yourself rubbing shoulders with them in Hell.’

  ‘But you’ll put in a good word for me? For old time’s sake?’

  ‘I will not.’ The Arab had already observed Elizabeth surreptitiously, but now he studied her with frank curiosity. ‘Until you remember your manners, David.’

  General who? Elizabeth racked her brains. Audley had once been a Middle Eastern expert, as well as the author of a scholarly work on the Crusader Kingdom of Jerusalem, until he had blotted his copybook. And he was still very thick with the Israelis. But that somehow made this friendship more unlikely.

  ‘I beg your pardon, Miss Loftus.’ Audley sounded slightly distant. ‘May I present my old and dear friend, General Muhammed Razzak, late of the Egyptian army?’

  Razzak, of course! She had once heard David say, a propos the Sadat assassination, it wouldn’t have happend if old Razzak hadn’t been in Washington at the time.

  ‘Enchante, Miss Loftus,’ The General carried her hand to his lips with what was left of his hand—there was no index finger at all, and the palm
was dreadfully scarred. ‘But of course! You are the daughter of the gallant naval captain who once sank all those German torpedo-boats when his own ship was itself sinking -I remember reading of his death in The Times. You have my sympathy, Mademoiselle, for your loss.’

  Thank you, General.’ In spite of the hand, and the fact that he was just beginning to run to fat and was also old enough to be her father, he was an attractive man still, Elizabeth decided. But why should he remember a three-year-old Times obituary?

  ‘Belated sympathy,’ murmured Audley dryly. But then David also knew the real score, which lay between herself and Father.

  ‘Belated only because I have not had the pleasure of meeting Miss Loftus until now.’ The General held her hand just a second too long, as though he derived information from it. ‘And he was an historian also—a most distinguished naval historian.’

  ‘That’s what good intelligence is all about, Elizabeth,’ said Audley. ‘He didn’t really need an introduction—any more than he’s a real Egyptian. He’s really an Albanian-Turk—one of Mehemet Ali’s imports, by descent … And definitely not to be trusted with the week’s housekeeping money.’

  General Razzak cocked an eye at Audley. ‘Just as Audley is … what is it? Anglo-Norman? And would that be Norseman?” And are the Norsemen not the sea-raiders who burned all the Christian churches and monasteries—and nunneries, and made free with the holy ladies therein?’ He smiled at Elizabeth. ‘You would not have to trust the housekeeping money to such terrorists, Miss Loftus—they would also take it from you.’ He nodded. ‘And as for your gallant and distinguished father, as it happens I have read his account of Admiral Lord Nelson’s campaign, which ended with the Battle of the Nile. General Bonaparte’s Egyptian expedition is my hobby, and I hope to publish my researches one day … Did you assist your father with his researches, Mademoiselle?’

  ‘What he means, Elizabeth,’ said Audley quickly, ‘is, are you helping me with my researches now? And what I meant, when I said he was an “old and dear” friend, was that we’ve known each other for a few years, and we’ve both cost each other dear. And I’ve paid more than he has.’

  Elizabeth blanked out her memories of transcribing Father’s anti-Nelson prose, word for word, not daring to object to it while suspecting that Father’s severity with Nelson’s human frailities were due either to his knowledge of his own defects or to his blindness to them—even now she could not decide which.

  ‘I did, General.’ She wasn’t attractive enough to coquette with General Muhammed Razzak, so it had to be an intellectual, blue-stocking, response. ‘If you’d like to see Father’s notes … will you be in London long?’

  He shook his head. ‘Alas no, Mademoiselle.’ He didn’t look at Audley. ‘As I’m sure you both know, I have business with Xenophon. Although I am not a businessman.’

  ‘You’re here because Barrie didn’t fly out this morning?’ Audley looked quickly towards the red time-fingers over the revolving Xenophon globe. ‘And so he’s screwed up all your security precautions? So you’re here to sort things out with his Head of Security?’

  General Razzak spread his amusement between them, with a wicked glint for Audley and pretended regret for Elizabeth, as though he knew quite well what they were about. ‘And if I said “yes” to that—‘ He zeroed in on Audley ‘—would you answer me truthfully in return?’ He shifted his glance to Elizabeth, but then swung away from them both, towards the reappearing receptionist who had brushed past the cascade of foliage to hover on the edge of their game. ‘Madame?’

  ‘General … please forgive me for interrupting you.’ This time the reception-smile illustrated a confusion of unreconciled priorities with which Elizabeth could readily sympathize: did the Egyptian general, who was booked in with Xenophon’s security chief, rate above the horrible Dr Audley, who behaved as though he out-ranked Saint Peter himself, whose special lift still gaped open?

  ‘Dr Audley—‘ Faced with an absolute decision, the woman came to it bravely ‘—Sir Peter is asking for you. And I really cannot put him off any longer, Dr Audley.’

  ‘No?’ Anglo-Normans, secure in the Battle of Hastings, lacked the grace of Mehemet Ali’s Albanian-Turks. ‘Oh, very well, then—tell him we’re just coming.’ Audley cold-shouldered her, coming back to General Muhammed Razzak. ‘And if I assured you on my honour that this has got nothing to do with you, as far as I know—that it’s purely domestic? Would you believe that?’

  ‘On your honour—I would.’ Razzak nodded. ‘And it would make me happier, too.’

