One False Move

by Robert Goddard

  ‘Thanks for letting me know,’ I say limply.

  He frowns slightly. ‘I thought you’d come back in after we spoke.’

  ‘I got the feeling Joe preferred me not to.’

  ‘Ah. Right.’

  ‘Did Liz … say anything about the accident?’

  ‘To suggest it wasn’t an accident, you mean?’

  ‘I didn’t mean that, necessarily. But …’

  ‘She confirmed her brakes failed. Completely. She tried changing down, but that didn’t slow her down enough before she reached the roundabout. That was about it. She was very tired. It was all she could do to tell me that much. I’ll see if she remembers anything else tomorrow.’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘Anything … suspicious.’

  ‘Accidents do happen, Duncan.’

  ‘Yeah. That’s what they said when her husband ploughed into Stithians Reservoir.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I expect you know what I mean, Nicole. Goodnight.’

  Forrester’s left me with plenty to think about as I set off for St Mawes. Vogler was Charlie Roberts’ partner. Now he’s Joe Roberts’ boss. Charlie died in a car crash. Liz has nearly gone the same way. It looks like Vogler isn’t a man to be crossed.

  So, what do I do? Leave well alone? Keep my head down? Take the positives out of the situation? Christ, I would if there were any. But I don’t need an appraisal interview to tell me this is my last chance to go anywhere at Venstrom. And the thought of giving in to a man like Vogler is sickening.

  I hold the bug in my hand and weigh the odds. If I don’t take this chance, I’m going to regret it. And if I do take it …

  You never know until you know.

  Thursday October 10

  I get a message from Carl while I’m having breakfast. On train from Paddington. Arrive Truro 1154. See you there. He doesn’t actually ask for a reply and I don’t send one. Maybe he’ll see me there. Maybe he won’t.

  A few minutes later, I see, sliding across the grey skyline, a helicopter approaching the moored bulk of the Dymas. As I watch it land at the stern of the boat, my phone pings and it’s a message from Ursula. Are you seeing what I’m seeing? I text back I am. She responds. Be ready. I tell her OK.

  I don’t know if Vogler will be collected straight away, but I play safe by walking along to the quay. Nothing’s moving on the Dymas at the moment, though I can make out the shape of the helicopter sitting on its deck. I buy a coffee at the St Mawes Hotel just beyond the quay and sit outside, cool though it is. This way I can hardly miss the launch – or Vogler. I work through my emails. The morning begins to slip by. I have a second coffee.

  Suddenly, Vogler appears. There’s no sign of the launch yet. But he’s striding along the road from the direction of Admiral’s Reach, looking very smart in a navy blue suit, white shirt and red and white striped tie. He’s carrying a slim briefcase. I wonder what Ursula would give for a glimpse of the contents. He looks like a businessman on his way to an important meeting – which is just what he is, I suppose.

  ‘Good morning,’ I call to him.

  He stops and stares at me, then slowly walks up to my table. ‘What are you doing here, Nicole?’

  ‘Killing time. Join me for a coffee?’

  ‘No. Unlike you, apparently, I have work to do.’

  ‘You’ve got a moment to sit down, haven’t you?’

  He glances once towards the Dymas, appears to decide he can spend a few minutes finding out what I want and sits down, stowing the briefcase at his feet. The chairs are close. Our knees are nearly touching and I smile at him in a way intended to persuade a man like him that I acknowledge his dominance and might even find it attractive.

  ‘Apparently you’ve been talking to my boss, Carl Hinkley.’

  ‘Oh, him? Yeah, we had a chat. Got to say, Nicole, he sounded a bit of a prat.’

  ‘Well, prat or not, he calls the shots, which is why I’m at a bit of a loose end. He’s told me to let him handle negotiations with you.’

  ‘Ah, those precious negotiations. I told you the score Tuesday night. Nothing’s changed. As far as Carl Hinkley goes, I’m giving you a chance to make the situation clear to him. And as for Joe …’

  ‘He had some bad news yesterday.’

  ‘I know. I’ve told him to take all the time he needs while his mother’s laid up. Dreadful business.’

  I need to act. I need to plant it now. But how? ‘I’ve been thinking about our discussion, Conrad.’

