‘What would you do?’ demanded Pendlebury.
Cosgrove shrugged. ‘At the meeting this morning there was talk of curtailing the exhibition.’
Charlie had been watching Pendlebury as the other American spoke, so he saw the open concern on the F.B.I. man’s face.
‘We could have extra staff here by tomorrow,’ said Pendlebury.
‘It’s not my agreement that’s necessary. It’s the insurers’,’ said Cosgrove.
‘The whole thing could be settled within three days,’ Charlie tempted him. ‘Four at the outside.’
‘I don’t think we would be prepared to run the risk for that length of time,’ responded Cosgrove.
‘No,’ said Pendlebury, unaware of the trap Charlie had set. ‘It must be resolved before then. Two days would be the longest we could consider waiting.’
Charlie kept from his face any expression of satisfaction at Pendlebury’s slip. Two days was acceptable; four was not. So whatever was going to happen was scheduled for either Wednesday or Thursday. The meeting was proving far more productive than Charlie had hoped.
‘You’re not prepared to confirm full cover with the promises that have been made here today?’ Cosgrove demanded of Charlie.
‘No.’
‘But you will contact your principal immediately?’
‘Yes.’
‘And warn your London office what I said about lawyers?’ added Cosgrove.
‘Of course,’ said Charlie.
‘Until the insurance is restored, we’ll restrict opening,’ decided Cosgrove. ‘We’ll delay until eleven in the morning. And close earlier than nine. Five, I think.’
‘That should make it easier for you to organise your security properly,’ Charlie said to Pendlebury.
‘I never regarded it as badly organised before,’ said the American.
‘It was though, wasn’t it?’ said Charlie.
Anticipating that there would be reporters and cameramen outside the room, Charlie lingered, unwilling to be photographed. The journalists descended on the recognisable figure of Cosgrove and Charlie moved quickly around the crush, hurrying back to his rooms. He kept the telephone to his ear, after booking the call, listening to the connection being made with London and trying to identify any other sound which would indicate a tap on his line. Willoughby answered immediately. Fairly confident there was no monitor, Charlie outlined to the underwriter what had happened and what he suspected.
‘Wednesday or Thursday is only a guess?’ asked Willoughby.
‘I think I’m right,’ said Charlie.
‘What do you want me to do?’
‘Nothing,’ said Charlie. ‘Just keep the whole thing in the air.’
‘I’ll have to put it to the company lawyers tomorrow. If it’s judged that we’re introducing frivolous objections, I would be contravening Lloyd’s regulations. The American lawyers might claim that.’
‘I don’t care what arguments go on,’ said Charlie. ‘Just as long as nothing is resolved. When have you ever known lawyers to give an opinion in hours rather than days?’
‘Never,’ admitted the underwriter.
‘Exactly,’ said Charlie. ‘As long as we’re known to be doing the proper things, we can’t be accused of breaking any regulations.’
‘Have you thought you could be wrong about all this?’ asked Willoughby suddenly.
The question momentarily stopped Charlie. Despite his apparent success in tilting Pendlebury off balance, Charlie still had a vague feeling that there was something he had missed.
‘No,’ he said, ‘I’m not wrong.’
Charlie replaced the receiver after his call to Willoughby at about the same time as Pendlebury, two floors below, ended his conversation with Warburger, in Washington. Pendlebury went to the window of his room, worried by the panic he’d detected in the Director’s voice. He stared down at the specks on the beach far below, knowing it was ridiculous but trying to see Terrilli and Chambine and his surveillance team. An impending disaster, Warburger had called it. An exaggeration, Pendlebury thought; but considering the meeting that morning, not much of one.
Pendlebury had been right in guessing that Terrilli would choose the hotel section of the beach. Despite owning it, Terrilli had rarely been down to his private seafront. He crunched awkwardly over the beach now, unhappy at the surroundings. He found it easy enough to relax by the side of his pool, assured of people in attendance and with cleanliness guaranteed, but the sand irritated him, getting into his shoes and making it uncomfortable to walk, and although the beaches had been swept that morning. there was still the occasional palm frond or scrap of paper, which he found messy. He crossed the barrier designating his own property, and among the bathers his feeling of distaste increased. There seemed to be a lot of shouting and children were screaming, and he knew that when they all went home they’d leave the place like a garbage tip. Disdainfully he lowered himself to the sand, on a soot as far away from other people as he could find, and while he waited for Chambine he took off his tennis shoes and tried to clean the grit from between his toes. He looked up as the sun was temporarily shaded from him, but made no sign of recognition to the man for whom he was waiting. Chambine did not stop beside him. Instead he spread a beach mat several feet away, stripped off his towelling top and lay out, not looking at Terrilli.
‘You heard the news?’ demanded the older man.
‘Not the first announcement,’ admitted Chambine. ‘But I picked it up after the meeting that was held in the hotel this morning.’
‘What was the result?’
‘Inconclusive. There are going to be greater security measures taken. But the insurers still seem unhappy.’
‘What about cancellation?’
‘Not yet… but it seems likely.’
‘So we can’t wait until Thursday?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘Will that be a problem for you?’
‘I shouldn’t think so,’ said Chambine. ‘They seemed ready when I went to the warehouse.’
‘Could it be tonight?’
Chambine didn’t reply immediately. ‘Yes,’ he said, after thinking.
‘I think it would be best, before they get any extra men organised and in place.’
‘Of course.’
‘I don’t like having to make the change.’
‘Neither do I.’
‘But I don’t think there’s a choice.’
‘No,’ agreed Chambine, ‘I don’t think there is.’
‘You’d better leave first,’ said Terrilli. ‘You’ve things to organise.’
‘Your people will be expecting us?’
‘I’ll see to it. We’ll keep to the original timing.’
Chambine got up slowly, dusted off his mat and rolled it up.
‘See you tonight,’ he said, still bending so that the conversation would be hidden from any observers.
‘I’ll be waiting,’ promised Terrilli.
He remained for the minimum amount of time upon the beach, then rose gratefully and returned to his house. He went straight to the changing cabin alongside the pool, stripped off his sand-gritted clothes and left them for collection later. He looked up as Santano approached.
‘There’s been a change,’ he said. ‘Warn everyone who needs to know. It’s going to be tonight.’
Two miles away, a relieved Jack Pendlebury learned the same thing from his communications unit, which was monitoring all the telephone calls into the Contemporary Resort hotel in Disneyworld. Pendlebury smiled across at Roger Gilbert, who had just given a depressing report of their quite unsuccessful attempt to discover the purpose of Cham-bine’s beach meeting with Terrilli.
‘It’s going to be all right,’ said Pendlebury, unconcerned by the emotion evident in his voice. ‘They haven’t called it off; they’ve brought it forward. It’s tonight.’
Gilbert half stood, imagining the need to respond in a hurry, but Pendlebury waved him down, content that he was in control of the situation once more.
‘Everyone is in the right place,’ he said. ‘There’s no hurry. It’ll all go just as we planned.’
‘What about the Englishman?’ asked Gilbert.