  ‘Then we can both be happier.’ Audley returned the nod, and then transferred it to the receptionist, and finally gave it to Elizabeth. ‘Let’s try the left-hand lift then, Miss Loftus—‘ He spread an arm and a hand for her, to shepherd her towards the open lift-doors. ‘—Razzak, I’ll phone you tomorrow evening maybe—okay?’

  ‘You can phone me. But you won’t get me.’

  ‘Okay.’ Audley shrugged. ‘I’ll just give Jake Shapiro your kind regards.’ The hand urged her irritably.

  ‘Of course!’ Razzak bowed to her. ‘Another time, Miss Loftus? I am particularly interested in the landing of the British army in 1799—relatively speaking, as an opposed landing, it was remarkably efficient—I would be very grateful for anything you have on that, from contemporary records and diaries—‘ He bowed again ‘—Miss Loftus-‘

  ‘For Christ’s sake! Come on, Elizabeth!’ Audley grimaced at her as he started to move. ‘The only really smart thing we ever did in Egypt was when Disraeli borrowed the money from Rothschild’s to buy those Suez Canal shares. But then we should have handed the bloody place over to the Australians in 1918—they were the only Anglo-Saxons the Egyptians ever respected—Come on, Elizabeth!’

  Elizabeth came on, towards the left-hand lift, with its welcoming open doors, not daring to look farewell at General Razzak after that.

  ‘David—who is Sir Peter? Sir Peter Barrie?’ She entered the lift, and swivelled towards him. ‘What has he got to do with Squadron Leader Thomas?’

  He made a face. ‘Don’t keep calling him “Squadron Leader”, for God’s sake, woman!’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘How much do you know about him?’ Audley searched the lift for controls. ‘You know … I wonder which floor we want—?’

  ‘Hold on, David! I know practically nothing about him—and absolutely nothing about Sir Peter Barrie. So don’t press the button yet.’

  ‘You don’t? Well, the presence of General Razzak should tell you something.’ He scratched his head. “There don’t seem to be any buttons—just this one marked “Emergency”. It must be controlled from the desk, by that woman.’ He took a step back towards the doors, but they started to close and he was forced to retreat.

  The lift began to move, and Elizabeth began to panic.

  Audley grinned at her. ‘She nearly got me. She was just waiting for that, I’ll bet! Not that I blame her … You were saying—?’

  Mustn’t panic. ‘Where is that emergency button, David?’

  ‘Just here—the red button—Christ, Elizabeth—!’ , The lift stopped.

  ‘For God’s sake woman! What did you do that for?’ exclaimed Audley.

  ‘Because I have an emergency, David. I know practically nothing about Squadron Leader Thomas—whom I must not call “Squadron Leader”—except that he was shot down on June 6th, 1944, and rescued by the late Major Thaddeus E. Parker on June 7th.’ Elizabeth decided that she would hold on to the Deputy-Director’s other revelations for the time being.

  Somewhere in the distance there was a bell ringing. Presumably it was an emergency bell.

  ‘And I know nothing at all about Sir Peter Barrie, whom I am about to meet.’ She faced him. ‘And that is my emergency.’

  He stared at her for a moment. Then his mouth opened.

  ‘Executive floor lift?’ The voice came out of a small speaker alongside the red button. ‘You have a problem? Please speak into this receiver, alongside the em
ergency stop.’

  Elizabeth pressed her bag tightly over the speaker. ‘Solve my problem, David.’

  He stared at her for another, much longer moment. ‘I don’t think you have any problem at all, young woman.’ He shook his head. ‘The problem is all mine.’

  The speaker mumbled again, muffled by her bag.

  ‘All right, Elizabeth—I give you best.’ The shake became a nod. ‘We vetted both of them, back in 1958. And cleared them both—Peter Barrie was a wronged man, and a victim … old Haddock was also a wronged man. But also a philanderer. It was a cross between a Feydeau comedy—or a Whitehall farce, or maybe a “Carry On” film—and a James Bond novel. Everyone got egg on their faces.’

  ‘What about Major Parker?’

  Audley shook his head. ‘What about him?’

  ‘He was on the list too.’

  His face hardened. ‘You know what list you’re talking about?’

  Audley was usually so friendly that when he wasn’t he was at once rather frightening. ‘Mr Latimer has cleared me for it, David.’

  ‘Oh, he has, has he?’ She could almost feel the heat under his look. ‘Well, we haven’t the time—and this isn’t the place—for Mr Oliver St John Latimer’s list. And you can lean on your red button until hell freezes over, Miss Loftus.’

  Elizabeth summoned her last reserves. ‘So what is Sir Peter Barrie’s connection with—with Thomas—‘

  That’s easy. He was Thomas’s best friend, or near enough, back in ‘58. Until Barrie shopped him.’ He relaxed slightly. ‘So I thought you should begin with him. But I wouldn’t advise you to delay him any longer. He’s a busy man, as that woman said.’

  She lowered her bag. ‘Hullo? Hullo? Who is that?’

  ‘Executive floor lift?’ The voice seemed relieved. ‘Please speak into the receiver, alongside the emergency stop—the red button.’

  ‘The red button?’ She made herself sound flustered. And when she thought about David Audley and Sir Peter Barrie that wasn’t too difficult. ‘I think I pressed the button by mistake—the lift just stopped.’

  Audley leaned forward. ‘She pressed the red button by mistake,’ he repeated grimly. ‘So what do we do now?’