  ‘You can call me Con. Everyone does. What have you been thinking?’

  ‘That I do understand your position. Completely.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘But still I’m wondering … if there isn’t room for compromise.’

  ‘Did I sound like I was willing to compromise?’

  ‘No, Con, you didn’t. But then I never got the chance to spell out exactly what I was willing to offer, on a personal basis.’

  ‘Personal?’

  I lean towards him, willing him to lean towards me. He doesn’t. ‘An extra inducement that might persuade you to consider sharing Joe’s expertise with us.’

  ‘And what would that be?’ He’s smiling now, enjoying the game, not quite sure whether to take me seriously or not. There’s never going to be a compromise, of course, but that wouldn’t necessarily stop Vogler accepting whatever I offered him in pursuit of one.

  I hold his gaze. ‘Anything you wanted that I could make available.’

  ‘Really? Anything?’ He props one elbow on the table and draws closer.

  Vogler’s phone pings. He ignores it. But out of the corner of my eye I can see something moving out at sea – moving fast. I can’t hear it yet, but I think I know what it is. My phone pings then as well. And I also ignore it.

  ‘We both seem to be in demand, Nicole.’

  ‘It’s probably Carl. He can wait.’

  ‘Not sure my caller can.’ He glances towards the harbour. His eyes narrow. He’s judging how long he can loiter here with me.

  His tie’s sagging over the edge of the table. It’s only inches from my grasp. I touch his forearm and he looks at me slyly. ‘I might have misread you, Nicole.’

  ‘Never judge a book by its cover.’

  ‘I have to go, I really do.’

  ‘You could call me later.’

  ‘Maybe I will.’ He stretches down for his briefcase, accentuating the sag of his tie. This is it. Now or never.

  And it’s now. I press the bug on behind his tie, high enough to be partly concealed by the sewn fold. It holds. But he senses the movement.

  ‘What …?’

  ‘Sorry.’ I smile. ‘I spilt some coffee earlier. Didn’t want you getting your tie stained.’ The table has a wobble. When it caused some coffee to slop out of my cup earlier, I was miffed. Funny how things work out.

  He smiles back at me, genuinely grateful, as far as I can tell. ‘I’ve got to go.’ I can hear the rumble of the launch’s motor now. I can see the wake thrown up behind it as it heads into the harbour. ‘But I’ll be in touch.’

  ‘I’ll look forward to it.’

  ‘Tell Carl from me I prefer dealing with you.’

  ‘I will.’

  He’s off then, striding across the road towards the quay. The launch is slowing as it takes a wide loop round the sea wall.

  I can’t quite believe it’s happened. But it has. I don’t want to think about how Vogler will react if he finds it. He’ll know for sure it was me. But before then, with any luck, Ursula will have given the go-ahead for his arrest.

  I check my phone. The message was from Ursula, as I suspected. Launch left. I text back It worked. The reply is more or less instantaneous. Well done.

  I signal the waitress for the bill. It’s time I was moving. It seems I’ll be able to collect Carl at Truro station after all. And there’s nothing I can do here. What I could do I’ve already done. And the consequences? I’ll know soon enough.

  I don’t go
back to the hotel. I go straight to my car and drive out of town, heading for the King Harry ferry. I feel nervous, but also elated. Vogler had this coming.

  I keep glancing at my phone, hoping for a message from Ursula. None arrives. I reassure myself it could take a while before she can tell me anything useful and, until then, there’s nothing for her to say. But she could at least tell me the micro-transmitter’s working. She must know that by now.

  But still there’s nothing.

  I reach Truro station with ten minutes in hand. The train’s on time according to the information screen. I wait in my car.

  The train pulls in. The forecourt’s suddenly busy with taxis and cars leaving. Carl’s one of the last passengers to emerge from the station. He’s on his phone. What with that and his shaven head, soft jacket, distressed jeans and smart tote bag, he looks conspicuously metropolitan.

  He stops some way short of my car to finish his call, then flashes me a smile before tossing his bag on to the rear seat and climbing in beside me.

  ‘Christ knows how you can travel west from London for so long and still be on dry land,’ he complains. ‘But here I am.’

  ‘At least the train wasn’t late,’ I remark as I start to reverse out of the bay.

  ‘Hold on a mo, Nicole. Where are we going?’

  I stop. ‘The hotel in St Mawes?’

  ‘That depends. I’ve just been talking to friend Vogler.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘No need to look so surprised. I told you he was going to get back to me.’

  I can hardly tell Carl why I’m actually astonished Vogler’s been in touch with him. ‘Who actually phoned who?’ I ask suspiciously.

  ‘Does it matter? Point is, he’s very much up for a deal.’

  ‘He is?’

  ‘One hundred per cent. He’s a businessman, Nicole, I told you.’

  ‘He’s ruthless, Carl. I told you.’

  ‘It’s just an act. You’ve let this … coincidental car accident … cloud your judgement.’

  ‘Is that what you think?’

  ‘It’s where the evidence is pointing. Listen. Vogler’s tied up for the rest of today. But he’s invited us out to dinner tomorrow night with him and his wife. Some Michelin-starred place just up the coast. We’ll seal the deal over champagne and caviar. How does that sound?’

  ‘Incredible.’ Literally, I’m tempted to add.

  ‘We’re obviously going to have to stretch the budget to get him out of Joe’s life. But I need to know we’re getting the real deal with Joe. His record speaks for itself, of course, but Billy wants proof that it’s his record, that Joe isn’t fronting for someone else – one of our competitors, for instance. So, I’ve downloaded a newly upgraded version of gridforest. I want to watch Joe play against it. Physically watch, I mean. I need you to arrange that. Before we meet Vogler, obviously.’

  ‘I’m not sure that’s going to be possible.’

  ‘Why the hell not? He should surely be able to understand we want to see what we’re getting for our money.’

  ‘His mother’s in hospital, Carl. She’s lucky to be alive. He’s pretty distracted at the moment.’

  ‘Well, undistract him. Phone him now.’

  ‘Now?’

  ‘Yes. Or give me his number and I’ll phone him. Chop chop, Nicole. I’m done with messing about.’

  Sometimes there’s no reasoning with Carl. I call Joe’s number. ‘The person you are calling is not available.’ I let Carl hear the message. He’s not impressed.

  ‘What about the girlfriend you mentioned? Try her.’

  That pretty much seems to be an order. I call Karen. She does answer.

  ‘What d’you want, Nicole? I’m at work.’

  ‘I’m trying to reach Joe. It’s urgent.’

  ‘He’s at mine. Asleep, probably. He was up most of the night.’

  ‘It’d be in his best interests if I could speak to him, Karen.’

  ‘I bet.’

  ‘Would you mind if I called round there?’

  She thinks a long time before responding, after a heavy sigh. ‘I guess not.’

  ‘Can you give me the address?’

  ‘OK. But I’ll try and let him know you’re coming. So, if he’s not there, you’ll know he doesn’t reckon speaking to you is in his best interests.’

  ‘Understood.’

  ‘Thirteen Waterloo Road. Flat C.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Joe and I are planning to visit Liz this evening, Nicole. I don’t want him upset before we go.’

  ‘I won’t upset him.’

  ‘That’s a promise, is it?’

  ‘Yes.’ But it’s a pretty disingenuous promise. I can’t guarantee Carl won’t do some upsetting all on his own.

  13 Waterloo Road looks like it was once a workshop, even though it’s part of a residential terrace. A side-gate leads to a yard where a rear extension has been built. That’s Flat C. The door’s at the top of a short flight of steps.

  I hang back as Carl climbs the steps, checking my phone for a message from Ursula. There’s still no news from her, which is starting to nibble at my nerves. Carl’s doing nothing for my peace of mind either. He’s so convinced he’s got every base covered I’m tempted to think he might actually be right. But the rational part of my brain keeps insisting he couldn’t be more wrong.

  He gives the bell a lot of pressing and adds a few raps on the door. Eventually, a sash window diagonally opposite us slides down and a bleary-eyed Joe stares out. It doesn’t look as though Karen got through to him.

  ‘Nicole,’ he says hoarsely. ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘Can we have a word, Joe?’

  ‘Who’s your friend?’

  ‘Carl Hinkley,’ Carl chips in. ‘I’m Nicole’s boss.’ Nice of him to make that clear.

  Joe’s expression gives nothing away. Maybe it’s his Go face. ‘Hold on,’ he says, with little enthusiasm. ‘I’ll let you in.’

  It takes Joe a couple of minutes actually to open the door. He’s wearing jeans and a hoodie. There’s none of the normal brightness in his eyes. He looks like he needs more of the sleep we presumably woke him from.

  The flat itself is small but quirkily colourful. Karen seems to like lilac and yellow, potted plants and swirly lampshades. Joe takes us into the lounge, where there’s an aroma of joss stick and a great many cushions, on one of which a full-size Go board is standing, with a game apparently in progress.

  Carl doesn’t fail to notice it. ‘You’ve got our attention in a big way, Joe,’ he says, nodding at the board. ‘You know that, don’t you?’

  ‘S’pose so,’ is all Joe manages by way of response.

  ‘How’s Liz?’ I ask.

  ‘Recovering OK, according to the doctor. But … she’s not going to be up and about for a while yet.’ There’s less expressiveness in his voice than usual. He’s weighed down by the uncertainties of what has happened.

  ‘Sorry to hear about her accident,’ says Carl.

  ‘Thanks,’ says Joe, who doesn’t sound as if he really believes Carl’s sorry about anything. ‘We’re not actually sure it was an accident.’

  ‘Take my advice and you’ll steer clear of conspiracy theories.’

  ‘Because conspiracies never happen, right?’

  ‘Look, Joe, I’ve spoken to Conrad Vogler. We can agree terms with him. I’m confident of that. We can get you out from under.’

  Joe looks across at me. ‘Are you confident, Nicole?’

  ‘It’s possible everything Vogler’s said and done is designed to get the best price, Joe. It’s possible he’s just a very tough negotiator.’

  Carl shoots me an appreciative glance. ‘Exactly. My understanding is you’d be happy to leave your job with Vogler, Joe, and join us to explore the exciting applications of your very particular ability.’

  Joe slumps down on the couch and gazes up dubiously at Carl. ‘They’ve taken AlphaGo way beyond board games, into areas that would actually benefit humanity l
ike protein folding. Would that be part of the deal?’

  ‘Absolutely. There are no limits to where we can go with this.’

  ‘Great.’ There’s no conviction in Joe’s tone. He doesn’t quite believe this is going to come off.

  ‘I know what you’re thinking,’ says Carl, sitting down next to Joe and beaming at him confidently. ‘What about Vogler? Well, leave him to us. We’re going to strike terms tomorrow evening. Don’t worry. It’s going to happen.’

  Joe looks at me again. ‘You buy that, Nicole?’

  I can’t lie to Joe. But I can’t contradict Carl either. ‘It looks like there’s a price he may be willing to settle for.’

  ‘Which will involve a substantial financial commitment by Venstrom,’ Carl goes on. ‘And I’ve got to tell you, Joe, we have to be sure you can deliver before we make that commitment.’

  ‘Deliver?’ Joe looks bemused by Carl’s choice of word.

  ‘I need to see you hold your own against the computer with my own eyes.’

  ‘You think I’m faking it?’

  ‘The people who matter need to be certain you’re the genuine article.’

  Joe shakes his head. ‘Incredible.’

  ‘I’m sure you understand our position.’

  ‘Yeah.’ Joe glances at me. He isn’t angry. He almost seems to pity me. ‘I understand.’ He’s still looking at me. ‘Nicole, could the … “accident” … really just be a negotiating ploy?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  He shakes his head. ‘I can’t take the risk. Not after what’s happened to Mum.’

  ‘But the police will be able to prove one way or the other whether it really was an accident or not,’ says Carl. ‘If it was, you’ll be happy to go with us, right?’

  Joe shrugs. ‘I guess.’

  ‘Then what do you lose by giving us a … demonstration of your abilities?’

  Joe frowns at him. ‘What exactly do you want me to do?’

  ‘Play an upgraded version of gridforest I’ve got on my laptop. Nicole and I will be in the room with you. And the game will be viewed by our specialists in Palo Alto.’

  ‘Maybe you’ve upgraded it beyond my ability level.’

  ‘I seriously doubt that.’

  ‘But if I flunk it, the deal’s off?’